FATTENING FROGS FOR SNAKES
- Exercises in futility
Example:
I got a letter from a rehabilitation center last week. It was an effusion of assinity dipped in religiosity from a bipolar crack head. His ‘graduation date’ was passed by the time the letter arrived. I decided to respond via telephone. He was not at home, and was not expected for several months. He failed to tell me his rehab stint was a segment of a sentence for possession of controlled substances and he had a jail sentence to finish. He also failed to say he blew his chance for almost certain probation by showing up at court off his legal medications and full of crack. His mother talked in deceitful circles, but those pertinent facts were easily gleaned.
For a while, she bemoaned what the 34-year-old boy’s daddy failed and yet fails to do for him, in her estimation.
Then she spewed a litany of other excuses for the boy’s bad outcomes until she remembered I saw the boy’s rearing or lack thereof and hurriedly cut to the chase.
“He needs a little something on the books. Every little bit will help.” She said.
“Looks like y’all will have to curtail the Christmas frenzy this time”, I flatly responded.
That boy has his parents, three siblings and two baby’s mamas, and GETS A CHECK.
I am not inclined to fatten those frogs.
*** Curtain falls and rises *** (times passes)
Someone else did not like my response to the beggar, was stupid enough to call behind her, and pressed the same issue.
Of course, she tried to be slick with it.
Of course, she got her rusty behind greased good. (AKA, the standard mangy dog treatment)
Imagine the teleconferences behind my refusal to be Boo-Boo the Fool.
All I have to do is write that boy in jail and tell him those people are spending his crazy check and begging other people to put something on the books for him.
That and just that alone will keep them too busy running, ducking, and dodging to worry me with that mess ever again.
- Exercises in futility
Example:
I got a letter from a rehabilitation center last week. It was an effusion of assinity dipped in religiosity from a bipolar crack head. His ‘graduation date’ was passed by the time the letter arrived. I decided to respond via telephone. He was not at home, and was not expected for several months. He failed to tell me his rehab stint was a segment of a sentence for possession of controlled substances and he had a jail sentence to finish. He also failed to say he blew his chance for almost certain probation by showing up at court off his legal medications and full of crack. His mother talked in deceitful circles, but those pertinent facts were easily gleaned.
For a while, she bemoaned what the 34-year-old boy’s daddy failed and yet fails to do for him, in her estimation.
Then she spewed a litany of other excuses for the boy’s bad outcomes until she remembered I saw the boy’s rearing or lack thereof and hurriedly cut to the chase.
“He needs a little something on the books. Every little bit will help.” She said.
“Looks like y’all will have to curtail the Christmas frenzy this time”, I flatly responded.
That boy has his parents, three siblings and two baby’s mamas, and GETS A CHECK.
I am not inclined to fatten those frogs.
*** Curtain falls and rises *** (times passes)
Someone else did not like my response to the beggar, was stupid enough to call behind her, and pressed the same issue.
Of course, she tried to be slick with it.
Of course, she got her rusty behind greased good. (AKA, the standard mangy dog treatment)
Imagine the teleconferences behind my refusal to be Boo-Boo the Fool.
All I have to do is write that boy in jail and tell him those people are spending his crazy check and begging other people to put something on the books for him.
That and just that alone will keep them too busy running, ducking, and dodging to worry me with that mess ever again.
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