Page 17 - Foresthill

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The Boy Named Sue, or Why You Shouldn’t Pee into a Sock 3
ing the stolen car, Sue had the attendant help her push the caddy into a
parking space. Sue sat in the car, hoping for the pimp’s return. Alas, her
business manager had decided to abandon his primary business asset as
well as the purloined vehicle. As it grew dark, Sue came to understand
that she was on her own.
Sue decided that she needed to try to secure a ride back to San Fran-
cisco in a vehicle other than the Caddy. There was precious little nearby,
except for a tavern catering to the trucker crowd. Sue swaggered into
the tavern, eager to catch the eye of a west bound driver. It seems that
Sue made many new friends that night. Sue danced and sang, and was
the belle of the ball. Sue never had to buy a beer. Her imitation of Meg
Ryan in the screaming orgasm scene (“I’ll have what she’s having!”)
from “When Harry Met Sally” was especially well received. However, as
closing time approached, Sue sadly realized that the only proposals she’d
received were either from short haul or eastbound truckers. As she bid
fond farewell to her new friends, she dejectedly made her way back to
the Caddy, intending on sleeping in the back seat and trying to hitchhike
in the morning. Sue figured that, at a minimum, the attendant might have
second thoughts, and a barter arrangement might be reached.
It was around this time that the County Sheriff Dispatch relayed a
citizen call to a patrol officer. It seems that a bleary eyed driver pulled
off the highway, saw a large woman squatting in a gas station parking lot;
and she appeared to be peeing into a sock.
The nearby officer responded, and found Sue lying in the back of the
car, snoring like a buzz saw. The car indeed came up recently stolen, and
Sue was taken into custody to be charged with Penal Code section 496
(possessing a car that belongs to someone else). Sue said she didn’tste
althegoddamnsonofafuckingbitchofacocksuckingwhoreofacar; and then
sagely asked to speak to a lawyer. She was taken to jail and booked. The
next day, yours truly, Uncle David, was appointed to represent the lovely
Sue. The peals of laughter I uttered were most unprofessional, echoing
off the cinder block holding cell and carrying out to the courtroom. It
was without question the best story I’d heard in a week. I couldn’t help
but notice that Sue had been booked as a woman. She complained that
the bra was far too snug and she demanded another.
I returned to court to conference with the DA, who made a standard
sort of offer to resolve the case. I declined. The DA asked why. I replied
that I wouldn’t miss this trial for the world. The DA, smelling a rat (or
perhaps it was the odor of the holding cells wafting into the court room)