Sunday, January 2, 2011

My Favorite Things

HAPPY 2011!

I hope you're having a great year so far. Mine seems to be pretty much like the old one (go to Petsmart on Saturdays and try to convince people to accept cats as their saviors). But as we contemplate the future, let us not forgot our past, our heritage, our snarky roots. So, with no further ado, let me share with you one of WoC's favorite Dr. Mike tales. As always, the story is true, but the names, facts, and events were changed to protect the innocent.

Some years ago, one of my so-called colleagues heard me tell the story of a drug raid I went on in a working class neighborhood in Wilmington.

Doesn't that just draw you in? It's like the time a while back when one of my so-called friends heard me tell the story about how I went back in time and killed Hitler when he was a baby; you know that you just have to know more about how that "friend" is a liberal, hippie, feminist jerk.

I approached a crack house with a law enforcement officer who had instructed me to purchase one crack rock from a man in a wheelchair who was on parole.

Because when you want to entrap the handicapped, Dr. Mike is your man!

When the coast was clear we went inside. Before long, the drug agent was given consent to search the parolee's room. Needless to say, he was in possession of numerous crack pipes, some used recently.

Needless to say.

In order to be spared from a trip back to prison the parolee had to provide information leading to a bigger catch before the evening ended. Because of the constant influx of prostitutes, users, and other dealers that wasn't hard to do. In fact, it was a small time heroin dealer -- a friend of the parolee's - that intervened and led the agent to an amount of heroin sufficient to divert his attention from the handicapped felon.

This is truly and inspirational story of how the police keep you and me safe from used crack pipes, addicts in wheel chairs, and small amounts of heroin.

I had hoped it would only be a few minutes that I was left there in the crack house while the agent went to check out the lead. But I sat through an entire HBO movie while the crack heads drank and smoked everything in sight -- but not any crack as they assumed I was an agent.

Yes, Mike's friend the drug agent left Dr. Mike alone in a crack house with a bunch of crack heads for an entire evening! I can just imagine the call to headquarters: "Hey, I have a 288 in progress, a smarty-pants criminology professor who thinks he is a tough guy because he owns some guns and who won't shut-up about how is so-called colleagues are a bunch of dicks. I'm going to ditch him at a crack house and go on dinner break for a couple of hours. Oh, and why don't you tell Joey the Backstabbing Snitch that the big time DEA agent whom Louis the Crime Boss was looking for will be at 193 Tenement street all night."

Anyway, the punchline is that while Dr. Mike's so-called colleague thinks that Dr. Mike is a racist, the joke is on him because the handicapped addict is really white. What a great story!

If you have any requests for any other revisits to Ghosts of Wingnuts past, just let us know. Or, if you want to share your own stories of drug raids in which you participated, go right ahead.


Brian Schlosser said...

How about some vintage Swank? The Good Pastor has been awfully quiet of late...

M. Bouffant said...

As always, looking to the future. I'm going on a drug raid Tues., once the gummint check gets here. Let you know how it turns out!

D. Sidhe said...

Okay, I'm not going to read the column, but are we sure that this specific incident is what Mikes's colleague was referring to when he called him a racist? Because he may have just been listing his major personality traits. You know: Dr Mike is smug, entitled, cowardly, a shitty tipper, misogynist, homophobic, mendacious, racist...

I mean, even if I had never heard this little Mitty-esque anecdote, and Dr Mike had just come to me to help him write a personal ad for "Dicks Unlimited" magazine, I would still probably come up with "racist" within three sentences or less. Just sayin'.

Hey, s.z., have you and Scott considered doing a chapter on Lance Henriksen movies? Because, wow. Maybe something about "How To Say No To People, Even When They're Offering Money".

heydave said...

I am afraid to offer any suggestion, if only because I find myself wondering wait, WTF? There was a point in the dribble somewhere? What?

Too much psychic damage too early in the morning.

On happier notes, my holiday vacation begins today!

p.s. word verification "sards"

Given the topic of Dr. Mikey and his ilk, I think it was supposed to say "tards"

James Briggs Stratton "Doghouse" Riley said...

