MY Dad Gets Rolled

Warning! The proceeding contains racial epitaphs and predacious remarks. Such remarks are not to be misconstrued as my own beliefs.

Yesterday night, or should I say early morning, was shaping up to be a rather uneventful. I was continuing the monotonous task of wallpaper removal , wile down loading and listening too the audio bites from http://ilovebees.com/humptydumpty.html. I don't know about playing the game associated with ilovebees.com, but the story has me intrigued. I was interrupted by the door bell ringing at about 1:20AM. It wasn't a frantic ring, but more of a continuous pushing of the button. Oh great, I thought to myself, my father is too drunk to get his key in the door again. I was half tempted to just let the damn bell keep ringing. When I opened the door I found my father leaning up against the door frame all disheveled. I immediately noticed the large abrasion to the left side of his head and he seemed to be rather frantic. He immediately said "call the police, a nigger just robbed me!" I immediately disregarded this comment. You see, Just last week my father cut up his knuckles, and when I asked him how he did it, he said niggers attached him in his bed. In that case it turned out he had punched or fallen into a family portrait ( the verdict is still out on that one) breaking the glass with his fist. Not to mention the time he came home and said niggers were chasing him and he grabbed his samurai sword to go out side and fight them. My pops is also known to have accidents, like falling down, when he's drunk out of his mind and walking home. One time he fell in the river by my house, loseing his glasses and a cartain of smokes. This is almost like the boy who cried wolf. Would you take him seriously?

It wasn't until he stepped in side, that I began to wonder if their was some merritt to his story. He was all lurched over and walking funny. He then became more irate and yelling "call the fucking cops!" I could tell something was wrong, but still not believing his story, I thought I better wake up my mother for this one. When I returned to the living room with my mom, we found my dad incoherent and yelling. Efforts to clam him down were in vain. I kept asking him to sit down, and calm down. Instead he kept repeating "he stole my wallet, I think he stole my car!" His story wasn't making any sense. How could he steel the car if he left it at the bar? Still not quite sure to make of the situation, I decide to try to inspect my father for more wounds, After all he was all contorted looking. Who knows maybe he was stabbed and didn't know it. He was completely shit faced. After checking his front, I noticed he kept trying to hide his back side from me. It turns out that my father had soiled himself. Not urine, the other stuff. Ah my god what happened? He said " I shit myself when I was attached!" Never a dull moment around here. We quickly threw a towel and some newspaper down on a chair so he could sit. My mother then decided it was a good time to call 911. I suggested my dad change his pants first, but my dad was so drunk, and probably hopped up on adrenaline, he didn't care.

While my mom was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher, my dad was still raving about how the guy stole his car. I decide I would put his mind and mine to rest on this matter by driving over to the bar to see if it was still their. On my way to the bar I took notice to the 5+ squad cars circling the neighborhood, one even followed me for awhile. I took a quick pass through the bar parking lot and sure enough my dads car wasn't their. I immediately thought, if he got robbed by our house, how the hell did his assailant know where he parked his car?

upon my arrival home, their were three officers in our house, asking my dad questions. I happened to know two of the cops, so it made the situation uncomfortable for me. Why can't bad shit happen to us when our house is clean? How embarrassing, my dad is sitting there, in his own waste. Steve, one of the cops, I know came up and said "Francis I need you to find your dads insurance card." All I could say was "I have no idea where it is, or where it might be." He then asked "do you know the license plate number?" Nope. I think the Cops were surprised to find my mother and I's demeanor of not finding the situation to be critical, and the complete lack of information we had on the car. As it turns out, all the info on the car, was in the car. The cops, who knew me, in my opinion, seemed to be putting on a show like acting all tough and saying were going to try to catch this guy, and acting all TV cop like. Maybe TV has portrayed cops accurately.

I would also like to give the cops a lot of credit, on how they handled dealing with my dad. Pumping him for info was also in vane ion their part.

Cop: what did the guy look like?

Dad: He was wearing a jacket

Cop: can you describe him?

Dad: He was a 6 foot nigger, I'm not racist, but he was a nigger, that's why I was talking to him, to prove I wasn't racist.

Cop: where did this happen?

Dad: when I was walking home.

