Cafe 227

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Still waiting for my parole date...

Ladies and Gentlemen of Cafe 227! I pray that all of you are doing well in your respective locales. My current locale is the same one as the previous 12 weeks: Southeast Georgia, or as you all may remember, the "taint" of the United States. Within this lovely taint, it has come to my attention that I do not belong here. Some may say that I am very conspicuous. That, my friends, would be a gross understatement. Exhibit 1: yesterday, a classmate of mine named Sean aka "Angry Man" and I traversed north on 95 to the lovely city of Savannah for a gunshow (and no, Aziz, not huge biceps gunshow). This was an actual gunshow with guns, knives, gear, and freaky-looking people. Needless to say, the clientele were a little special. Anyway, we park our vehicle in front of the Savannah Civic Center and enter the front door listening for the sounds of gunfire and people screaming "yee-haw" while running in circles. Alas, we heard none of the above but we did manage to find the gunshow in one of the large arenas with a very familiar name. Which arena, might you ask? How about the Martin Luther King Jr. arena! Now, my buddy Johnny Shades is always discussing how the word irony is constantly misused in the English language. Well, Mr. Shades, I think irony works pretty damn well here: the hugest supporter of non-violence this side of Mahatma Gandhi has a freaking gunshow in a room named after him. That is like having the Scripps National Spelling Bee in the Mike Tyson auditorium! I saw Billy Bob, Jethro, Fanny May, and the rest of "clan" walking around with rifles, bullets, and knives. I saw one fool who ran a booth who was missing a finger because he accidentally shot himself with his own gun! I ask all of you, what the hell is going on out here?

Exhibit 2: On FLETC, some of the people who come here are with the Bureau of Prisons. For those who did not hear this story, this article should explain what I am talking about. These people look as if they were former prisoners who were released early and given a job as a federal prison guard. One bama had a t-shirt that read, "My dick smells like chapstick". These are the people who will be issued weapons and a badge! One dude is about 6'6", 350 pounds with long braids. The moniker given to them by one of my classmates is "BOP Trash". If you saw them, you would agree heartily and shake your head in disgust.

On a brighter note, I graduated from the first part of training this past Wednesday. Hooray, only 11 more weeks left. The wedding planning is moving along quickly. For those interested, check out the location of the wedding and the reception. I am glad to hear everyone is doing well. Keep the faith and stay out of the heat.

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