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Friday, January 14, 2005

I regret to inform you that yo, you got the crabs, motherfucka! 

I’m still cRaZy from jetlag. I just drove back from dropping E off at the airport and feel that it was irresponsible for me to be operating heavy machinery. It always hits me viciously going west to east for some reason. When I came back from Asia the last times a few years ago I thought I was going to lose my mind. I’m sure all of the cheap, foreignly manufacture benzodiazepines I had wheedled out of the hotel doctor in Indonesia for the flight home didn’t help my mental state of affairs. I wanted them because in some sort of retarded folly I thought I could avoid all of the terrifying turbulence by putting myself into a chemically induced state of suspended animation. I don't recommend this.

Since I’m incapable of writing coherently right now I’ll do a little reader’s advisory, the excellent Blue Blood. It is the memoirs of a Harvard educated New York police officer Edward Conlon. He’s a fantastic storyteller and he accumulated some great material during his time as a beat cop and narcotics officer on the mean streets of Metro New York. The book is fascinating, horrific and hilarious and reminds me of my own time at the Sheriff’s Office, although my experiences were a little more country fried and less hardcore than his on the public housing project beat in the Bronx.

He talks about one of his crack head confidential informants who had a joke involving a freshly released convict and a five dollar hooker. She enjoyed telling it to all the police officers and district attorneys, and since her repertoire was limited to this one joke, he heard it repeatedly. One of the punch lines involves the doctor informing the parolee that he has contracted public lice. The way the confidential informant has the doctor breaking the news to his patient is: “And the doctor says, ‘Yo, you got crabs motherfucka!”

I always laughed when she came to the part about the doctor. It reminded me of Crazy Larry’s notes to his ex-girlfriend on hospital stationery – You got the AIDS, Bitch! – or maybe there was a South Bronx doctor with that exact bedside manner. A few ADAs’ laughed, but more than one felt it necessary to caution her, “That’s a good joke, but you have to promise you won’t tell it to the judge.”

Comments:
Welcome home!

When I go SF->DC, my family doesn't expect me to wake up for about 24 hours, and then patiently explains to me that jetlag is supposed to happen in the other direction. I can't imagine what Asia-US is like. (wren)
 
Dear Foxylibrarian:

Gotta love bizzare concoctions of valium...

Yours (really):
Spike,
Founder of The Honest Outlaw's Organization
 
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