So at about 3:00 a.m. this morning, the dogs start barking, and i look out my window to see this. Actually, there were more cars, but since they were pointing all their lights at some dude on our porch, and i had NO idea why he was there or whether he was armed, i didn’t want to stand where i could possibly get shot. So i had to go upstairs where the roof blocked several of the participating cruisers.
Apparently, or allegedly, or whatever, this dude broke into a house up the street, and the K9 unit tracked him directly to our porch. Apparently, or allegedly, or maybe better “obviously,” he was so wasted he couldn’t figure out how to open our dog gate to break into our house. He was sitting on the steps totally zoned out when they found him.
This is why drugs are bad, kids. Not because you eventually start committing crimes to pay for them (and poorly, at that), but because you don’t think about why people might have a dog gate:
Yes, the bed in Mr. Failed Burglar’s cell is hard and people can watch him wrestling with smack constipation, but i hope he’s counting his blessings. I’m counting mine! I didn’t have to clean up his terror pee or pluck his needle-scarred scrotum from my living room floor with a pair of salad tongs and Google how to properly dispose of human body parts.