“Hey Batiste, I stopped taking those pills because they didn’t help my ellipsia.”
“You mean epilepsy?”
Vogel caught on and interjected his thoughts on the conversation, “Oh, those things you wear on your shoulders?”
“No, those are epaulettes.”
“Oh, you mean like what you put a letter in before you mail it?”
“No, that’s an envelope.”
“Oh, you mean like going to Vegas to get married?” “No, that’s elope.”
“Oh, I have those things on the bottoms of my ears.”
David Howe was doing time for false imprisonment. The case got so much publicity his ex-wife was on Oprah. Apparently he locked his family up in their house. He padlocked the doors from the outside, and put tin foil on the outside of the windows. The neighbors never said a word. The children never attempted to escape when they went to school. They were threatened with the death of their mother. What finally broke them free was when the wife learned to use the Internet to create an e-mail account. She contacted the police via e-mail. God only knows how long this shit would have gone on without the Internet.
Without his medication, Howe had too much time to think about his crime. That caused him to throw pity parties, and nobody was coming but him. Howe filled his lock box with library books and water, and then wedged it between the door and the bed.
We locked down the entire house. Nobody was going anywhere. The gallery where he lived was evacuated, and the remainder of the house received sack lunches. No inmate would be allowed to leave the house.
Howe was really twitching, “I want the Secret Service. I want the FBI. I want the National Guard.”
“Half the fucking staff is in the National Guard!” “Should I tell him they are here already?”
“Why do you think we are so short-handed in the summer, you fucking knuckleheaded retard?”
My co-worker, Elizabeth McCourt said to Howe, “Have I ever been evil to you?”
“You’re on the payroll, you’re in on it.”
Howe’s cell was in the lower gallery of a split-level housing unit. An academy classmate, Tim Dahl, was watching him through the external window to the cell.
“He’s swingin’ now! The mother-fucker is blue!” The mother fucker was blue. He tried it three times, and
on the fourth time he tried to get up but passed out. Howe thought it was a plot to kill him, but the jaws of life were used to get into his room.
“How long was I out?” asked Howe. “Not long enough.”
“No really, how long was I out?”
“Three days, hope you don’t mind if I used your bathroom.”
The drama was better than the soap operas. Days after the event, Joe “The Hammer” Ruth was making fun of him, “I had myself barricaded in my room, but nobody noticed, and I got hungry.”
On the day before his suicide attempt, Howe informed us that if a pardon came down from the Governor’s office, he did not want it. Even the new staff would not believe that a pardon would be granted to this evil bastard. “Only innocent people should get pardoned. I don’t deserve it.”
“Can you imagine the sea of estrogen present at Howe’s parole hearing? Oh man, it would be an angry swell. There is no fucking way he will parole. It will not be allowed.
Any man that even hints at approving his release is shut off for life.”
I can just see Oprah on the television, granted, not in these exact words, “You had better give him life without parole, or you’ll get life without pussy.”
“I’ll take a fur-burger and thighs with a cherry bend-over to go.”
“You mean epilepsy?”
Vogel caught on and interjected his thoughts on the conversation, “Oh, those things you wear on your shoulders?”
“No, those are epaulettes.”
“Oh, you mean like what you put a letter in before you mail it?”
“No, that’s an envelope.”
“Oh, you mean like going to Vegas to get married?” “No, that’s elope.”
“Oh, I have those things on the bottoms of my ears.”
David Howe was doing time for false imprisonment. The case got so much publicity his ex-wife was on Oprah. Apparently he locked his family up in their house. He padlocked the doors from the outside, and put tin foil on the outside of the windows. The neighbors never said a word. The children never attempted to escape when they went to school. They were threatened with the death of their mother. What finally broke them free was when the wife learned to use the Internet to create an e-mail account. She contacted the police via e-mail. God only knows how long this shit would have gone on without the Internet.
Without his medication, Howe had too much time to think about his crime. That caused him to throw pity parties, and nobody was coming but him. Howe filled his lock box with library books and water, and then wedged it between the door and the bed.
We locked down the entire house. Nobody was going anywhere. The gallery where he lived was evacuated, and the remainder of the house received sack lunches. No inmate would be allowed to leave the house.
Howe was really twitching, “I want the Secret Service. I want the FBI. I want the National Guard.”
“Half the fucking staff is in the National Guard!” “Should I tell him they are here already?”
“Why do you think we are so short-handed in the summer, you fucking knuckleheaded retard?”
My co-worker, Elizabeth McCourt said to Howe, “Have I ever been evil to you?”
“You’re on the payroll, you’re in on it.”
Howe’s cell was in the lower gallery of a split-level housing unit. An academy classmate, Tim Dahl, was watching him through the external window to the cell.
“He’s swingin’ now! The mother-fucker is blue!” The mother fucker was blue. He tried it three times, and
on the fourth time he tried to get up but passed out. Howe thought it was a plot to kill him, but the jaws of life were used to get into his room.
“How long was I out?” asked Howe. “Not long enough.”
“No really, how long was I out?”
“Three days, hope you don’t mind if I used your bathroom.”
The drama was better than the soap operas. Days after the event, Joe “The Hammer” Ruth was making fun of him, “I had myself barricaded in my room, but nobody noticed, and I got hungry.”
On the day before his suicide attempt, Howe informed us that if a pardon came down from the Governor’s office, he did not want it. Even the new staff would not believe that a pardon would be granted to this evil bastard. “Only innocent people should get pardoned. I don’t deserve it.”
“Can you imagine the sea of estrogen present at Howe’s parole hearing? Oh man, it would be an angry swell. There is no fucking way he will parole. It will not be allowed.
Any man that even hints at approving his release is shut off for life.”
I can just see Oprah on the television, granted, not in these exact words, “You had better give him life without parole, or you’ll get life without pussy.”
“I’ll take a fur-burger and thighs with a cherry bend-over to go.”
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