Monday, December 07, 2009

I'm a lonesome fugitive.

I knew this double life would catch up to me sooner or later. I just hate for it to end like this. I'm a wanted man now. An outlaw. A desperado with a checkered past and now I'm on the run. Don't try to stop me and I can't take you with me. It's too dangerous for you and you would only slow me down. It has to be like this so be strong.

I just got a letter in the mail from Justice Court of Uintah County, State of Utah. It is a warrant for my arrest commanding all peace officers in the state of Utah to attach my body (whatever that means) before the court asap. To be served day or night, Sunday or holidays. Evidently, that terminology is only used for the really hardened criminals like myself who are convicted of the crime of...wait for'll love it...wait for it..."improper lane travel w/ crash". Yep! They gave me a ticket for crashing my motorcycle in their state.

My last memory was riding down the road, no alcohol or excessive speed involved, and then waking up in the hospital. I still don't know who found me as I was unconcious for several hours and when I woke up in the hospital there was a traffic ticket literally stuck in my pocket! So, evidently, the state trooper who was first on the scene took my gun from my possesion and replaced it with a ticket for not signaling that I was about to crash. He crammed a ticket into the front pocket of my lifeless body and then drove home with my pistol!

So, let this be a lesson to you, kids. Make sure your lane travel w/ crash is proper or at least don't do it improperly in Uintah County Utah because now I must be moving on. They'll never catch me alive because I can't go back to the Mormon Big House, you hear me?! I can't. It's a life of the bandit wanderer for me now, always one step ahead of the law. I looked for trouble and I found it, son, straight down the barrel of a lawman's gun... oh, wait, that's my gun!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ridin' on two wheels, old hoss,
was gonna make you mean and lean.
But now you wear a skunkskin cap,
and your lips are smeared with Vaseline.
You were your mother's only son, not her favorite one it seems,
She shook her head and wiped her eyes, and helped you zip your jeans.

Ol' trooper was a bandit born, ready for an easy meal,
lookin' for hisself a chance,
to "borrow" someone's cold blue steel.
Trooper found his mark that day, at the signpost by the road you lay.
Nobody seen him steal that gun, no one that would say.

All them Brigham Youngers say, they coulda had you any day.
Uintah somethin'? They ain't sayin'.

They woulda kept your Taurus, son,
ah, but that ain't how you roll...