real world update, part one
You might find this confusing if you haven't read this first.
Sunday night in my virtual prison. I say prison only because I am again stuck here, in this city.
I should probably say that I'm fortunate because the only bars I see in this prison bring me unlimited quantities of mojitos and an endless parade of attractive aspiring yuppie chicks with variations of Jennifer Aniston hairstyles and those sexy little tattoos on the small of their backs that serve as well, targets.
But then again, that's my birthright, it comes with the name. So I'm fortunate only in the sense that fortune favors me. By definition fortune always favors the rich and attractive. I can't help who I am.
Unfortunately at present I can do little to change my situation.
And that's the problem. I am not accustomed to having limitations of any kind put on my freedom.
One night a week or so ago I'm out thoroughly enjoying the nightlife in a happening Belize disco and two days later a U.S. Marshall is knocking on my door, warrant in hand. He tells me that the judge back in Texas is requesting an audience with world's richest, most attractive and most eligible bachelor. He tells me that as judges aren't prone to travel, I'll have to go back with him to see the judge. He is smirking with that righteous grin I've seen countless times before on the face of a law enforcement official who is entirely too pleased with himself as he thinks of how nicely bagging a Barrington is going to look on his resume. He's got two thuggish looking semi-machine gun toting members of the local police with him. Damn that police chief. This is the exact situation I had been bribing him weekly to prevent. The sum'va bitch sold me out. Apparently the stick of upsetting the U.S. government is far stronger than the carrot of my regular generous donations to the local policeman's pension fund.
It could have been worse. The police chief's 18 year old daughter left my apartment an hour before they arrived. And she has one of those sexy little targets, er, tattoos on the small of her back.
So back I came. I had to fly coach for Chis'sakes.
My father called earlier today. He always calls a day or two after my court appearances. Nowadays it's the only time we speak to each other. We trade small talk while he awkwardly fishes for me to thank him for providing the legal resources to keep my perfect tight white ass out of jail yet again. I never give The Bastard the satisfaction.
My court ordered therapist, the prick, tells me that in order for me to "heal" I need to find "forgiveness" and all that other liberal psycho-babel bullshit. I guess I'm just not there yet. Maybe I take after my grandfather and I'm just not a forgiving person. It's been what, twenty plus years and I still get angry when I think about how he treated mom during the divorce and how she ended up afterwards because of it.
And maybe I also see him in me.
And maybe that's what scares me.
Sunday night in my virtual prison. I say prison only because I am again stuck here, in this city.
I should probably say that I'm fortunate because the only bars I see in this prison bring me unlimited quantities of mojitos and an endless parade of attractive aspiring yuppie chicks with variations of Jennifer Aniston hairstyles and those sexy little tattoos on the small of their backs that serve as well, targets.
But then again, that's my birthright, it comes with the name. So I'm fortunate only in the sense that fortune favors me. By definition fortune always favors the rich and attractive. I can't help who I am.
Unfortunately at present I can do little to change my situation.
And that's the problem. I am not accustomed to having limitations of any kind put on my freedom.
One night a week or so ago I'm out thoroughly enjoying the nightlife in a happening Belize disco and two days later a U.S. Marshall is knocking on my door, warrant in hand. He tells me that the judge back in Texas is requesting an audience with world's richest, most attractive and most eligible bachelor. He tells me that as judges aren't prone to travel, I'll have to go back with him to see the judge. He is smirking with that righteous grin I've seen countless times before on the face of a law enforcement official who is entirely too pleased with himself as he thinks of how nicely bagging a Barrington is going to look on his resume. He's got two thuggish looking semi-machine gun toting members of the local police with him. Damn that police chief. This is the exact situation I had been bribing him weekly to prevent. The sum'va bitch sold me out. Apparently the stick of upsetting the U.S. government is far stronger than the carrot of my regular generous donations to the local policeman's pension fund.
It could have been worse. The police chief's 18 year old daughter left my apartment an hour before they arrived. And she has one of those sexy little targets, er, tattoos on the small of her back.
So back I came. I had to fly coach for Chis'sakes.
My father called earlier today. He always calls a day or two after my court appearances. Nowadays it's the only time we speak to each other. We trade small talk while he awkwardly fishes for me to thank him for providing the legal resources to keep my perfect tight white ass out of jail yet again. I never give The Bastard the satisfaction.
My court ordered therapist, the prick, tells me that in order for me to "heal" I need to find "forgiveness" and all that other liberal psycho-babel bullshit. I guess I'm just not there yet. Maybe I take after my grandfather and I'm just not a forgiving person. It's been what, twenty plus years and I still get angry when I think about how he treated mom during the divorce and how she ended up afterwards because of it.
And maybe I also see him in me.
And maybe that's what scares me.
posted by dr noyz @ 11:23 PM
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