"If This Love Is Wrong, Then I Don't Want To Be Right"

My man Clarence used to teach history at a juvenile correctional facility in Richmond, VA. He's got all kinds of stories and all kinds of weird connection all over the state now. He's definitely the only white guy I can think of who looks exactly like the Dude and is unilaterally down with both Crips and Bloods in Norfolk, VA.

One of his more gifted students was smart, motivated, not swayed by gangs or prone to any sort of violence at all. He just spent his time in jail reading and doing pushups when he could. The other guys, rapists, murderers, drug dealers and senior-level gangsters left this guy to mind his own business, too. Nobody wanted much to do with him.

Turns out this kid was an unrepentant dog-fucker. He'd been locked up for a good while on multiple charges of repeated bestiality. Not just any animals either. This guy was into dogs, and dogs only.

He'd just been denied parole an hour before, and was humming to himself and reading 'Macbeth' at a picnic table in the exercise yard when Clarence caught up with him.

"Damn, son, you got denied AGAIN?" Clarence asked. "In case you haven't noticed, this is jail, man. What are you saying in these hearings that's keeping you here?"

It's not like the people that have parole hearings in the juvenile justice system want to keep kids locked up. They're tossing them a bunch of basic, softball questions so they can get out and try to start their lives up. They ask stuff like:

"So, Mister Dog-Fucker, what's your long-term plan when you get out?"

To which Mister D-F replies "Well, I'm gonna go stay with my aunt for a while, try and get a steady job, just have some kind of structure in my life for a while."

This is good. It shows that the guy values stability, balance, wants to earn a normal income.

"What kind of job, son?"

"Well," Mister D-F replies, "something with animals. I really love being around them. Maybe at an animal shelter or a vet's office, but I think a doggie grooming business would be great. I'd get to give those dogs baths and brush 'em all day..." Here he trailed off. He's pretty much back to square one, if not several squares behind it. Still, the board wants to give him a chance.

"Uhm, okay. What about your short-term plan? What do you want to do the day you walk out of these gates? Are you going to celebrate? How?"

"Well," D-F says, "I just can't wait to get home and play with my dog."

"What, like take him for a big long walk, or a game of frisbee," the board asks, all silently thinking PLEASE FOR GOD'S SAKE.

"Not especially. I just want to wrestle him. you know, just get my shirt off and get right down there on the floor with him and really roughhouse..." Again, the trailing off.

The stamp drops a red DENIED on D-F's papers with lightning speed. D-F grabs a copy of Macbeth and hits the exercise yard, where Clarence found him.

"Dude, it's bad enough that you like fucking dogs, but what really concerns me is that you can't even lie about it for twenty minutes so you can have your freedom," Clarence said.

"Well, Mister Clarence," D-F explained, "It's like this. There's nothing really wrong with me at all. This is me, it's who I am. It's how I love. Any problem society has with it is society's problem. If I can't be free to express my love and desire the way I want, then I might as well be in prison anyway."

As perverse and disgusting as this is, I admire this kid's convictions. He has an internal compass, and although the needle is bent like a French curve, he's following that thing due North. It's his compass and his needle, and his concept of North, but he's going there no matter what, even if he is going it alone.

I really, really think he's wrong, but I like that confidence. Unfortunately, this guy's hard drive is going to have to be totally wiped clean for him to ever interact with the world, which may take that ridiculous, ass-backward nobility with it.

I like the phrase "unrepentant dog-fucker" too. It's someone who is so wrong, so utterly, completely and totally a four-flushing puckered asshole ... who's totally convinced that he's not. He thinks he's just fine, and everyone else need to deal with it.

I can't wait to call someone an unrepentant dog-fucker. It's such a final, finishing, burn-the-bridge-then-blow-it-up phrase. Once you deploy that sucker, the show's over.

I may not call anyone an unrepentant dog-fucker at tonight's DC Blogger happy hour at Eyebar, but that doesn't mean there won't be any contenders in the crowd. Then again, once I get enough drinks in me in the company of the bloggers I do like, I may well get to test this sucker out on a blogger I don't. And with that, I can honestly say that I'm looking forward to seeing every last one of you tonight ...

posted by Jeff Simmermon @ 12:17 AM