When Trooper has to take someone to jail, he usually has an interesting experience to relate.
This reminded me of the last few and I figured it was proper to annotate them because – well, it could be a symptom of a growing – er – malaise.
There was a man in an isolation tank, beating on the glass for all he was worth – the only thing he could say was (at the top of his voice), “I”m the black Jessie James, muthafucka!” Over and over, for hours on end.
On a different visit a “couple” seemed to having a spat of some kind – one would say, “Chili-cheese, muthafucka!” and the other would caution him that his bail was low and he’d be getting out soon so look out. The only reply was a loudly reiterated, “Chili-cheese, muthafucka!” – given from a relaxed, prone position, arm over eyes to keep the bright light out. “Stop it, man – stop sayin’ that!” was the cautionary remark. Once again came the only response (seemingly) possible. “Chili-cheese, muthafucka!”
When looked at with a rational mind, it makes zero sense, these blurted offerings. Who knows what reference they hold in the minds so moistly deranged by their drug of choice. Suffice to say that most citizens have not a single clue…those are what will be looking for what you’ve got when the squeeze finally trickles down to them and their monthly stipend.
Admit it, though – it makes one hell of a war-cry…