This one goes back to the tail end of my first stint in Atlanta. The only time Dick Delicious “broke up” was Shortly after our appearance on the Howard Stern show. My new band was called “Operation Asparagus” (operation embarrassment) where I tried to play every single instrument at once surrounded by an army of kung fu hamsters and Singing Fish. I was leaving “practice” on my bike and peddling up North Avenue around 12 AM. I could see that a quarter mile up the hill the cops had a DUI checkpoint. I didn’t have any drugs on me, and I was sober, so I figured rather than getting cased-up scurrying off on one of the side streets where the police always hid for people trying to avoid the roadblocks, it would be better to go through it. They probably won’t even mess with me – I’M SOBER ON A BIKE — RIGHT?
So I put the bike down and sit on the curb while he runs my ID.
Once he's finished, in an extremely thick southern drawl, states, “Did you know that you need to have a light when you ride a bike at night?”
“No, I didn’t know that, sir.”
He gets back in his car and starts writing me a ticket.
“Are you actually writing me a ticket ?” I ask.
“Yes, I am. You’re lucky – I could haul you in for this. You’re lucky bud; you’re going home tonight.”
In the meantime, I would estimate 50 drunk drivers passed through the intersection.
The next night, I decided to ride my bike to grab a slice of pizza. Being the rebel I am, I still hadn’t got my light. I peddle into the parking lot of the pizza place, and there's a cop car sitting there.
From out of it, I hear, “Hey boy; you know that you need to have a light when you ride at night, right?”
I was half way through saying “No officer; I didn’t know that was a law…” when I realized that it was the same cop from the previous night.
You would think in a town with more than its share of murders, rapes, robberies, burglaries, aggravated assaults, arsons, carjacking, and aggravated-aggravation by repeat aggravators that the cops would have more to do.
This shit was retarded.
I fancy myself as a bit of an armchair lawyer, so I knew if I took this to court, I could either get it reduced or thrown out entirely. Both tickets from my crime spree were so close together that my court date for both was the same day.
Someday I will write “Jay’s Big Book of Lies” and I've already got my top contenders.
1. The check is in the mail.
2. Let's go out for “a drink”. (notice the singular expression)
3. I won't cum in your mouth.
4. I always use condoms with other girls.
I was coerced into going out for “a drink” by a friend who would only be in town for the night. One drink turned into another drink, then beer turned into liquor, and 100 bucks changed into a bag of low-quality bar cocaine. The next thing I know I am sitting yapping and drinking beer over a pile of weasel dust at my coffee table. My court is at 8:30 AM, so around 7:45, I decided that I’d take a quick nap. I set my alarm, put one foot in bed, and am about to put the other leg in bed when the alarm goes off. I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth – just as soon as the toothpaste hits my mouth, I find myself doing the technicolor yawn into the sink.
Then, it dawned on me: I WAS TOO DRUNK TO DRIVE TO COURT!
Instinctively, perhaps, I grabbed my bike light off the handlebars.
So, I called a cab; it got me to court just in time because my case was the first one called. Now, keep in mind that I am still as blasted as Robert Downey Jr. on New Year's Eve with puke on my shirt, coke buggers dangling from my nose, and slurring my words as I approach the bench.
The judge asks, “Mr. Quinlan, looks like we have two riding a bicycle at night without a headlight violations.”
I held up my light for the bike and turned it on the middle of the courtroom as I slur, “Your honor, I bought a light. The neighborhood is safe now.”
Despite my buffoonery, he dismissed both tickets.
Either way, the neighborhood could sleep safely that night.