welcome back

Remember me, I'm Colt Barrington. And I'm back. I can't say I'm happy about it. The judge wasn't all that happy to see me again either. But what the fuck. . .

I've been away. Far away. Some creative lawyering and legal briefing by my family's highly compensated shyster convinced the judge and the assistant D.A. to return my passport. I made a sizeable donation to the local children's hospital through a shell non-profit my father set up in the 1970's to help resolve family legal problems. Business is business, same now as then and same here as everywhere else. The wheels of government sometimes need a good greasing and nothing lubricates as well as cash. My donation helped to persuade the judge to let me fulfill a portion of my community service hours outside of his jurisdiction.

So I got the hell out. Out of town, out of state, and out of the fucking country.

I spent the last year and half travelling around Central America. Did you know there is a rare genetic disorder down there that causes children to be born without thumbs? "Los ninos sin pulgares" is what they call it. It's tragic really, the poor kids can't open jars.

Officially I was fulfilling the community service hours of my probation. I spent my days primarily opening bottles of Coke and teaching English to those poor disabaled kids in this special school where none of the doors have knobs.

Unofficially I spent my nights in the local bars and brothels doing lines of coke, sampling the local flavor, if you get my meaning, and banging the occassional European tourist. Apparently they really love that "Motorcycle Diaries" movie over there. It's spawned this weird wave of twentysomethings who really dig Che and spend their breaks from university travelling in his path.

All was going well until some asshole paparazzi photogropher recognized me as I was doing a tequila shot from between the breasts of the equivalent of the local homecoming queen. Damn those bastards at the Enquirer. And damn Lindsey Lohan for taking a vacation. It's not like she ever fucking works anyway, I mean really I've seen "Mean Girls". Why does she need a God-damned vacation? She brought those camera hugging whores with her, the bitch.

Needless to say, those photos eventually worked their way back to that hillbilly assistant D.A. and the redneck fucking judge here, deep in the heart of Texas. Neither were pleased with what they saw. The jealous bastards, I heard the envy in their voice when they were condemning my behavior and rambling on about "not gonna let you make a mockery blah blah de fucking blah" in court last week.

So here I am, right back where I was 18 or so months ago, looking at an additional 36 to 72 months of probation, tacked on to compensate for my perceived shenanigans. I'm stuck in the same town where I initially came back to to find her, and then so desperately wanted to flee to escape my memories of her.

My court ordered therapist, the prick, wasn't all that happy to see me again either. At his "recommendation" I have resumed this journal as way to help me work through my "issues".

While I was away I my access to this blog lapsed. Luckily my old college roommate and longtime friend Polymer was able to help me get this thing started up again.

Where do I go from here? Apparently nowhere. I can't leave the fucking county.

Ah, it could have been worse. In another example of greasing the government wheel I covertly made a significant donation to that bastard judge's re-election campaign through a series of discrete third parties. That kept me from having to wear one of those fucking electronic ankle monitors.

So here I am, right back where it all began.

Sigh.