So we know he was an approximate 6 foot African American Male wearing a jacket(He shouldn't be to hard to find, because hes running around half naked). Ya that's a lot to go on. Let me guess, he had pants and shoes on too. What kind of a description is that? The only useful bit of info he could spit out was, He looked like a young Bill Cosby. Tell me, do you think a bunch of 28 year old cops know what a young cosby looks like?

Full well knowing I wouldn't be able to find anything, I ventured down to the dungeon to sort through my dad's piles of mail. This effort was also in vane, since there is no rhyme or reason to his organization, or lack their of. I did happen to stumble across a bottle of Gordons Dry Gin he was hiding in his dresser. I returned upstairs to inform the cops of the bad news, and found my mother talking to the car insurance company. It turns out the insurance company, isn't aloud to give out you own information to you over the phone. The only thing they can due is verify a vin number. Even when the cop got on the phone they wouldn't tell him either, even though your reporting your own car stolen. I don't know what's up with that policy. This angered the officer, so he hung up the phone before my mom could finish reporting the car stolen. HP's Finest at work.

The Cops then asked my dad if he would come down to the station, and fill out a report with them. He agreed, But I hardly see the purpose in having him fill out a report, when he can barely talk without slurring his words. After a quick change of his pants, My dad told the cops he was so scared the guy was going to slit his throat, he shit himself, they were off. While my dad was at the station my mother and I set about looking for credit card bills, so they could be cancelled before they were used. Let me point out that my old man has some serious interest rates on these thing, most were 24%. First up was Discover, I had to explain to my mother that she too had a card with them. My dad, in his wisdom opened several credit accounts in her name, without telling her. This came as a surprise to her.

Upon my dads return home, he immediately came in ranting. About how hes been robed 3 times and all by niggers. Once when he got out of the army, one put a gun to his head, the second time in NewYork City, and now this. He said he was going to get a gun and start shooting them. Of course this isn't meant to be taken seriously, because he was still drunk out of his mind. I told my dad even if he had a gun he wouldn't be able to see what he was shooting at because he was so drunk and would probably hit some kid. He replied "I can see the difference between black and white. I said "Yes, but bullets can't." I thought that was a rather clever remark.

After my dad sobered up today I was able to get the full story. After drinking for some 8 hours, my dad decided to leave the bar. While he was walking home he was approached by a 6 ft burly black man when he was crossing the bridge over Catalina. I think its safe to assume that this was purely a crime of opportunity. The man could easily sive up my fathers state of being, and he was an easy target. Skinny, old and three sheets to the wind. The Man began walking along with my father, striking up a casual conversation. He asked my dad why he was waking? My dad replied that he was too drunk to drive. The man asked where he was coming from, and my dad told him the local bar. The man then asked what kind of car he drove, so my dad told a Mercury Grand Marquis. The man kept talking to my father, until they got to a dark courtyard, where he caught my dad off guard (not hard to do), nocked him to the ground, went through his pockets, stole his wallet and car keys and then made a mad dash for the bar where he stole his car. I guess my dads lucky the guy didn't murder him. On the brite side my dad said he couldn't have been robbed by a nicer guy. He even went as far to point out to the police that he didn't think the guy hit him, almost defending the guy from further prosicution, in the very unlikely hood of his arrest. I don't feel sorry this happened to my dad at all. Its common sense, when your wasted you don't strike up conversations with people who are bigger then you, Black, white, or yellow, in neighbor hoods that are becoming increasingly more dangerous. Thanks section 8 housing. Its his own fault this happened.

The last ounce of respect I had for my father was lost that night. I talked with my brother Jon about how my dad was a coward, because he shit himself. Jon says this was because he was Drunk. It turns out Jon was wrong! My dad said "I'm not ashamed to say I'm a coward, that's why I shit myself." Word for word that's what he said. This coming from the man who always telling me the army turned him into a trained killer and he can kick my ass. When I asked him about that, he replied with "what the hell do you think those WWII leggings were for on the soldiers? They were for if you shit yourself, it wouldn't end up in your boots." I can't say for certain I wouldn't, if I were in his situation. But from what I think of myself, If immenant death or injury were upon me, I wouldn't beg for my life. I would take it like a man.