Redneck Uhaul

So I really can’t decide what may be scarier. The thought of people reading this blog, actually understanding my twisted sense of humor AND enjoying it; or some of the people that I encountered while wandering aimlessly on the other side of that so-called fence. Reminds me of some of the “different” people that I have the pleasure of interacting with as a law enforcement professional.

Okay, I want to level with my audience. I am a country bumpkin. I was raised out in the boonies of Texas, chasin’ fireflies down by the creek (pronounced “crick”) and drinking warm Dr. Pepper on the front porch whilst chewin’ on a stick of sugar cane that was hand-cut from a clearing somewhere over yonder. I will also add, just for bragging rights really, that I am also quasi-educated. I somehow and mostly by accident, stumbled my way through a Criminal Justice degree from an accredited college. I also hold a Master Peace Officer Certificate. And if you haven’t caught on by now, I grew up dirt-ass poor. But damn people, there’s redneck, then there is REDneck!

Allow me to elaborate. So I was dispatched to a call a while back (actually several years ago) where someone’s neighbors complained about a smallish bonfire that was currently raging in the yard. I immediately recognized the address as I was no stranger to this residence. These people had a tolerance for illicit drugs that would’ve made Walter White proud. I had a somewhat vague idea of what I was in for, but not really.

I soon arrived at the rusty cattle gate of this rural “estate” where I was greeted by one of our local “sovereign citizens.” We have all witnessed the “filler” news clips that dramatically depict some fucktard getting their driver’s window busted out, right before being hauled off to jail.

This particular idiot believed (right down to the bottom of his tiny rebel heart) that he had created his own separate nation on approximately 1.3 acres of dirt and felt that he was now immune to the local laws and ordinances. Considering he was not only President of said nation, but also a member, I was rudely informed that I did not have authority to approach his property or even stare menacingly in his direction! Unfortunately, his seat at the UN was mistakenly given to The Republic of Dougistan at the last Summit. Of course, I made that last part up, but do me a favor and Google “Republic of Dougistan” so you can get a general idea of the mindset I was dealing with.  Go on, I’ll wait…

Okay, so after you attempt a mental cleanse (it won’t help, you may need therapy), you should have some grasp of the level of douche-baggery at hand. Of course this fellow, let’s call him “Cappy,” was none to pleased with my sudden, unwanted appearance. So he refused to allow me onto his property to inspect the source of what I can only describe as a thick, black column of smoke emitting from his front yard, which was approximately 20 feet away, 20 feet in diameter, and possibly garnering attention from the International Space Station.

I will not bore y’all with legal jargon or cop gibberish, but at that point, I had legal rights to force my way onto his property (i.e., cut chains/locks on gates, or just climb the gate), as our area was currently under a burn-ban. Yes, it is also illegal to burn tires, foam rubber and fiberglass, despite what you might have read on  It’s called the Texas Clean Air Act. Look that shit up too.

About ten years ago, a younger “Me” probably would have immediately chosen one of the more aggressive solutions available. I could clearly see crap that should NEVER be burned, all piled high and engulfed in flames (think Springfield tire fire from the Simpsons). It was late in my shift, and I really was not a fan of heading to the local Emergency Room for vaccinations (tetanus, rabies, hepatitis, bronchitis or any other “-itis”)  after leaving this man’s property. They already knew me by my first name at the only ER in town. So I proposed a compromise of sorts. I learned early in my career that talking can sometimes go a loooong way and save a shit load of paperwork in the end. Sometimes.

Cappy here was well versed in idiocy, and I had just enough experience with it myself that I was nearly fluent. I tried reasoning with the man, but he was about as dense as a pound of wet leather. I explained (through clenched teeth after three or four times) that if he would just extinguish the damn fire, he would not face any fines or penalties for burning the toxic shit that was now choking off my supply of air. I would be on my way, and he could go back to doing whatever the hell it was he did with his time.

It was bad enough to be standing within arm’s length of this dude, whom apparently had taken a sacred vow of hygienic abstinence, but now I was coughing and my eyes were burning thanks to the thick, acrid smoke wafting toward me.

Fuck it.” I silently whispered to myself. I made the executive decision here to politely “help” Cappy over this shitty fence that consisted of three strands of barbed wire and loosely-planted cedar posts. I reached out and snatched this scrawny bastard right over that fence! Before he knew what happened, he was on the ground, cuffed and madder than hell! This resulted in not only a shiny set of matching bracelets, but also multiple scratches, minor lacerations, torn shirt and swear words a-plenty from ol’ Cappy! If he had just done what should have been done, or how about “DON’T IGNITE A GODDAMNED PILE O’SHIT THE SIZE OF MT.-FUCKING-VESUVIUS DURING A FUCKING BURN-BAN!!!

Cappy was escorted to the local hoosegow where he was provided three-hots and cot. I tacked on about two hours of overtime to that shift’s stats sheet.

A few months later, presumably after serving his time in full, Cappy moved away. I was ecstatic to learn that he currently resides in a neighboring jurisdiction where he will no longer serve as the “pain in my ass!”

I am actually glad to have survived long enough to make it back over to the “normal” side of the fence. Sometimes I really HATE my side of the fence, but occasionally I get to visit the other side. It’s not so bad here. Huh.

p.s. I have obtained a photo of Cappy’s car as it was spotted during his move, and have attached it for your viewing pleasure. This is a legit photo folks, I am not making this up!

redneck uhaul
Redneck Uhaul








2 thoughts on “Redneck Uhaul

  1. “I will also add, just for bragging rights really, that I am also quasi-educated.”

    And yet you are articulate as all hell. This story flows more smoothly than many pieces I’ve had to struggle through from my fellow degree holders. What the–?

    “Cappy here was well versed in idiocy, and I had just enough experience with it myself that I was nearly fluent.”

    Holy crap, that was laugh out loud good.

    You give me some hope for Texas. You’re up against some pretty incriminating evidence that not everyone is done evolving from simians but your writing helps strikes some sort of balance in that state. Of course, you’re gonna have to put out a book to cover Houston, alone.

    Liked by 1 person

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