Weevil's World - Dead Bodies
Title: Weevil's World - Dead Bodies
Author: Eli "Weevil" Navarro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 725
Okay, kiddies, today I want to discuss a rather unusual issue, a conundrum, if you will. Hold up - I know what you’re thinking: Weevil, I didn’t know you knew big words. It’s okay, I got graduated this summer, while I was in the county clink, and I work at Hearst now, so I got a license to use the big words just like all the freaky little college kids. Which brings me back to topic.
Okay, so here’s the deal - what would you do if, on a Monday morning, you walked into your classroom and found your boss, your professor or your arrogant, tight-assed teaching assistant, faced planted on his desk - and he was dead? Now, before you get your panties all in a twist, let me say one thing - it ain’t as far-out as you might think. This kind of thing happens all the time to some people I know, and in my experience - wait, nevermind, let’s just talk about it in the abstract. Like I said, it’s a unique situation and presents a number of practical and moral problems.
Presuming, of course, you’re not the cholo who offed the stiff, the first thing you gotta do is make sure he’s really gone, as in stone cold for real. Now, finding out if he’s croaked is kind of tricky, cuz at the same time you’re making sure he ain’t breathing, you gotta keep an eye out. Five-O frowns on it when you’re the first person found near, or with your hands on, a dead guy; for some reason, they immediately make you for a suspect and it can get you a quick trip to the Big House. At least, that’s how it went down for some friends of mine. But you still gotta know if the dude really is taking a dirt nap, cuz if he ain’t, you gotta get help. No matter what.
So, okay, you gotta man up and creep close enough to see, feel him for a pulse; you have to be careful though, cuz you don’t want to leave any traces that would tell public-safety or johnny law you been there. And - this is important - Do Not Touch Anything besides the dead guy. Don’t touch his clothes, don’t touch his desk, and make sure there’s no blood on the floor, cuz you don’t want to step in nothing sticky. Five-O got lots of sophisticated, high-tech ways of telling who been in a room, but you don’t want to make it easy on ‘em by leaving footprints all over the joint.
You know the guy’s 187 if he ain’t breathing, ain’t got a pulse, and don’t move or speak when you touch him. Now, this is where it gets tricky. He’s dead, and you can’t help him, so what do you do now? Play close attention, boys and girls, cuz here comes the moral issue. Dude’s gone - is it gonna hurt you if you’re the one that calls it in? If you’re a lilly-while, upstanding citizen, maybe you just stay where you are, flip out your blueberry and drop a dime. Do that, and you’re gonna have to stick around ‘til they get there, answer a bunch of dumb, insulting questions, and generally waste your time. But, hey, a lot of you punks don’t have nothing but time, so maybe it’s okay. I mean, it’s right thing to do - it’s what you should do.
But what if you ain’t so upstanding? What if you got a sheet or happen to be on a first name basis with the local yokels? What do you do then? If you make the call, no matter how innocent you are, johnny law’s going to assume you had a hand in it, somehow, even if you know you ain’t done a thing. But if you don’t pick up the phone and the law finds out, somehow, that you was there, it’s gonna be even worse for you.
Okay, so I’ve explained the problems inherent in the sitch, but I ain’t gonna tell you what to do if you should happen to find a stiff in your classroom or prof’s office, cuz what you do depends on who you are and what your priorities are made off. All I’m gonna say is - if you’re really lucky, there’ll be a nice, anonymous pay phone nearby. Good luck, kiddies.
Author: Eli "Weevil" Navarro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 725
Okay, kiddies, today I want to discuss a rather unusual issue, a conundrum, if you will. Hold up - I know what you’re thinking: Weevil, I didn’t know you knew big words. It’s okay, I got graduated this summer, while I was in the county clink, and I work at Hearst now, so I got a license to use the big words just like all the freaky little college kids. Which brings me back to topic.
Okay, so here’s the deal - what would you do if, on a Monday morning, you walked into your classroom and found your boss, your professor or your arrogant, tight-assed teaching assistant, faced planted on his desk - and he was dead? Now, before you get your panties all in a twist, let me say one thing - it ain’t as far-out as you might think. This kind of thing happens all the time to some people I know, and in my experience - wait, nevermind, let’s just talk about it in the abstract. Like I said, it’s a unique situation and presents a number of practical and moral problems.
Presuming, of course, you’re not the cholo who offed the stiff, the first thing you gotta do is make sure he’s really gone, as in stone cold for real. Now, finding out if he’s croaked is kind of tricky, cuz at the same time you’re making sure he ain’t breathing, you gotta keep an eye out. Five-O frowns on it when you’re the first person found near, or with your hands on, a dead guy; for some reason, they immediately make you for a suspect and it can get you a quick trip to the Big House. At least, that’s how it went down for some friends of mine. But you still gotta know if the dude really is taking a dirt nap, cuz if he ain’t, you gotta get help. No matter what.
So, okay, you gotta man up and creep close enough to see, feel him for a pulse; you have to be careful though, cuz you don’t want to leave any traces that would tell public-safety or johnny law you been there. And - this is important - Do Not Touch Anything besides the dead guy. Don’t touch his clothes, don’t touch his desk, and make sure there’s no blood on the floor, cuz you don’t want to step in nothing sticky. Five-O got lots of sophisticated, high-tech ways of telling who been in a room, but you don’t want to make it easy on ‘em by leaving footprints all over the joint.
You know the guy’s 187 if he ain’t breathing, ain’t got a pulse, and don’t move or speak when you touch him. Now, this is where it gets tricky. He’s dead, and you can’t help him, so what do you do now? Play close attention, boys and girls, cuz here comes the moral issue. Dude’s gone - is it gonna hurt you if you’re the one that calls it in? If you’re a lilly-while, upstanding citizen, maybe you just stay where you are, flip out your blueberry and drop a dime. Do that, and you’re gonna have to stick around ‘til they get there, answer a bunch of dumb, insulting questions, and generally waste your time. But, hey, a lot of you punks don’t have nothing but time, so maybe it’s okay. I mean, it’s right thing to do - it’s what you should do.
But what if you ain’t so upstanding? What if you got a sheet or happen to be on a first name basis with the local yokels? What do you do then? If you make the call, no matter how innocent you are, johnny law’s going to assume you had a hand in it, somehow, even if you know you ain’t done a thing. But if you don’t pick up the phone and the law finds out, somehow, that you was there, it’s gonna be even worse for you.
Okay, so I’ve explained the problems inherent in the sitch, but I ain’t gonna tell you what to do if you should happen to find a stiff in your classroom or prof’s office, cuz what you do depends on who you are and what your priorities are made off. All I’m gonna say is - if you’re really lucky, there’ll be a nice, anonymous pay phone nearby. Good luck, kiddies.