Lawrence, KS : The Ghetto

First Official Newsletter by Michael Coggins. We'll cover an ATF bust, crotch-sniffing dogs, and the risk of getting killed.

Welcome to my first official news letter. Some of you haven't heard from me in a while, but you made the list anyway. If you want off the list just let me know and if you know anyone else who should be kept informed have them email me or just give me their address. Sorry to those of you that have read this one already, but not that sorry. For those of you doubters, this is in fact a true story........

For me, today started as very few do, at 8:45. This kicked off the theme early seeing as how the next thing I did was shave. For a quick introduction, despite my need for daily grooming, I have shaved on a quasi-biweekly schedule since the 5th grade. So far, I was living a day obviously intended for someone else, and in keeping with this idea, I attended a job interview. (I know there are those of you out there already worried that the old Michael is dead. Fear not good friends; I could only find one pair of fitting khakis which were under my bed and too wrinkled to wear, my brown belt is also missing meaning I had to find my black dress shoes which complimented my jeans (well worn but not too dirty nor wrinkled) marvelously, and I walked in 7 seconds before this interview was supposed to begin because I could not find my backup car key. Vive Le Michael.....my socks didn't match either)

This 'job interview' isn't going to workout and is probably worth a page or two on its own, but the bulk of this day's oddity came when I returned home. As I drove down my street something seemed amiss. At first I had a hard time placing it, but then it all became clear; it was the 11 police cars, fire truck and ambulance all with lights flashing, that weren't usually there. Their attention was focused across the street, which meant they only had one place to chorale the required amount of hysterical white trash women. That place was my front yard. The most affected party, believing this was her audition for Cops, felt the need to scream profanities at Lawrence's finest as I tried to inch past her without getting noticed. My body language may have said "I don't see anything going on" but my eyes couldn't help but stare at the enormous tattoo on her back. Staring was inevitable because this tattoo was placed directly above her enormous, 3/4 exposed ass. Another case of morbid curiosity getting the best of me.

Most people would think getting into one's house would end such an absurd scene, but my couch could offer only temporary immunity. 45 minutes later I pry myself up and spend another 10 minutes looking for my back up spare car key. Since my driveway was blocked upon my return, Wheatley and I were forced to walk a block to get to the car. Since all of the trash had been removed from my yard (with the exception of some trivial pursuit cards, some old jumper cables, a sheath to a missing huge-ass knife and a blockbuster case to a movie I don't have) I thought things had quieted. I could not have been more wrong. A quick peer across the street revealed 12 uniformed police officers, guns drawn, all creeping forward in arthritic and distorted poses from Charlie's Angles. They were trying to convince the occupant to join them in the yard. As interesting as this was, I was running late and I doubt the police wanted me to watch in case anyone got shot.

On my way to the car I notice a trench-coated man with a radio standing in the middle of the street. Due to time constraints and the serious nature of this stand off, I hardly realize that this guy is calling the shots (no pun intended). It would take a much keener intellect than mine to realize how important this man was, and that intellect belongs to Wheatley, my eight year old golden retriever. He wandered up to this man, with the obvious intent of congratulating him, but he was not interested. Even though I was attempting to diffuse this situation, I had to respect the determination of both parties. In an attempt to ignore Wheatley's initial advance, our head honcho simply put his hands where Wheat could not reach them. Many of you out there have tried the same technique and as you know, Wheatley's countermeasure is quite persuasive. He simply puts his head where he knows you can put your hands; the crotch.

Let's recap: I am standing in my street, yelling at my dog whose head is buried between the legs of some high ranking police officer while he directs a make shift S.W.A.T. team 100 feet away. My true nature as a 'situation diffuser' shone as I redirected Wheatley up the road. In an effort to assert his independence and his ability to compromise my dog next wandered up to an unmarked, yet occupied police car and jumped up on the door. Great. At least this cop was still laughing about his buddy's K-9 interaction and decided to give Wheat a pat on the head. Because Lawrence is such a unique place, many diverse parties are invited to 'busts' and along with fire trucks, ambulances, half of our police force, they bring an agent from animal control. Great. She witnessed my walk across the Hot Zone and felt the need to lecture me on the absence of a leash. My witty rebuttals almost bought me a ticket, but higher reasoning prevailed and I escaped uncharged.

The lesson to take to heart here is this; If screaming women who can't keep their pants on, even when they want to, are randomly assigned to occupy your yard, it isn’t necessarily a good thing.

--Michael Coggins--