I went to the illustrious Los Angeles Courthouse the other day. Just to meet new people and do some networking with future or present criminal masterminds…in case I ever need to round up some troops to fight some renegade jay-walking police.
Or maybe it was to clear up a ticket…you forget when you’re surrounded with such amorous, beautiful, charming individuals. I sit or rather stand in the long never-ending line waiting patiently to get an extension to pay my ticket. La la la…waiting, standing…and lo and behold…a dude trolls up on me and says; “You look like I dream of Jeanie”…hmmm, okay…thanks dude. I look like a 60-year old…super.
He stands and stares and then adds, “I meant a young version of Barbara Eden”. okay, thanks…now neander along little buddy…I got tickets to pay and hardened criminals to befriend.
He then feels the distinct need to let me know that he just got out of prison. Yup, was locked up for 10 years. And he missed a court date already. That’s fabulous, I reply. What a stellar pick-up line.
Let me explain how this fellow looked…bermuda shorts and thongs (that must be some god-awful courtroom theme..the last few times I’ve gone to court, way too many transplants are trolling around in this damn city wearing bermuda shorts…are you in Bermuda? Oh your not? Then wear some fucking normal attire)…I digress…he is 6′5 and 300 lbs…albino skin and albino hair and red beedy eyes. Sounds pretty delicatable, right? (ha, sarcasm)…he’s got prison tats and lepresy (or what I pressume to look like lepresy).
He then tells me that he fell in love with me from across the crowded courtroom..hmmm, how romantic. Across a crowded room full of felons and social derelicts. Boy, it must be my lucky day. He choose me instead of the hookers, meth-heads, girl gang members, and crazed jay-walkers. Wow, I must be living the dream, eh?
So blah blah…prison, love, we’re meant to be together…Mind you, I’m not answering (the way he likes his women…mute…otherwise he’ll back hand ya and then he’ll have to go back to the pookie…damn, I sure wouldn’t want that after I found such an irresistible catch after all these years)…He then is told to walk to the end of the line…fucking do the Rosa Parks…
So he walks back, starring at me like the big creepaZoid he is…finally I’m at least in the room so he can’t see me. People around me feel sympathy and extend their condolenscence. I inform them that this is an everyday occurance in the life of the dizzle…but I appreciate the sediments.
Now I’ve done my business and trying to find a way to elude this joker and nope, IT’S ME…there is no eluding nut jobs…he was waiting right outside the damn room for me, with a note in hand. He whispers at a rather loud decibal rate; “take a chance on me baby…try it, you might like it” EW, I felt my inerds twist and I kept walking…read the note around the corner and it said much of the same banter. Duh, like I’m deaf now…jesus, this dude loves to insult my intelligence or rather my hearing aptitude, by repeating everything he whispered via note form. What if I was blind…what an inconsiderate prick.
Then it says something about dinner and blah blah blah and how he hasn’t had a nice dinner since his stay in camp state penitentiary…sweet! I glance at the area code (cuz I’m an asshole that judges people from their area code…I didn’t used to be like that but I’ve just had too many bad experience with the unsavory area codes so I just decided to eliminate them from my life)…I glance and notice the area code to be the biggest meth-head area of So Cal…which quite frankly didn’t surprise me.
I hand the note to a crack-head out front who happen to be gnawing on their own arm and said; “Hey, go get a nice meal”…I point to the guy and say; “he wants to take you to dinner”…I think he’s in love with you…
I then saunter away into the sunset, proud that I’ve been able to make yet another love connection on the mean, dirty, sinister streets of Los Angeles.
