Sand Bagged and not Boardered

There was a mixup, ha ha! Our sex felon, Hoke, didn't recieve the message that we'd found him out, and arrived here on his appointed day, taxi-vouched from the mental hospital.

One of my housemates was home, and he's soft hearted perhaps. The night before, he'd felt terribly guilty for looking up Hoke's criminal record, like that was similar to snooping in a man's office file cabinet.

He sat and let Hoke tell his side of the story. There was a mistake in the online records, he could prove it! There is a detective in the Sheriff's office , who could bring by papers tomorrow and clear his name, and then if you'll all let me explain some more too, why I didn't tell the truth, which I knew I should have.

It wasn't a "A" felony, it was a "D" felony, or something. No sexual assault. All wrong. Had to do with his mad mad angry ex who stabbed him in the head.

I came in from work and my housemate laid it all out and then some, as he is a talker without brakes. Emergency meeting! he declared. I got that put off until the next night though, until we see the evidence.

Hoke Sad Sack on the couch. I gave him ten buck (because I didn't have a fiver), to get him to going more quickly. Locked the door. Went downstairs to my apartment and locked that door too.

Much controversy, I believe due to Modern Man's literalist interpretation of 'Thou Shalt Not Judge'. But I'd have none of it, didn't want to participate in controversy with these housemates who regard me, (most of them) as an irritating fellow if closely engaged. (Fine if you don't talk to him about anything serious, come to think of it!)
. . . .
Comes today this mysterious detective, who left a mimeograph of one sheet, showing a class D felony for "Attempted Sexual Assault".

My housemate stood over me and said, see?

Yeah.

Well, No actually.

"It was 'attempted' , man! It didn't happen!! Read there."

I got up and grumbled away that he would not have my vote tonight. Closed the door as he was pointing out something about my character, hypocritical or something. Or my intelligence, contradictory (I prefer 'complex').

Back to the computer I was looking for case law , because our house is already an exception to a law about felons sharing a dwelling. I thought perhaps I could quickly put this to rest and not have to fight for the privilege of not having a loathsome, possibly criminally insane room-mate.

(Now, it might be kinda funny if this housemate of mine were trying to force me to accept a roommate with a G.I. problem with flatulance, but this isn't any joke of any kind.)

Then I returned to Hoke's public records and discovered he'd made a mistake. This class D felony wasn't the crime that put him on the Sexual Offenders' list. He was on there for "Sexual Abuse of a Minor". So, there was a second crime, Holmes? Yes, said Dot Gov.

And possibly worse? Sounds worse.

That wasn't enough though, somehow I sensed I still didn't have the "here, now shut up" information I needed.

So I called our heroine Jacky Lockett, who's state job is to keep our Sober, exception-to-the-law home safe and carefree for all.

What a wonderful woman. I put her on the speaker phone just so Florie could enjoy it too. She as usual went OFF, with some cursing and then some captivating stories of how she'd had to roll with this before and sometimes failed.

"What you do is step out your door. Look east, west, north, and south. If there is a school, a church with a daycare within 1280 feet, he cannot legally move in there. You got that? And if you can't find one, you call me back. I know that neighborhood. I know how to make sure."

That was enough. I went and knocked on my housemate's door. Related the info in a case-closed tone of voice.

Could I cancel the emergency meeting ?

"What? It's your meeting," he said. ("My" meeting after I'd asked him to postpone his last night.)

Anyway, I want to show you something about appearences. It's interesting, sickening but interesting.

This sad-sack but affable, modest punk. Three pictures. You can click to enlarge.

Presenting himself in 2006, poor kenneled dog nosing the fence:


In 2004, cross-eyed Ozzyphile, or possibly trying for the mad Manson look:



In 2003, when he was first captured: a Street Know It All! Come on , baby, I know where to score and kick it.