VAGINAS!
I decided to start titling after Jarrett, though he seems to have changed titling formats, I now intend to use one word, with an exclamation point. To get a little more business out of the way, I know, I know, two posts in two days, I've gone insane. Really, I just decided to bust out a classic story, and put it on the interweb. So here goes.
Several years ago, in the end of 2003 and the beginning of 2004 I lived with my good friend Dan. We lived in an area that isn't exactly the fillet of Spokane. It was a couple miles east of Gonzaga, pretty much due east from it, across the river, just a few blocks west of Napa, if you are familiar with Napa street, that might help you. Anyway, we lived in a Tri-plex, across some grass of another Tri-plex. We called it the Cambodian ghetto, Of our five possible neighbors in this set of two tri-plexes, four of them were of some south-east Asian descent. We never asked, but given what we knew, we were pretty sure they were all from a similar area, possibly even related, I'm not just being racists here. Anyway, from everything we could discern we were quite sure they weren't Chinese, Japanese, Korean or Vietnamese. We decided Cambodian, in retrospect Thai would not surprise me. I'm not sure why I bothered to tell this, it's not too related to the remainder of the story, maybe I am doing it for the sake of future classic stories, just a little back story I can refer to, who knows.
On to the real story. 20 days after we moved in, a taxi driver got shot in the head 5 blocks away. it was about 2 blocks north and 3 blocks east of where we lived. Now, he didn't die, it just grazed his head or something. Rather brief aspect of the story, but it plays a major role.
20 days later. This is really late December now, Dan discovered a letter on the street around the corner from us. He found it in front of a house that we had long suspected of being the house of a dealer. Lots of traffic in and out, fence surrounding the yard with large vicious dogs in the yard. Kind of odd. Anyway, he finds this letter, and we read it. Turns out it was from a drug runner to the drug dealer. The drug runner, as we later determined to be female from a few clues, such as the mention of a husband and having a vagina, was writing to say she didn't want to run drugs for this guy anymore. She'd had enough. She didn't care what harm she came across, she even tried taking her story to the cops. As I remember it, she mentioned that she flagged a cop down and played some phone messages she had saved from the dealer. The cop told her he could do nothing unless she gave him her cell phone. This caused alarm in her, she could not go without her cell phone, and it led her to believe the cops were in on it. Not sure how, but regardless, she was convinced. She later describes her second encounter with trying to tell a cop, but he was off duty, so he couldn't do anything. This did nothing but further her suspicions that the cops were in on it.
She continued saying that without the cops she was still out. She and her husband had gotten guns, so this dealer best not try anything. On top of that she goes into detail about how she is sick of his abuse. Apparently whenever she fucked up, he made her pay for it, in ritual beatings of some kind, including vagina stabbing. She goes on to say how hard it has been for her, not because she was being stabbed in the vagina, but because she was finding it hard to explain vaginal bleeding away, you see she "had been fixed" and thus did not have periods anymore. Her words, not mine, I assume it means she had a hysterectomy or some such. Anyway, she couldn't explain it away anymore, and so her husband found out. By this point I'm no longer sure if her husband knew she was drug running and he didn't care until he found out about the stabbings of the holiest of holies, or if he never knew of drug running, no idea. Dan and response to the letter was to neatly fold it and put it in the desk our TV sat upon. We're good citizens.
So, to review, 20 days after moving in there's a head shooting 5 blocks away. 20 days later Dan finds a letter describing a Vagina stabbing a block away.
