Hangout Review
Kickin’ it with My Law-Breakin’ Homies
at the Burbank Courthouse
June 6, 2005
I rolled up around 8:15 but the place didn’t start fillin’ up for awhile. The honorable Phillip G. Tanklin, or Tank, throws a hell of a party, and once again he didn’t disappoint. I wish I could say this was my first time partyin’ with Tank, but I’d actually been there two years earlier. That time I was being sued by an asshole but managed to win. This time I was guilty.
When the doors finally opened, the crowd parted and formed two lines along opposite sides of the room. Ninety percent of the people joined the traffic infractions line, while the other ten percent–myself included–stood like pack of menacing dogs under the ‘criminal’ sign. We leaned against the wall, scowling and admiring our knuckles, while the traffic pussies occasionally glanced over, most certainly wondering what we were in for. For all they knew I coulda’ killed a man and eaten his chin. (I was actually in for a P.U.I. or public urination, but I wasn’t about to let anyone know that.) It felt pretty good, as I’m about the most harmless, law-abiding pansy this side of Garden Grove. I could sense some of the girls makin’ eyes at me, wondering what a real bad boy like myself might have done.
Once all the administrative bologna was taken care of we were escorted to the division 3 courtroom. It was a curious mix: drug offenders, wife-beaters, cat burglars, drunk drivers, a few gang bangers and some fat man in an expensive suit who looked like an Armenian mob boss. The wife-beaters were by far the creepiest, so I didn’t even bother talkin’ to those dudes. The druggies were more my speed, but I was a little worried they wouldn’t be into hangin’ with a public urinator. Other than some scrawny Leo Fitzpatrick look-alike who scoffed when the City Attorney read my charge, everyone was really friendly and welcoming. I told the druggies how I’m usually waayyyy badder than a P.U.I. That I’m always getting "super wasted" on all kinds of hard shit and that I, too, think laws are total fucking bullshit.
The actual hearing was pretty speedy. I pled guilty and Tank asked if I’d learned my lesson. I told him I had. He warned that a second offense meant a mandatory six months of “toilet school,” then cracked a sly smile and winked. I smiled back and explained that this whole ordeal was a real wake-up call, that I was really gonna’ get my life back together and start peeing in toilets. He thought that sounded like a great idea and wished me luck. I bid him good day, and exited the courtroom.
I paid the clerk the $185 fine using my new Bank of America Miles Edge card and walked out of the courthouse a free man. I ran into Leo Fitzpatrick on my way out and shot him a look, like, “What’s up now, bitch?” He didn’t say shit.
