Tag Archives: jail

Dear Dionysus XX: Book ‘Em, Crewcut

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Dear Dionysus XX: Book ‘Em, Crewcut

Dear Dionysus,

Cad Bop had me alone now. I was, in the literal and figurative sense of the term, his captive audience. He was truly relishing the ordeal, Dionysus. Either he had truly convinced himself that I was a calculating sexual predator or he was merely another sadist with a badge who got off on making other people squirm. And squirming in handcuffs ain’t comfortable, love.

I could see his nefarious eyes in the center rear view mirror every time he addressed me with a question. The entire thing was a set up, and his queries were no exception.

Cad Bop: You know, I know your kind. I deal with them all the time. You think you’re real cool, a tough guy. And sometimes the girls fall for it, sure. But when they don’t, it doesn’t matter anyways because you have other ways of getting what you want, don’t you?
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Dear Dionysus XIX: Cood Gop/Cad Bop

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Dear Dionysus XIX: Cood Gop/Cad Bop

Dear Dionysus,

I can’t remember if I opened the door or the cops did but either way, the door was open and there we were struggling to get our clothes on. I was able to pull myself together to the point that I had my pants and my shirt on, although my shoes were on the floor of the truck, along with the bondage belt I habitually wore at the time (punk points +1).

As for Isadora, she wasn’t as quick on the draw: she was still in her panties, trying to pull her jeans on with one hand while she tried to shut the door on the male officer standing at the passenger side. It seemed to me that his eyes were zeroing in straight on her nether regions; she must have felt the same way, which is why she was frantically trying to shut the door. The perverted policeman didn’t like that very much, and he certainly didn’t like it when Isadora gave him a piece of her mind.

“Don’t look at me you pervert! I’m fifteen.”

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Dear Dionysus XVIII: A Prelude To Handcuffs

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Dear Dionysus XVIII: A Prelude To Handcuffs

Dear Dionysus,

Things carried on with Isadora in essentially the same manner after that minor indiscretion. Well, I’m not sure how minor it really was: Time and treachery have taught me that cheating is serious business, but at that point, I just figured it would be easier on all parties involved if I considered it minor. It would come to pass that I would view my offenses as falling into two categories: major offenses, which involved handcuffs, and minor ones, which didn’t.

Speaking of which, I suppose it’s about time we get around to discussing handcuffs, Dionysus. It’s one of my least favorite subjects, to be sure, but they would become a recurring theme in our relationship, wouldn’t they?

And, funnily enough, that first major offense was also a minor offense of sorts.

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Pulling Punches Like Picasso

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This courthouse is a theater house.
For me, at least.
But I’m not trying to make a mockery of justice
or a farce of these proceedings,
though it may be a small tragedy
with some comedic bits thrown in for effect
perhaps.

Last time around I was all Giacomo Casanova in front of the judge,
daring him to put me away,
imploring him,
because I’d just cover my cell walls in paintings of saints
or clowns
or poems written on Sailor Jerry rum labels
and burrow the fuck out of there
anyways.

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