20 days later, not about 20 days, but exactly 20 days, we did the math, I was sitting in our apartment. I had quit my job because it made me believe I that souls didn't exist, and I had to get out before it made me think further about such things. Dan, however, was still working for the same place. I was sitting at home, just chilling, and Dan comes in from walking home and immediately asks why there was a cop outside. I expressed a small bit of alarm and said I had no clue. I'm going to go into more back story now, before returning to this point. Dan and I had worked in medical records, filing crap, all day, it was a drag. Anyway, one night I hung out with friends and by the end of that all night session I had decided to quit. I called my boss up that night and left a message, I was done. Anyway, Dan's girlfriend at the time, whom we call Lie-bot, because she lies, a lot, much like a robot programmed to do nothing but lie, or a Lie-bot, if you will. Anyway, her sister worked at the same place, not in medical records but the same place none the less. Supposedly Lie-bot's sister had told Lie-bot that our employer thought I may have stolen medical records. i have no clue why they think I would have done such a thing, maybe they thought I was trying to infiltrate the system, steal records and sell them to insurance companies. Anyway, Lie-bot was positive that the cops were going to come shake Dan and I down. As laughable as we found it, we immediately set to work on a plan for if the cops did come. We made a legal pad of conversation, so we wouldn't actually have to talk to the cops if they came, it cited court cases and had fake maps of our apartment, including a legend where medical records would not be found, but where bombs and dead hooker bodies would be found. It was a great night.
Returning to the real story, our first real thought when Dan came home was "Was Lie-bot right?" Dan became more and more curious, as I grew more and more apathetic, eventually Dan went outside and asked the cop why he was sitting in his car out on the street. Turns out he was waiting for a search warrant for the apartment across from us. Our response was to sit out on our porch, literally sit, we took chairs out there. We sat there smoking, waiting to watch this shit happen. As we sat I regaled Dan with stories from my day, despite my unemployment, I had had a very busy day. By busy, I mean some stuff happened, but I didn't really do anything. You see, I had sat around watching TV all day, but during the Price is Right, which airs from 10 am to 11 am, I had heard some loud Cambodian yelling outside. It sounded intense. I turned the TV up, I didn't want to get involved, and at the time I did not speak Cambodian, so I could not understand(note: I still do not speak Cambodian.).
A few hours later I was watching some other crap, and I heard a loud pounding on the door of the apartment across from us and a male yelling "Let me in God Dammit!" I again turned the TV up, despite the fact that I could clearly understand that, and I earlier used the excuse of I could not understand it, I didn't care. So Dan and I began to surmise that maybe the yelling and this cop being here were related. Big leap, huh? We sat outside for three hours, just waiting. Slowly more and more cops showed up until there were six cars and more than six cops waiting around. Presumably the sixth car contained the search warrant. Because once it showed up, they talked for awhile, then went in. While they were inside a seventh car showed up. A cop got out, walked towards the apartments holding a black case, he then asked Dan and I which apartment they had gone into, at which point we told him. He then went in and a few minutes later we saw a series of flashes, that last cop had brought the camera.
After ten minutes or so they finished and came out, and we then saw the old Cambodian couple that lived there near the street. The old man was describing a knife, which was about 6-8 inches in length. Then the old woman bent forward to reveal a large gash on the top of her head, with these two things combined Dan and I just kind of looked at each other in shock. She had been stabbed in the fucking head! She had to have been 70, maybe older. Who stabs a 70 year old Cambodian woman in the head?!?! What the fuck!? While all the cops were gathered around Dan and I decided we should try to give that letter to one of them, remember the letter? Dan got it, and we stood behind the old couple politely while they were questioned by the cops, we stayed far enough back so we couldn't hear anything, we didn't want to be assholes, despite the fact that Dan and I are both assholes, we're not that kind of asshole. When they finished only two cops remained. We approached them and briefly described the letter and that we thought they should have it. They said they were now off duty and thus could not take it, furthering the woman's thoughts that the cops were involved in this drug ring, unfortunately she was not there to learn this new information.
So, 20 days after we move in there is a head shooting 5 blocks away. 20 days later a vagina stabbing a block away. 20 days later a head stabbing about 20 feet away. The only logical conclusion Dan and I could come to was that somebody was going to be shot in the vagina inside our apartment in a matter of 20 days. We could not have this. Just to be sure, we created a large buffer, and for two months anyone with a vagina was not allowed to come to our apartment.
