Freedom Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry

“Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.”

Since that is my standard mantra after getting zapped by a stunner gun, I know that voice must be mine. I’ve got my eyes pinched tightly shut, by choice, and my arms and legs are chaffing at the ankles and wrists from the all too familiar restraints. The restraints are absolutely not of my choosing and feel like the overly-thick bands with lambswool lining that are favored by the Shoal Creek Mental Hospital, aka the Loonie Bin.

That would be the self-same Loonie Bin I write so much about. Maybe I write so much about it because I’m crazy and spend so much time there. Another choice- I’m keeping my eyes pinched tight because I fear I might have done something terrible enough to be locked up to the Bin.


The reason I’m wondering about the terrible possibilities is because I always lose my short term memory with a good jolt of Direct Current. The memory loss and diamond cutter erections are the mainstays of my DC experiences.

“I think he’s coming around.” A woman’s voice that I think I recognize.

Then an unfamiliar female voice, “His erection looks painful, Special Agent.” Then an audible sigh followed by, “Should I do something for it?”

“No problem, nurse. I’ll fix that when I can get him home.”

That’s SAC Ellen’s voice- thank you God. I’m thinking now might be a good time to open my eyes and assess my damages.

“Evening ladies. What’s shaking besides the arrow in my quiver?” Am I clever with the ladies or what? Then I thought to add, “Looks like Cupid left a little sumpin-sumpin for somebody.”

“That arrow has escaped its quiver, Mooner, and it’s scaring the natives. Let’s get you dressed and to my apartment before someone gets hurt. I’ve got some Carta Blanca on ice and I changed the sheets before coming down.”

“Oh boy, tazer sex! Let me call Gnat and cancel my schedule for tomorrow.” Gnat is my very trusty and trusted assistant, a former Russian mail order bride with keen organizational skills.

“Already done, Mooner, but I told her only that you might be a little late. I’ve got to fly to Washington DC for another silly meeting.” SAC Ellen hates meetings.

You know folks, I was hoping that when we elected Obama to be our president that some of the wasted meetings would be shed from national politics. Senseless meetings are like old dog hairs- if you don’t shed them they end up in somebody’s soup. I haven’t seen any less wasted time in the federal government since the elections, but I must say that we seem to be spending less time with our feet in our mouth and our head up our ass as a result of having met.

I saw a headline in the paper the other day that said, “Dick Cheney Hospitalized For Distress.”

“Whose distress?” was my first question, and second was, “As much as that bastard distressed me why wouldn’t my health insurance cover a stay for me to get over that malady?”

I’d call it, “Right-Wing Republican Religious-Right Baptist Shitball-Controlled Distressed Syndrome, or RWRRRBCDS for short.”

We could get Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson to do a big clinical study and I would be in the control group. I like being in control. Which reminds me about my psycho therapy session this morning and I now realize that my ADHD has digressed the ever-loving shit out of all of us because today is Tuesday June 29th, and I was starting this blogger posting with the finishing touches to a story that happened late last Monday night, and early Tuesday morning, the 21st and 22nd.

And now I realize that was terrible run-on sentence but I can’t figure how to break it up and still convey the specific meaning I intended for you to grasp from the carefully crafted original prose. I asked Gram to read it and help me with a restructuring but she said to me, she says, “Who gives a shit Mooner. Run-ons an run-downs are all tha same. But me, I fall straight ta sleep with sum a yur sin taxes.”

Back to last week before I forget. I was strapped to a bed to the emergency room at Shoal Creek Mental Hospital- that’s where the Deputy Sheriffs took me once they phoned the incident in to their superior. Sheriff Woozie Wozniak is a lifelong buddy of mine and a giant pain in the ass. Once he heard what happened and who it was, he had them drop me off the the Loonie Bin while he called my main squeeze, SAC Ellen.

The nice nurse lady was new and had little knowledge of me and my ass show shenanigans. “Can I ask a question, sir?”

“Only if you call me Mooner,” I told her.

“OK, Mooner. Why is the hair on your handsome bottom plucked and dyed red, white and blue?”

I had a ready answer for that one. “Well, this pretty Special Agent for the United States Department of Homeland Security and I are headed to west Texas on Friday so I can march in the big July 4th Parade.” Then I thought to add, “When I get my pants to my ankles and the SAC-ster torches off my sparklers and Roman candles- why I’m a one-man America’s birthday extravaganza.”

“Ooo, how exciting,” she almost squealed with glee. “You’ve got a little 5 O’Clock shadow popped up back there. How about I lather you up and put a sharp edge to things.”

“And how about I arrest you for eyeballing my prisoner after you’ve already had three warnings?” This from the semi-hostile guardian of America’s borders that I call, “Sweetie.”

Now me, I have heard but one previous warning so I don’t fully understand the territorial threat in SAC Ellen’s voice. But I do know that she is a level-headed, just and fair person even though she was promoted to her lofty position by the previous, Republican administration, so I’m fearful for the nice nurse.

“Don’t fight over me girls,” I intervene. “I’m not worth the effort.”

The expected chorus of, “Oh, you’re worth fighting over to the death,” never came because the nice nurse took the hint and left the room.

I got dressed and checked out by 2:50 am and we drove to SAC Ellen’s place over to the north campus area. It was maybe a five-minute drive from the Loonie Bin. I now know that she moved to this place to be closer to me when I spent all that time locked up to Shoal Creek. We had cold Carta Blanca beers and some sweaty tazer sex and I guess we napped for awhile as well. Her alarm clock went off at 9 am and we got up and into the shower at which time the lingering effects of the tazer blast provided additional entertainment.

As we were dressing, the SAC’ster said to me, she says, “Hey Mooner, call the judge and thank him for jailing you yesterday. I needed this before facing this damned meeting this week.” Then she thought a minute and said, “I guess it would be the Judge jailing you that led to the zapping.”

I told her, “I think that would be accurate,” and that I would call, and we dressed. Thank goodness I have a change of stuff there to her place because my jury duty clothes were a bloody mess. She dropped me to the impound place to where my car had been towed and I paid the almost $500.00 in charges that had built-up in less than a day. My normal behavior would be to get arrested and or tazed again with an emotional outburst about how unfair all of this was and how none of it was my fault and all of that.

Nope, I took my punches like the man I have become and felt grateful for my service to my country. I took jury duty seriously and never once attempted to be falsely released from serving. I think I went far beyond the call for duty and made efforts uncommon in most men.

I am a certified nut case but I think a true American.

If you think about it, the great American Jury- those twelve tried and true, are the final true firewall between innocent people and potentially abusive power structures. Without the Jury, law enforcement, governments and brutish businessmen could ruin the fabric of freedom and free enterprise that makes America what it is at its best.

I think this is the end of what you need to hear about me attempting to serve on a jury, but I want to push a point maybe harder than is necessary. It doesn’t matter what you are- your color, sexual orientation, political ideology or religious system because we, as Americans, we each have the same rights.

And responsibilities.

Somehow we need to stop all extremists from using our freedom-based Constitutional governments to force their agenda and non-Constitutional belief systems down our throats. Stop with all of the religious-based politics. Religion is a personal choice the same as abortion and it has no place in lawmaking.

Stop calling me un American just because I have beliefs other than yours. The real difference between us is that I think you have the right to think as you do and that I don’t have the right to force you to do as I wish. When we govern based upon religion and/or ethnicity, what we get is Hitler’s Germany and Afghanistan. No amount of so called silent majority has the right to make America into their image just because they have the votes.

Let adult Americans make decisions for themselves. Let freedom ring!

I”ll be on vacation until July 6th, 2010.

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One Response to “Freedom Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry”

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