Dear Dionysus XIII

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Dear Dionysus XIII

Dear Dionysus,

I had to go to the courthouse today. It wasn’t the one I usually go to (as I’ve graduated to the big leagues), but the local traffic court that I haven’t been to in about ten years. The last time I was there, it was on account of that first minor in possession infraction.

So ten years ago when I went in there, I thought everything was a farce. It wasn’t even a kangaroo court, because I would have taken a kangaroo more seriously than that judge, Dionysus. I wore my bondage belt and a sleeveless T-shirt even. I remember that I brought my pocket Moleskine (Editor’s note: those things are worthless) and drew real sloppy pen drawings of myself killing cops or something.

It was all a joke, Dionysus. All of it. In fact, I’m almost certain that I let out a giggle when I received my punishment.

Oh, things have changed haven’t they? I don’t want to get into it too heavily, Dionysus. It’s Friday and I’m exhausted and I’m not really in the mood for composing anything too long-winded tonight. Let’s keep it short then:

Today when I went to this same courthouse, I wasn’t wearing a bondage belt or a sleeveless T-shirt; I was, however, wearing my six shooter pendant necklace that I use as a makeshift wallet chain. As I was going through the metal detector (which I do far more often than I’d like) and my pendant came through in that little tray (because it’s made of metal), the officer said something I have heard, without exception, the past dozen times I’ve done the same routine:

“You can’t have that in here. Sorry, no guns allowed!”

Cop humor is a half step below prop humor (Gallagher would have made a great policeman).

But then, the other officer present decided to get in on the routine
too.

“Hey, I’ll tell you what; let’s have a shooting contest,” he said as he actually started to pull his gun from his holster.

I wanted to tell this porker to go fuck himself. I wanted to take that gun and do all kinds of unmentionable things with it. But I didn’t. I just laughed nervously and went about my business.

I could get into a bunch of diatribes about the criminal justice system and abuses of power and police misconduct and all kinds of really fun stuff that would, for the most part, be absolutely spot-on and justified. But you know what, Dionysus? I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to think about cops anymore lest they infiltrate my dreams.

</3 Sir Rateval Hurtlinge

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