That is the story of how Dan and I refused to let women in our apartment for two months.
The end.
Several years ago, in the end of 2003 and the beginning of 2004 I lived with my good friend Dan. We lived in an area that isn't exactly the fillet of Spokane. It was a couple miles east of Gonzaga, pretty much due east from it, across the river, just a few blocks west of Napa, if you are familiar with Napa street, that might help you. Anyway, we lived in a Tri-plex, across some grass of another Tri-plex. We called it the Cambodian ghetto, Of our five possible neighbors in this set of two tri-plexes, four of them were of some south-east Asian descent. We never asked, but given what we knew, we were pretty sure they were all from a similar area, possibly even related, I'm not just being racists here. Anyway, from everything we could discern we were quite sure they weren't Chinese, Japanese, Korean or Vietnamese. We decided Cambodian, in retrospect Thai would not surprise me. I'm not sure why I bothered to tell this, it's not too related to the remainder of the story, maybe I am doing it for the sake of future classic stories, just a little back story I can refer to, who knows.
On to the real story. 20 days after we moved in, a taxi driver got shot in the head 5 blocks away. it was about 2 blocks north and 3 blocks east of where we lived. Now, he didn't die, it just grazed his head or something. Rather brief aspect of the story, but it plays a major role.
20 days later. This is really late December now, Dan discovered a letter on the street around the corner from us. He found it in front of a house that we had long suspected of being the house of a dealer. Lots of traffic in and out, fence surrounding the yard with large vicious dogs in the yard. Kind of odd. Anyway, he finds this letter, and we read it. Turns out it was from a drug runner to the drug dealer. The drug runner, as we later determined to be female from a few clues, such as the mention of a husband and having a vagina, was writing to say she didn't want to run drugs for this guy anymore. She'd had enough. She didn't care what harm she came across, she even tried taking her story to the cops. As I remember it, she mentioned that she flagged a cop down and played some phone messages she had saved from the dealer. The cop told her he could do nothing unless she gave him her cell phone. This caused alarm in her, she could not go without her cell phone, and it led her to believe the cops were in on it. Not sure how, but regardless, she was convinced. She later describes her second encounter with trying to tell a cop, but he was off duty, so he couldn't do anything. This did nothing but further her suspicions that the cops were in on it.
She continued saying that without the cops she was still out. She and her husband had gotten guns, so this dealer best not try anything. On top of that she goes into detail about how she is sick of his abuse. Apparently whenever she fucked up, he made her pay for it, in ritual beatings of some kind, including vagina stabbing. She goes on to say how hard it has been for her, not because she was being stabbed in the vagina, but because she was finding it hard to explain vaginal bleeding away, you see she "had been fixed" and thus did not have periods anymore. Her words, not mine, I assume it means she had a hysterectomy or some such. Anyway, she couldn't explain it away anymore, and so her husband found out. By this point I'm no longer sure if her husband knew she was drug running and he didn't care until he found out about the stabbings of the holiest of holies, or if he never knew of drug running, no idea. Dan and response to the letter was to neatly fold it and put it in the desk our TV sat upon. We're good citizens.
So, to review, 20 days after moving in there's a head shooting 5 blocks away. 20 days later Dan finds a letter describing a Vagina stabbing a block away.
