“We have a warrant to search your house,” Fatso says.
“Some suspicious items were spotted everywhere.”
“Oh? What do they look like?”
Fatso consulted his notepad. “Black, white, some brown, ferocious looking.”
Gee, you think to yourself, that really narrows it down.
“Are you keeping me here till you’re finished searching?”
Fatso ignores you again and says he’ll be right back. He lied. You wait over an hour. When he finally returns, he’s no in a good mood nor does he offer you coffee or another Pepsi. You’re thinking you could really use a cigarette now, although you don’t smoke. Continue reading
Life was returning somewhat to normal, although I knew it would never be the same. I was still a fascinating topic of discussion on many websites that I decided not to read them anymore. Requests for interviews were coming less and less. One young lady who worked for the local TV news sent me an email. She wanted to give me a voice and get the truth out there. She told me I had been viciously mauled by the newspapers. They printed my mugshot with such regularity that my lawyer said it was time for a new picture. An editor came to my home and took several photographs. Her article was sensitive and the photo she used was the one where I was sitting at the kitchen table with my hands folded. This was the first time I saw how emasculated I really was. But it was a nice picture. My hair was cut and my beard was gone. I looked human again. Continue reading