I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability (19 page)

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Authors: Ron White

BOOK: I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability
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How do you know he's crazy? That's what I want to know. 'Course he's crazy, he killed three people, you know.
This is what they said: "He rolls his turds into little balls and eats crayons." I'm like, shit, they got to quit putting all crazy people in one group, goddamn it. They got to separate them up a little bit, you know what I mean?
"What does that crazy person do?"
"Oh, he rolls his turds into little balls and eats crayons."
"Fine, I'll feed him for the rest of his life. What does that crazy person do?"
"Oh, he kills productive members of our society."
"Well, he should've rolled his shit into little balls and ate crayons. 'Cause the penalty is much less severe."
They're trying to pass a bill right now through the Texas legislature that'll speed up the process of execution in heinous crimes where there's more than three credible eyewitnesses. If more than three people saw you do what you did, you don't sit on death row for fifteen years, Jack, you go straight to the front of the line. Other states are trying to abolish the death penalty, my state's putting in an express lane.
I did that bit out in California. And this guy comes up to me after the show, and you could tell he was nervous to talk to me.
And he goes, "You know what, that may be true about Texas and the death penalty. But you know what, you know what?"
"What?" He waited for me to say what. That's kind of cute.
He goes, "There's an old law in Texas that states that in Texas you cannot shoot somebody in the back, no matter what they did to you or your family or your place of business. It's illegal for you to in turn shoot them in the back."
I went, "Yeah, but you can start shootin' them in the leg till they turn around. 'Cause eventually they're going to get curious."
"Who's shooting me in the leg?" I wonder quietly to myself.
Oh, that guy.
Never turn around.
I
got thrown out of a bar in New York City. Now, when I say I got thrown out of a bar, I don't mean somebody asked me to leave and we walked to the door together and I said, "Bye, everybody, I gotta go."
Six bouncers hurled me out of a nightclub like I was a Frisbee. Those big old bouncers that go home every night, watch
Road House
, and beat off, you know what I'm talking about?
"Patrick Swayze's hitting another guy, hee-hee-hee."
For wearing a hat. I walk into a bar with a hat on, this guy's real pissy. He goes, "Take off the hat!"
I'm like, "What's the deal?"
He goes, "I'll tell you what the deal is. Faggots in this area wear hats. We're trying to keep 'em out of our club."
"Oh, really? The only way we can tell down South is if they have their hair cut like--yours." And he got all pissed, but he walked away and I took the hat off. And like an hour later, I'd been drinking and I forgot.
You ever forget? It happened to me. I put the hat back on, the guy comes over to me. Now, I'm between 6'1" and 6'6", depending on which convenience store I'm leaving. I weigh 235 pounds. This guy comes over to me, poking me in the shoulder with two fingers, and says, "You're out of here."
I was like, "I don't think so, Scooter." And I was wrong.
They hurled my ass. And then they squared off with me in the parking lot. And I backed down from the fight, 'cause I don't know how many of them it would have taken to whip my ass. But I knew how many they were gonna use.
That's a handy little piece of information to have right there--overkill. Well, they called the police, 'cause we broke a chair on the way out the door, and I refused to pay for it.
I refused to pay for it, because "we" broke it over "my" thigh.
The cops showed up. And at that point, I had the right to remain silent . . . but I didn't have the ability.
Cop says, "Mr. White, you are being charged with
'Drunk . . . in . . . Public.'
"
I was like, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, I was drunk in a bar. They
threw
me into
public
. I don't want to be drunk in
public
. I want to be drunk in a bar, which is perfectly legal. Arrest them."
Well, he didn't arrest them. Instead he made me do a field sobriety test where you stand on one foot, raise the other foot six inches off the ground, and count to thirty. I made it to "Whoo. Is that gonna be close enough?"
Well, it wasn't close enough, so they call in for my arrest record. There's some good news. Satellites are linking up in outer space, computer banks at NASA are kicking on. There's a telegraph in Fritch, Texas, going, "Beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep, dot, deet-deet-deet, dash, dippity, deet-deet-deet, duppety, deet-deet-deet, dot, dash"--this part takes a while--"deet-deet-deet, dippety, dot-dot, dash . . . beep."
Now I told you that story to tell you this story: When I was seventeen years old I was arrested for being drunk in public. Seems to be a pattern.
If you knew Morse code, you'd already know that.
And one DWI, which was a bogus charge, because it turns out they were stopping every vehicle traveling down that particular sidewalk. And, hell, that's profiling, isn't it? Profiling is wrong.
On the drunk in public charge in Fritch, the arresting officer, who I had literally known all my life, you know what I mean? This guy lived four doors down from me in a town of less than four hundred people. We've met.
I mean, Fritch was so small, one year our high school marching band made a period. Two years later, they made a comma. They were kicking ass.
Anyhow, the cop who grew up four doors down from me takes me to jail, and when we get there he asks me if I have any aliases. I was just being a smart-ass, and I said, "Yeah, they call me Tater Salad."
Seventeen years later in New York City, I'm hand-cuffed on a bench with blood coming out of my nose. And this cop goes, "Are you Ron 'Tater Salad' White?"
"You caught me, you caught the Tater. You can take down those roadblocks now."

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