20 days later, not about 20 days, but exactly 20 days, we did the math, I was sitting in our apartment. I had quit my job because it made me believe I that souls didn't exist, and I had to get out before it made me think further about such things. Dan, however, was still working for the same place. I was sitting at home, just chilling, and Dan comes in from walking home and immediately asks why there was a cop outside. I expressed a small bit of alarm and said I had no clue. I'm going to go into more back story now, before returning to this point. Dan and I had worked in medical records, filing crap, all day, it was a drag. Anyway, one night I hung out with friends and by the end of that all night session I had decided to quit. I called my boss up that night and left a message, I was done. Anyway, Dan's girlfriend at the time, whom we call Lie-bot, because she lies, a lot, much like a robot programmed to do nothing but lie, or a Lie-bot, if you will. Anyway, her sister worked at the same place, not in medical records but the same place none the less. Supposedly Lie-bot's sister had told Lie-bot that our employer thought I may have stolen medical records. i have no clue why they think I would have done such a thing, maybe they thought I was trying to infiltrate the system, steal records and sell them to insurance companies. Anyway, Lie-bot was positive that the cops were going to come shake Dan and I down. As laughable as we found it, we immediately set to work on a plan for if the cops did come. We made a legal pad of conversation, so we wouldn't actually have to talk to the cops if they came, it cited court cases and had fake maps of our apartment, including a legend where medical records would not be found, but where bombs and dead hooker bodies would be found. It was a great night.
Returning to the real story, our first real thought when Dan came home was "Was Lie-bot right?" Dan became more and more curious, as I grew more and more apathetic, eventually Dan went outside and asked the cop why he was sitting in his car out on the street. Turns out he was waiting for a search warrant for the apartment across from us. Our response was to sit out on our porch, literally sit, we took chairs out there. We sat there smoking, waiting to watch this shit happen. As we sat I regaled Dan with stories from my day, despite my unemployment, I had had a very busy day. By busy, I mean some stuff happened, but I didn't really do anything. You see, I had sat around watching TV all day, but during the Price is Right, which airs from 10 am to 11 am, I had heard some loud Cambodian yelling outside. It sounded intense. I turned the TV up, I didn't want to get involved, and at the time I did not speak Cambodian, so I could not understand(note: I still do not speak Cambodian.).
A few hours later I was watching some other crap, and I heard a loud pounding on the door of the apartment across from us and a male yelling "Let me in God Dammit!" I again turned the TV up, despite the fact that I could clearly understand that, and I earlier used the excuse of I could not understand it, I didn't care. So Dan and I began to surmise that maybe the yelling and this cop being here were related. Big leap, huh? We sat outside for three hours, just waiting. Slowly more and more cops showed up until there were six cars and more than six cops waiting around. Presumably the sixth car contained the search warrant. Because once it showed up, they talked for awhile, then went in. While they were inside a seventh car showed up. A cop got out, walked towards the apartments holding a black case, he then asked Dan and I which apartment they had gone into, at which point we told him. He then went in and a few minutes later we saw a series of flashes, that last cop had brought the camera.
After ten minutes or so they finished and came out, and we then saw the old Cambodian couple that lived there near the street. The old man was describing a knife, which was about 6-8 inches in length. Then the old woman bent forward to reveal a large gash on the top of her head, with these two things combined Dan and I just kind of looked at each other in shock. She had been stabbed in the fucking head! She had to have been 70, maybe older. Who stabs a 70 year old Cambodian woman in the head?!?! What the fuck!? While all the cops were gathered around Dan and I decided we should try to give that letter to one of them, remember the letter? Dan got it, and we stood behind the old couple politely while they were questioned by the cops, we stayed far enough back so we couldn't hear anything, we didn't want to be assholes, despite the fact that Dan and I are both assholes, we're not that kind of asshole. When they finished only two cops remained. We approached them and briefly described the letter and that we thought they should have it. They said they were now off duty and thus could not take it, furthering the woman's thoughts that the cops were involved in this drug ring, unfortunately she was not there to learn this new information.
So, 20 days after we move in there is a head shooting 5 blocks away. 20 days later a vagina stabbing a block away. 20 days later a head stabbing about 20 feet away. The only logical conclusion Dan and I could come to was that somebody was going to be shot in the vagina inside our apartment in a matter of 20 days. We could not have this. Just to be sure, we created a large buffer, and for two months anyone with a vagina was not allowed to come to our apartment.
That is the story of how Dan and I refused to let women in our apartment for two months.
The end.
posted by Sam at 3:48 PM
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