NABCAS Presents True Life: Life Without Shoe Strings

There isn't too much that I wouldn't share with you guys. Ive posted on my inability to sext, my summer romp with a married dude, each time I got caught not fucking and just about every entertaining, embarrassing or funny moment of my life (sorry, there aren't many).

Anyway, while I love being able to brag that I'm so open and honest with you all about my life experiences and teenage fuckery, i have to admit that Ive been keeping a secret about my past. Ready for it....

I. DID.TIME

Yep, I jammed in jail. I swag surfed in the slammer. Poked (ahem) in the Pokie. 

Gimme my hood stripes right now. Didn't know I was a thug, did you? Huh? What? Nigga, I pops the trunk! I go hard in the mufuggin paint. Yaheardme?

Take a journey with me while I give you the juice on my brief stint in prison lockup.

It was a pretty warm Saturday evening in September 2009. After partying it up at a DC nightclub with a few friends, we decided to head back to the car parked on K street in Washington DC. Now, if you're from DC you know that K Street is where all of the trannies, fairies and other mythological gay creatures hang out to sell some Dick Head or Asshole (literally). Now, if you're not from DC and you know that there is an abundance of sex switchers walking around with sales tags on their private parts, then either you're (A) buying the DHA or (B) you're like me in a sense that you like to hang around trannies for entertainment and head giving advice. Please don't judge me; thank me for I pass along those tips to you. Now, there's probably a C but that's pretty much irrelevant since this story isn't about buying dick... or is it?

So, my friends and I walk back to the car and we spot the trannies. Total- there was about 10 of em. There was one with a fishnet one piece on, a ch(d)ick with some metallic pants and a bra top on and several others rocking shit from old Luke and MC Hammer videos. These (br)hoes were Too Legit to Quit. I  said to myself  "Self, i ain't got shit to do. Maybe we should kick it with the trannies tonight. This has to be fun". Mistake 1.

My friends and I agreed that we were bored and the sight of transgendered men with terrible lacefronts on the hoe stroll intrigued the hell out of us. While sipping my root beer, I notice that there seemed to be some sort of dick purchasing routine. "The Checkout".  Don't ask my why but I was highly entertained by the dickcheckout that went something like this:

All the trannies are standing on each side of the street in a circle of lust
Car pulls up and rolls down window
Trannies look at each other and whoever is up walks to vehicle
After some "business talk" tranny holds up a finger and hops in vehicle
I bust out laughing

That's pretty much how the next 20 minutes went. If you don't see the entertainment in that then.... kill yourself and start a new life with a good sense of humor because that shit is funny!

That scenario happened about 3 times before a bunch of drunk dudes and girls walked past the tranny circle of lust. I have no idea what was said to the trannies but I know shit.got.real.

I remember the Tracy Morganish ch(d)ick started cussing and talking about stabbing folks up. I remember someone jumping on someone else. Vaguely remember a few "faggots" being said, then a couple hundred "bitch" words being said and then some other code words for dick, fuck, and kill. Next thing I know, someone screamed and i realized that this wasn't just a FagFight. Shit was going down and I was apart of it. Thrilling!

A few seconds later, I'm standing there damn near by myself still sipping my root beer and see a bunch of blue and red lights. I look for my friends. Gone! Bastards had bounced on me. Laughing at the fuckery, I hadn't even noticed that the police had me and the remaining trannies surrounded. It was too late- I'd been busted.

There were about 8 police officers and 2 of them were female. One of them comes to me and snatches my root beer out of my hand. Now, this is the part when I realized I'm not as hood as I'd like to believe. I always thought because I grew up in a "hood" that I was automatically privy to "hoodshit". Hoodcards were given to anyone in my zip code, no? I thought I could do "hoodshit" and make it believable. The problem with that was all of that shit I thought about being hood and getting locked up was inaccurate. I was actually the white chick that threatens the police on an episode of Cops. Yeah,  so, I watch too much t.v

"Fuck you do that for? I was drinking that!" (Mistake 2), I politely ignorantly asked the policewoman who was now holding my root beer.
"Put your hands in front of you!", the other officer demanded.

"For what? Shit, i wasn't doing anything but walking to my car from the club. I'm not doing shit til you tell me..." (Mistake 3)

The policewoman with the old school Halle Berry/Different World Kimberly Reese mushroom haircut yells "Shut the fuck up and hold your hands in front of you!" The bitch then pours out my drink.... in slow motion. I felt like she was saying "Fuck yo drank bitch!"

So, you know ya girl went hard, right? Wasn't nooooooo bitch going to punk me! I studied law. I know my rights. Shit, I watch First 48 and Law &Order faith.ful.ly.  FUCK THE POLICE!!!!

Reality: Sooooo I shat the fuck up while they tossed my ass in a paddywagon with a bunch of hoodrats and  sweaty trannies covered in glitter and a mixture of baby phat perfume and KY Jelly. As the paddywagon pulled away, a slow tear ran down my cheek. Frustrated that I couldnt even wipe it without using both hands, I cried even harder. I thought to myself:  "This must be what a 6 pack of soda cans feel like.". Confined with plastic hand cuffs, I sat there shocked while the trannies and random folk laughed at me for my blatant display of bitchassness.  