Ah, yes, the glory days of 2006. Back before the courts tried to explain to Crazy Mike Adams, Ph.D the legal distinction between Free Speech and Unchecked Hallucinations.

Maybe it's the turning over of a new calendar page, but it's interesting to reflect that there was a time, not so long ago, really, when a young and idealistic Mike Adams, Doctor of Crazy, must have looked at the fresh-laid Information Highway and thought, Y'know, here's an entire universe where I can peddle my pathologies and no one can laugh in my face before I've finished a paragraph.

StringonaStick said...

Dr Mike's cop buddies left him in a house where the cops had just popped a resident, and left him there for hours even after he'd obviously been the one who bought the crack (I doubt the veracity of this detail) that caused the bust. Riiiiiggghhhhttt.

Quite the fantasy world he's got going for him; no doubt that alone had some impact on past tenure considerations. Thankfully.

Kathy said...

Even if the story is a total (stupid) fantasy, I really love the image of Dr. Mike sitting watching HBO all evening in a Crack House. I wonder what the movies were?

Jay B. said...

The War on Drugs, sadly, missed a real opportunity to take another victim.

D. Sidhe said...

Dear Penthouse Forum,
I never thought something like this could happen to me. The other night, a couple of cops--blond, blue eyed, six five, and *totally* built, they could have been twins--busted in my door and said I was under arrest. They were waving around their nightsticks and before I knew it they had me in handcuffs! They hustled me out to the car and manhandled me into the cage. One of them pinched my ass, so already I had a feeling I knew where this was going. They surprised me, though, by taking me to this costume party. They told me the place was a "crack den" and told me I had to go in and "buy a rock" from this one guy, and to bring it right back out. So I go in, and oh, man, these guys? They're all half-naked and sweaty, and way better looking than the "crack heads" on those TV shows! I got the "crack rock" from this guy, and went back out to the cops, and they said, "Well, where's the rest?" sounding all stern. I said that was it, and they started threatening to "strip search" me. I told them I had nothing to hide, and one of them got up real close to me and said, "Feels like a loaded weapon you got there". So they took me back inside, where the sweaty guys had put on a movie. It was a really hot flick, but after a while nobody was really paying any attention to it at all...

Bill S said...

Have you been reading my diary, D. Sidhe?
Actually, I don't think Mikey is capable of writing erotic fiction. He can barely construct a plausable crime fantasy, and he's allegedly a criminology professor. Considering how disgusted he is by sex, it's scary to imagine what could turn him on. He hates women and he hates gay men-what's left?

D. Sidhe said...

I think I once posited a yard full of shallow graves for decapitated RealDolls.

Doesn't he really just seem like the sort of guy who would be out there killing whores and masturbating onto their dead bodies before crying himself to sleep? There's just something distinctly wrong about that man.

Brian Schlosser said...

"Doesn't he really just seem like the sort of guy who would be out there killing whores and masturbating onto their dead bodies before crying himself to sleep?"

Crying? I doubt it. I imagine he sees himself as a Nimrod type, a mighty warrior before the Lord, doing holy work by cleansing the world of sin and lustfullness.

D. Sidhe said...

You've seen his pic, right? I've known guys like that. They're weepers. They think of themselves as holy warriors or as super men, but it's just crazed self-image that keeps them alive from morning to morning. Don't get me wrong, these are the sorts of guys that can certainly drug or even suffocate the hooker, but they get as far as pulling the first toenail out and start sobbing as they vomit.

It doesn't make them any less dangerous, it doesn't make them any less creepy. It just means wives and girlfriends are probably safe-ish (though I would not issue insurance on their mothers), and pros and one-night-stands know to run as soon as they suggest the cold bath.

trashfire said...

I call bullshit on this whole story because you don't need permission to search a parolee's premises, or even probable cause. Standard terms of parole. Plus, if the users had "made" him, as implied by their refusal to use anything illegal in front of him, would he have really walked out of there alive and in one piece?
Sounds like he carved up a detective novel manuscript that had been rejected by everyone, and pretended it happened to him on his blog.

Kathy said...

BillS: "He hates women and he hates gay men-what's left?"

Robots, of course. Till then, just himself I guess. Tho I bet he gets a lot of "not tonight I have a headache" responses from his, uh, body.