I got drunk once and called a girl ten times in one hour, with, it was alleged, violin music playing in the background (it was Celine Dion).  All I said was “why?”  Got me arrested.  My attorney, an attractive woman, told me, “Don’t call me ten times in one hour.”  Guess I deserved that.

     She hired me to do some electric work for her store.  She shook her fist at me and said, “My daughter is a beautiful girl.  You stay away from her.”  She didn’t say anything about her daughter’s friends.

     She put my lineman’s pliers in my front pocket once.  That wasn’t the only thing that was nine inches long and hard that night.

     On a related note, a prostitute asked me once, “Do you want a blowjob?”  I asked her, “What’s in it for me?”

     The arrest warrant notification showed up in the mail three weeks after my one-hour crime spree.  I went to the jail at 7:30 am the next morning.  They told me I had to wait forty-five minutes.  I told the dude, “Okay, I’m gonna go sit in my truck and smoke a joint.”

     Being arrested sucked.  I took off my belt too fast, and it made that snap.  Got shoved against the wall for that.  I could have killed the mousy little motherfucker with it, but I reckoned that might bring additional charges. 

     They took away my Tic-Tacs, too.  Tic-Tacs are the diet of the lonely single man.  Along with 100 proof liquor.  And insensitive porno movies. 

     The jailer handed me a blanket when she put me in the cell.  Can you imagine?  All I did was push the re-dial button ten times.  I told her, “I’ve got fifty-five hundred dollars in my front pocket.  I’m not gonna be here that long.”

     I did have the best-looking socks in jail.

     The other inmates asked me what I was in for.

     The judge set my bond at two thousand dollars.  That’s two hundred dollars for every time I pushed the re-dial button. Don’t think I’ll be calling that girl again.                                          

     In court, my attorney asked me if I wanted her to get the fine reduced.  I thought, Gee whiz, I didn’t ask you if you want the lights to turn on.

     Now of course I’m too terrified to call women on the phone.  I send them text messages instead.  I’d like to see ’em arrest me for sending a text message that says, “You are pretty.”

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