After what seemed like a 3 hour trip,we pull up to the police station. I'm taken out of the paddywagon and into the processing area of the jail. I'm being told that I was brought in for questioning on an attempted murder and possible charges for resisting arrest. Possible charges for resisting arrest?!?!? Did I resist arrest? No. Kinda. Possibly. Maybe. I probably did.

Now, I hear murder and I start asking for my phone call, a lawyer, my pastor, the NAACP, my grandmother, my next door neighbor, my address for letters, my commissary number, my greendot card etc. I was giving them my best jail talk.  

They take off the plastic "cuffs", ask me for my ID, take my shoe strings from my mid thigh high boots and sit my ass in a holding cell with the rest of DC's Friday night scum.

As soon as I walked in with my arms together I was greeted with a smell of death. I'll always remember the strong odor-  It was a potion of "What the Fuck?".

Recipe for "What the Fuck?": Mix a little crackhead with a teaspoon of homeless, add a pinch of 4 week old vagina, sprinkle in a little morning breath, add a 1/2 cup of asshole, 4 ounces of garbage juice, a tablespoon of piss, 3 cups of diarrhea, bake it for 30 mins at 350 degrees and, Voila, you have the scent of my holding cell.

There were hookers, crackheads, drunk bitches... basically a plethora of all the shit A&E makes reality shows out of. I felt like i was on an episode of LockUp or Scared Straight. Why? Well, because I was locked up and scared straight. As I always do when shit gets too real for me, I started humming spirituals. Sung a little "Silver and Gold" and then i figured it was a good time to hit up my old friend. So, I called God collect and told him I was going to change. I promised to pay all my debt and do a bunch of shit that I knew I wasn't going to do. Look, whatever I had to say to not become Dykisha's bitch was being said. God knows I sometimes lie to get out of shit. He knows his child- well.

Hours 30 minutes or so go by and I ask an officer when I'm going to be questioned and when I can go home. She laughs at me and tells me to "Chill out. Your time is coming up".

"Well, whats my bail?"
"You don't have a bail and you aren't being charged with anything".
"Oh, well, can I call my mother?"
"No."
"Is this a black thing?"
"Well, yes, it is.", she laughs as she walks away.

Feeling bitched again, I go back to my corner and cry. Not just the silent thug tears. The Smokey on Friday cry. The snot running down my face and my lip catching it cry.

Of course, someone had to sit next to me to school me on the ins and out.... so after a 2 hour 10 minute conversation with a religious junkie about the bible and the power of pussy, the officer came and escorted me to a room that Ive seen on every cop show: The Questioning Room.

"Hi Miss La'Docker. Do you know why you're here?", the officer asked.
"No. They said something about attempted murder.", I mumbled as I felt that brick in my throat alerting me that i was about to start crying like a bitch again.
"Oh, ok. Well do you know what happened tonight?"
"No. I was just hanging with the trannies to ask questions about fellating and then that lady locked me up."
Officer Douchebag laughs and tells me he'll be right back as someone knocks on the door.

A whole hour 5 minutes go by and he says the words I've been waiting for all night: "Let's go get your stuff so that you can leave". Im convinced that they were fucking with me the whole night. Sick bastards.

Boots flopping, I damn near ran to officer and jumped in his arms. We walk to the processing clerk to get my belongings and the lady hands me a plastic bag with all of my shit minus..... my fucking boot strings.

Irritated, I yell "Yo, where the fuck are my shoe strings?". (almost mistake 4)

She tells me she doesn't know and something about shift changes.

"Man, how am I supposed to walk with my boots flopping like this?", I ask.
The officer goes over to the clerk and says something to her and she walked to the back office.
Standing there with the "bitch, he told you" face, I see the clerk come back with something in her hands.
Shoe strings. White shoe strings. White Air Force 1ish shoe strings. I look at my black leather mid thigh -high boots, then look back at the shoe strings, then back to my boot. One of these things is not like the other...


Ohhhhhhhhh heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllllllllllll tooooooooooooooo ttttttttttttthhhheeeeeee NAWL

Reality: So, I took the shoe strings and laced the first 5 holes up and walked outside to where my friends were sitting in the car waiting for me.

I give myself the "bitch, act tough" speech and get into the car. I slam the door and throw a mean mug. You know... one of those looks like you just did some shit that would earn your respect. Yeah, that look.

Friend #1: Yo, where the fuck are your shoe strings?
Me: Bitch wanted the business so I choked her ass out with my shoe strings and they gave me these. Real bitches do real shit, ya feel me?!?!?

Reality: I cried all the way home and tossed my useless boots in the trash.

I kept the shoe strings tho. Lesson learned...

Oh yeah i had pics but Blogger on that bullshit.