We got the call from Joe’s Crab Shack
at eight, ‘bout quarter past
to find the salt and peppered dame
who liked to dine and dash.
We spotted her just two blocks down
napping in monkey grass.
Once revived, she sat up and slurred
“Shit I fell on my ass.”
When asked about her unpaid bill
she claimed she’d forgotten.
She’d get cash if we took her home.
We agreed, “let’s go then.”
She welcomed us inside
and we let her rummage ‘round
until she pulled the dildo out.
We nearly hit the ground.
She lunged and lashed,
so we sadly had to tackle
fifty-six years of monkeyshine
wrestled in a cackle.
Her clear, phallic plastic fell
to the ground with a thud.
She cursed, spit and hollered all
with spite and boiling blood.
As we put her in the car that night
she said we’d get lucky
if it were not for one complaint,
the handcuffs were not fuzzy.
An embellishment of a Nov. 2010 arrest account in Gurnee, Illinois.
