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.