Ah, true love. The couple that plays together, attempts robbery together, assaults together, flees the authorities together, flees the authorities separately together, tries some more assault, some more fleeing, a bit of criminal mischief, and resists additional arrest attempts together, stays together. In juvie, usually. Sometimes on the bench in the big courthouse. Hey, since you’re in the courthouse already, might as well have the judge marry you after they sentence you. We’ve witnessed your devotion. We know your love will last longer than your stretch in jail. It’s fate. Kismet. It’s in the stars, and among the Starbursts.
Way out East there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Paul Charles Dozsa. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Paul Charles Dozsa, he called himself Paul Charles Dozsa. Now, Paul Charles Dozsa — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.
Have you ever had a bad day? I imagine that fellow is having a bad day. Not the sort of day any of us are familiar with. I’m talking about the sort of day that gets written about in bad pop songs. He’s going through a day that turns into the intro sequence for a daytime TV show, except there’s less jangly music in the background and more assault charges.
Now listen: If you’re going to come in here mewling about going foetal and handing over your treasure and your self-respect in copious amounts immediately when someone pulls a gat, you’ve stumbled into the wrong shop, mister. This is the Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys.
That twelve-year-old boy foiled an armed robbery. We brook no ifs, ands, or buts when grade-schoolers foil armed robberies. We plan parades and fetes and generalized carrying on over feats like that. No back seat driving allowed.
And by the way, they caught this turd that stuck up the store. And oh, by the by, this happened in Turkey. I want you to imagine going into a TURKISH PRISON with a little note card hung around your neck that reads: Sent here by a twelve year old. Dante Alighieiri couldn’t have come up with anything better than that.