In newer news, news that's new, and of a newer nature than older news; Don posted a NEW Report not too long about about his kids and peanuts. Look for it next. Because
The "Redneck Reports" blog will continue on into the future!
..stopping in the present only briefly for a piss and a refuel. And maybe one of those large bags of pork rinds... mmm boy,. I likes me the pork rinds. Them tastes good, like peanut butter off my sister's mustache.
I plan to bring Don himself on board this blog vessel (Blessel?), so we can combine forces and Report and goof around. Full speed ahead, one quarter impulse power!
In the meantime, enjoy this last entry from the Redneck Archives, a nice little recollection from Dementia Don about a legal event during his 4th senior year in High School. He lived on an Island, dontcha know.
Viva Dementia!
-Jebby
JUDGMENT
"Donald Murphy. Do we have a Donald Murphy here?"
I was emerging from a deep sleep; I wasn't quite sure if what I heard was real or part of a dream. Forcing myself awake, I looked up from underneath my folded arms. At the front of the room a female student was talking to our History teacher, Mr Parkurst. "I'm not sure if he's here today," he muttered from behind his desk.
He never really moved from behind that desk; unless it was to point at a new name on the board, as if we were obliged to write it down and remember the sacred doings of some dead general.
He handed the slip back to the girl. The door was open, so I knew that she had come into the class from the hall. She was probably from the office. I decided not to reveal my presence.
John Fike answered for me. "Yea, he's here, Mr. Parkurst."
Fike sat to my right. That way we could cheat on tests easier. Mr. Parkurst would write up "study sheets" on the board which were essentially lists of names of famous people for that period. We would copy them down in our notebooks and fill in a brief description of each person based on his lectures. When we had tests we would lay out these notebook pages between us on the ground facing up, and cheat off them. Foolproof.
To make things even easier the answers would spell the name of a famous American from that period.. Unfortunately, these tests weren't the sole basis for the grades. And my sleeping gave me a poor mark in "class participation." Fike's class participation score wasn't any better; once he was kicked out of class for a month for informing Mr. Parkurst that chemistry was a much more important class than history.
Back to the female student and the slip of paper with my name on it. Fike and I were being called down to another classroom to testify, his name was on the slip too. Another student, Ian Douglass, had been caught selling coke and we were being called as witnesses. Fike had spoken up because he remembered that we were scheduled to be summoned to testify. I had totally forgotten.
Good news! This was a great opportunity for me to get out of a class without having to hear Mr. Loso, our vice principal, say that he "would never have believed a Murphy could do that." Whatever "that" was for that day. My family had a certain reputation with Mr. Loso.
So Fike and I bolted down to the proceedings.
It really wasn't coke that Ian Douglass got busted for; it was flower. And he didn't really get busted. In fact this wasn't a real trial, it was a scenario acted out for Law class. Ian's role in the class project was to be the law breaker. His task was to sell "coke" to "coke heads." To do this he had to find out who the users were and sell to them without getting caught. He accomplished that by delegating , much like a real dealer would do. Fike and myself, with help of other people further down the supply chain, sold for him. It was a perfect scam used on the streets.
The "cops" were too dumb to figure it all out. Pretty much how it works in real life, actually.
Even though Ian Douglass had not been caught by the "law," someone had ratted on him; which ultimately had the same result.
So Fike and I were subpoena'd to state our affair in the business.
I walked into the room in a very groggy state. Mr. Bodell, our law teacher, made sure that we took our seats in the back of the room. We were going to be up shortly. There were only two other people set to testify before we had to take the stand. I took a look around to see who they were. Adam Bauser and Scott Casas. Yup. There they were, sitting at the other end of the class.
I chuckled to myself, for I knew what was going to take place soon enough. I had just started to sit back to enjoy the show, when someone caught the corner of my eye. Shit. My brother. How the hell did he get into this class? I could tell that he was registered for it, for he sat near the front. But, dammit, I could have sworn he had it during fourth hour.
