Tears of a Clown

How could this happen to me? To ME?

Here I am, tears welling up in my eyes, arrested... and for what? How did I get here?

Well, my neatly shaved head might give the impression that I'm a military man. But the five days of beard growth on my chin suggests that I'm never far from a cold beer and a Camel Light and perhaps some WWE. Sure, I look a little sketchy and am definitely not a dude you want to be trapped in an elevator with, but c'mon, give a guy a break.

How was I supposed to know that whore was an undercover cop. She had all the trappings of a lady of the night: frosted, pink lips; a powerful rack; six inch clear heels; a thin veneer of desperation. I was drawn to her...something about the way she smacked her cheap gum and looked me up and down with her powder-blue lidded eyed. At no point did I think -- "Hey, let's ask her if she's a cop. I know it's not really entrapment if she says no, but it can't hurt, right?" No, I went for it. "How much to get a nob job? I know where an ATM is right around the corner." Oh, her salty disposition turned right then and there. A smile crossed her lips, she spat out her flavor deprived gum, and smacked those handcuffs on me; done with such glee and merriment, as if she couldn't wait to scream those terrible words: "You're under arrest."

Now how did I get here? I had such promise at one point in my life. A top learner at my parochial school, I was told by the nuns that I could do anything with my life, just as long as I applied myself and stopped masturbating. I had two good, loving parents, an older brother acting as a guide and a sage as to how to negotiate the road of life, and healthy head of hair: I should have had it all. And yet I find myself weeping like a girl, as they snap my arrest photo.

Perhaps it's society to blame. If, along that road of life, there hadn't been all of those distractions, I might have yielded myself a doctor, a lawyer, a statesmen. Instead, I am meager box monkey, toiling in the bowels of a UPS shipping center. And what about those distractions -- was it I who make the sip of wine so available? Or pumped broadband internet into my studio apartment so that all flavors of pornography could be viewed? And that devil weed...oh how she tempts me.

This is truly why I cry. Not for the impending day that I will stand in judgment, and the requisite community service. No, I fear not the Saturday I will spend on the side of the highway, picking up litter, enduring the honks and catcalls of my social betters as they speed by in their autos, but I do weep for the road that has been traveled by me. I am truly lost.

Now, who's got a smoke?