The nameless wisdom cop who arrested me for driving drunk on day one when I was more sober than the coldest stone in Alaska hand cuffed me to a car thief from Wichita Falls…”
by ed markowski
On day fifteen at nine a.m. a corn silk slim bailiff named Harry who was a cook wish a slushy lishp named Max on day fourteen who was a bling bearing Baptist preacher who went by the name of Jeremy Fogswell on day thirteen who was a one eyed Irish Catholic priest who said Just call me Ira boys don’t call me father on day twelve who played a sly slinky Cub Scout Den Mother on day eleven who morphed into a shiny sleek Girl Scout Cookie Coven Queen named Nikki on day ten who was gay on day nine straight on day eight God on day seven our Dutch Uncle Mick at the dawn of day six who was dead or alive at dusk on day five who was my Italian mother at noon on day four who was Malcolm X on day three Santa on day two and the nameless wisdom cop who arrested me for driving drunk on day one when I was more sober than the coldest stone in Alaska hand cuffed me to a car thief from Wichita Falls named Dysmas and a car thief from Sioux Falls named Gestas walked us to the courthouse said I’m Judge Whodeeny but my stage name’s Chuck Barris looked me up and under banged his gavel on a square drum said Let’s hear your side of the story so I said Well Judge Barris we were then he cut me off banged his gavel then said, Take a good long look at me punk and believe me when I say we’ve got a big city con man running this flea circus that you can’t hold a candle to.” He banged his gong, the Bailiff hooked a candy cane striped cane around my neck, and as he pulled me off the stand and down the aisle Judge Barris shouted, “Pay the $850.00 fine, get out of here, and don’t ever come back.”
(illustration: kurt eisenlohr)
Ed Markowski lives and writes in Auburn Hills, Michigan. Many, many more of Ed’s fine stories can be found in the Vault of Smoke.