today apparently, my brother disobeyed the law. and not in the sense of rolling thru a stop sign or ripping the tags off mattresses at the store. oh no. he brought down the ENTIRE martinez police force on himself and his young, stupid, pot-smoking friend bobby. and how did he do this?, you might very well ask. the answer–fireworks. illegal. oh yes.
i just got an email from my mother that says:
Just had a cop here to see if Adam was my son.� He and Bobby set off some fireworks earlier and didn’t get out of town fast enough.� There were about 4 cops out on the street talking with them, but they let them go.� Seems lots of people called including another cop who said they sounded just like gunshots.� The one talking with me wanted me to know that all martinez cops were in the neighborhood NONE WERE ANYWHERE ELSE! because of my son.� Doesn’t that make you feel proud?
end email.
it makes you wonder how many cops there really are in martinez. 5? it makes you wonder what happened to the apathetic draw of the donut shop. jared? it makes you wonder when my brother is going to learn not to pull this stupid shit. never.
you wanna know how he got the fireworks? he gave some free wood to a guy who came to big b. and in exchange the guy gave him a couple hundred dollars worth of fireworks. we set off a whole bunch on the fairway at sunset river resort over christmas. even blew the head off a snowman for the hell of it. so…really who am i to talk? i even advocated the insertion of multiple bombs in the set-off-tube for the grand finale christmas show. dangerous? oh yes. admittedly it didn’t work. but still. there was the potential that instead of firing upwards it could fire sideways into one of the small watching children who didn’t have the sense to back up as far as i did. stupid children.
in a weird way i AM kind of proud of him. i mean, maybe it’s a special skill type feat to get the whole police force out in blue waylaying him on the sidewalk, lighter in hand. oh wait…that wasn’t as cool the last time that happened when mark luna threw the bong AT the police cruiser. well but fireworks are cooler. i do like fireworks. during the day though? what’s he thinking? that’s not cool. hmmm all of a sudden this entire endeavor is seeming more and more stupid.
wowwww. it’s also possible though, isn’t it, that the cop who talked to your mom just cannot count higher than five. so he just assumes that all numbers over 5 are actually the same number. 30 cops on the force, 5 cops on the street, same difference.
Welllll…at least your brother gave the cops something to do. It’s not like Martinez is some hot bed for illegal activity.
maybe he lost 2 fingers from one hand and 3 from another in a freak hot oil accident at the donut shop. therefore he can’t possibly count higher than 5 as he doesn’t have the necessary equipment to do so. mind you, he’s also got to have prosthetic legs so as to have no toes to use. or MAYBE he doesn’t know how to unlace his shoes, or CAN’T because of the lack of fingers so he hasn’t seen his toes in oh so many years that he’s lost track of what they look like.
he must have a raging rivalry with the dyslexic police officers.
Men in Blue–UNTIE!
oh yes. it’s like a hot-bed of police unrest over in martinez, what with the dyslexics and the incompetents.
HA!! i can’t believe we both used the phrase “hot-bed” there. (i wrote mine before seeing yours, mind.)
I remember, way back in the summer of 1997, when a group of us made a rendezvous at Dan’s house, where Grace was throwing a party. A kid named Keith Castillo beat up Jason Fong, and punched others. As a result, I had a cut/swollen lip for about my first two weeks of college – I don’t know the extent of anyone else’s injuries.
When we called the police from Long-Hai’s house, a Martinez cop showed up. Ostensibly, he was there to take our statements, but his real purpose seemed to convince us not to file a report. We didn’t. Later, my cop uncle (from the relatively meaner streets of Pleasant Hill) told me that Martinez police were notorious for trying to avoid paperwork, or work of any sort.
Obviously, this doesn’t extend to *fire*work(s).
i went to elementary school with keith castillo. him and that other boy…shit…what’s his name? he was blond. uh….well anyway, they both got held back in 5th grade because they were young punks. there was something about fighting during a baseball game. or maybe i just saw them once during a baseball game. my memory is very poor. my point here is just that keith and i go way back. other than the fact that i don’t think i ever saw him again after middle school. and all i saw of him then was that he was one grade below me and a fucking punk in a poof jacket. ah poof jackets. ya gotta love those late 80’s trends.
somebody beat up JASON FONG? why would you do that? why? it’s so 1950’s high school film.
martinez? is it really the name of a town?
was it formed by a group of major league baseball players who share the same last name? maybe in the future there will be a town called “ichiro.”
btw, how do you write so much? krikey, it doesn’t make sense that in all of the photos you post, there is no keyboard attached to your body.