Crazy Aunt Helen: In the Slammer!

3218913147_5992a8b38cDear Aunt Helen,

Everytime I turn my car it makes this sputtering rak-rak-rak-ing sound. What the fuck?

Stumped in Stumptown

I recently had a rather unpleasant run in with The Law.  Since women got the right to vote when I was just a wee girl of three, my father and my father’s father told me everyday that I must vote Republican “The Right is always right” as my grandfather Aloyisius P. Wraithbone used to say.  I always believed him too, but after the treatment I experienced in that monstrous police station, I know that whoever is in charge can only be corrupt and evil! Perhaps I will cast my vote for John W. Davis in the election this November after all–maybe the Democrats  do have some compassion!

I woke up one morning and for some reason which has still not revealed itself to me, I was laying on the ground outside of the Irish alcohol vending-building in the center of town.  A smashed drinking glass lay next to me on the sidewalk, my makeup and personal affects were strewn about and I had the most terrible cottonmouth of my life.  The debris on the ground points roundly to an assault, and I believe it is very likely that I was made by my attackers to drink copious  amounts of grain alcohol which then caused me to fall unconscious.  Oddly, not one of my personal items were missing. The knowledge that these scoundrel’s wanted only to assault a glamorous woman of a certain age, as she harmlessly sifted through the rubbish bins outside a wealthy dowager’s townhome is a sad and sorry comment on society.

I sallied forth to the police precient–not easy to do with one missing shoe!–and demanded that the young Nubian woman at the desk bring me to the police captain. She just stared at me , and for a moment I was worried that she didn’t understand English! Slowly she got up from the desk and walked towards the rear of the room beckoning me to follow. She introduced me to the most unhelpful policemen that have ever carried a gun!  They said there was no “evidence” or “proof” to back up my story of assault, and that I seemed “intoxicated”!  Can you imagine? The audacity!

I insisted that my intoxication was a consequence of my assaulotrs pouring pure grain alcohol down my throat but the police were brutish in their insistence that I had come by the alcohol intake of my own volition! Well! I wasn’t having any of it an proceeded to grab the shoulders of the most portly fellow on the force and shake him until his glasses smashed on the floor and his teeth rattled!

“I demand satisfaction!” I cried.

And then everything went black.

The next thing I knew, I was awakened by the sound of of bars rattling. I looked up and saw that I was laying on the filthy floor of a prison cell.  There were other people in there. A woman dressed as a tart, three wild-eyed looking men and several young people of the Mexican persuasion.  My head was throbbing and I felt weak. The guard told me that I could come out and go home, if I felt like I had “slept it off”.

I stood up, wrapped myself tighter in the quilt I had been using as a shawl and drew myself up to my full height.

“I may have slept off the physical abuse of your fellow charlatans,” I stated, in a measured, confident tone. “But I shall never, NEVER sleep off my desire for JUSTICE! Vive La Revolution!”

Everyone in the holding cell applauded, but the guard, clearly shamed by my words handed me a manila envelope with my belongings and pointed to the door.

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