He sat there in his usual hyper manner, quietly bouncing up and down in his chair while he eyed the audience. Before long, he saw me, and started to shake his head. I could tell what he was thinking. "Stupid idiot. Gets his head stuck into the wrong area again. Sooner or later he'll burn, and I hope he'll already have his name changed by then."
Well, I thought, there goes my fun. If I let any of my family see that I really do have a personality, they would probably throw me into the seventh floor of Wyandotte General Hospital. I would probably share a suite with Tim Coakley.
"Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs.Bugs....."
I still knew we still had a lot of fireworks coming our way; Scott and Adam had everything planned out. I knew there'd be no stopping them. These are the same two people who thought of and formed F.R.O.G.I., probably the most underground and radical network in America.
Unfortunately, though, the network never got anywhere outside the living room of Scott's home.
As the audience continued to bustle with chatter, my brother decided to be morally conscious. "Shaddup in the Peanut Gallery," he shouted. Good job, class president.
With the peanut gallery quieted down, the trial could now begin. It was a very quiet start, in light of what was going to take place shortly.
Scott Casas strolled up to the bench.
He took the oath in a nonchalant manner. For some reason, the prosecution had decided to use him first. Perhaps the lawyers thought that he had the strongest case, and they wanted to lead off with a trump card. Unfortunately, they didn't know who they were dealing with. A joker.
The lawyer looked him in the eyes. "State your name, for the record."
"I am Scott Casas."
"Mr. Casas, did you see Mr. Douglass at any time deal drugs to this man?" the lawyer said, as he pointed to the squealer sitting behind him. He swung his body around in an over-inflated state of confidence, facing the defendant.
Scott looked at him. "NO."
The room was silent. The lawyer was positive that Scott was going to say, "Yes." He took a deep gulp of air. Looked at Scott again and asking more assertively, "Scott, did you see Ian at any time dealing drugs to this man?"
The response did not change. "NO."
The lawyer glared at him. He looked like a brother staring at a sibling who just told his mother what they were actually doing with the matches. "Well, what did you see, then?"
Scott stood up. "I SAW ALIENS! THEY WERE GREEN!! AND THEY HAD THIS!!!"
Suddenly Scott reached into his pocket and lobbed green jello at the lawyer. The lawyer lunged behind the desk.
Mr. Bodell dropped his head and put his hands on the sides of his temples. His receding hairline fell back three inches.
My brother's jaw dropped.
The bailiff lunged at Scott.
"BACK OFF, MAN, I'M LOADED!!" Scott reached into his other pocked and drew a water pistol. He took direct aim and hit the bailiff in the face. The bailiff dodged a few more shots before subduing the subject. Scott Casas was quickly and quietly ushered out of the door.
Everyone stood silent. Fike and I stood silent in the back, holding back tears of laughter.
The lawyer finally looked up. Pathetically, he said, "Next witness."
Adam, with a huge smirk on his face, stood up.
Mr. Bodell looked at him with dread and understanding. "Ah. . . No. . . . Next witness, please."
But that, too, was too late. Adam reached in for his gun. "BUT I TELL YOU, IT WAS ALIENS!!!"
He rushed at Mr. Bodell, gun blazing. Like Scott, he was quickly subdued by two people, the bailiff and, of course, my brother.
It was my turn. The excitement was over. We were real witnesses.
We had gotten our shares of coke from yet another person; and like good droogs, we held our tongue. Our source? She was never identified.
Of course, I knew that the next day, some green aliens would make a surprise visit to Mr. Bodell's second hour law class.
Ultimately, Ian Douglass was found innocent.
1 comment:
Like most of the things I did in high school, I have only the vaguest recollection of this event ever occurring (maybe my mind was wiped by the aliens?). Luckily we all have Murf to document these highlights for us. It's sad to think that this kind of hijinx would probably get a kid expelled these days and placed on the terror suspect list.
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