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Released from 940: Aw Man!, I Love My Probation Officer

If I am so fortunate as to have readers who follow my column monthly, I can only hope that I have brought some joy to your day and or days, if only briefly. I hope that I have enlightened those of you do-gooders and do-badders alike who have been so fortunate as to have never been caught in acts of mischievous, malfunctioning mishaps. I hope that where I have fallen, you have taken the time to look down. If on the other hand, you are one of the tens of thousands locally who happen to not read my column, then it is highly possible that you have destroyed far fewer brain cells then those that have; however, it will be necessary for your understanding of this article that I hand feed you some of the highlights from last month’s article, which I will sprinkle in where needed throughout.

So, I walk into probation today for my bi-monthly reporting (because that is what us criminals do, we report to our probation officers) and what happens? I’ll tell you what happens but first, let me get this out in the open. I’m an IDIOT! That said, the following example of my idiotdom could be best described by using the format of so many of the great horror movies from the ’70s. You know the deal. Guy with obnoxious chainsaw, beautiful starlet half-dressed, her friends ruthlessly slaughtered as she hides under a couch, the starlet then runs and in doing so completely gives herself away just before running UPSTAIRS assuring that she has no possible route of escape. Suddenly, the camera flashes back to the serial killer who is standing at the foot of the steps and looking up the staircase as if to say “Is she really that dumb?” And here’s where I come in.

Last month I (not my worst enemy . . . well, that’s up for debate.) Let me repeat that I write an article FOR THE PUBLIC TO READ about my probation officer and how my home is always open to the board of probation and parole. I continue to write about how my probation officer comes by late at night to check up on me. I, like an idiot that should have DUMBA$$ stamped on my forehead in an effort to protect and warn any passers-by in order to save them from walking anywhere close to the wreckage of what used to be my life, talk about greeting my probation officer with a friendly smile at a recent home visit. Need I say that the sarcasm literally was so thick that if you pick up a copy of last month’s Pulse, a month later the ink still drips with tongue-in-cheek passages.

Guess what? I go to report to probation and my officer is not in on that particular day so I see another officer, as is protocol, and turn in my paperwork, etcetera. Well, when the substituting officer pulls out my file (it’s kinda thick) I happen to see right there on the top a copy of my article from last month!

Look y’all, I’m not finished yet. So, not only is the damn article sitting on top of my file, (Lord, if you believe that all people were created equal, this is where I beg to differ. I’ve come to the conclusion that if everybody was as dumb as me, there would be no such thing as A.D. because we as a race could have never made it through the B.C. years), as I was saying, there, on top of my file, NEATLY CUT OUT of last month’s Pulse was a copy of my article. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? There is no way in hell that I have ANY true friends and I know this to be a fact because if I did, they would have said: “Jerry. Dumbass! What are you doing, you can’t write that. You cannot taunt your probation officer publicly.” But no, none of these so-called friends stepped up to the plate on that one.

It’s only now, after watching 30 years of cheap horror films, that I have turned around to see “The guy with a chainsaw standing at the bottom” looking up at me like “Did he really just run UP the stairs? Did he really write THAT ARTICLE?”

Listen, I need advice because either the batteries have gone dead in my Garmin, I lost the directions that come with life or all of my teachers and professors have just passed me through the system to get rid of me. Now here I am doggie paddling in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean being controlled and or manipulated by somebody, something that has one hell of a personality. Today, I cannot stand here and tell you who it is that’s in control but the one thing that I happen to know for sure is: I LOVE MY PROBATION OFFICER!

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