June 16, 2004

The Accused

I think about stupid things. A lot. Like, every once in awhile, I'll find myself sitting there, wondering what it would be like to be accused of a truly heinous crime I didn't actually commit.

It would be a murder, maybe. A high profile murder, of some sort of important or famous person, perhaps with a decapitation and disembowelment thrown into the mix. And I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and the most circumstantial evidence just initially points to me.

For the most part, I think I'd end up being exonerated, but the media frenzy and the lust to find out personal information about me would probably mean that I would be found guilty at least in the realm of popular opinion.

The press would get ahold of some sort of psychological evaluation of me that reveals that I spent a considerable amount of time as a child shooting birds, and baby birds, and squirrels, and rabbits, and the occasional cat, with my B.B. gun. And then they'd discover that my brother and I, and some of the neighbor kids, would sometimes get together and play baseball, using toads as a baseball.

newspaper stories would no doubt start out something like: "Ryan Rhodes, accused murderer of Hotel heiress and spread-legged trollop, Paris Hilton, reportedly had a childhood fascination with killing small creatures, according to a psychiatrist's testimony today."

So, of course I would be seen as guilty, because I killed small creatures as a child. That would make me an unfeeling, murderous evil-doer. Never mind that it's pretty common for kids to dabble in cruelty like that. People don't want to admit THAT.

It would be easier to dismiss me as an aberrant youth with a bloodlust for killing small creatures, and that that bloodlust caused me to chop off the head of Paris Hilton. Never mind that I have an appreciation for birds and rabbits now, and the thought of picking them off with a B.B. gun is kinda abhorrent to me. Who would believe me?

Then they'd discover the backyard grenade incident, and the story would be twisted into how I spent time creating pipe bombs and couldn't get enough of fireworks, and how I got a DWI when I was 19. All of this would hit the papers, I'm sure.

By the end of the trial, I'd be found innocent by a jury of my peers, but the court of public opinion would have branded me a disgusting human being at best, and a rap-beating murderer at worst.

And man, that would really suck.

Posted by Ryan at June 16, 2004 12:38 PM

Yeah, at least OJ was a great football player before he became a double murdering woman hatin' asshat extraordinaire.

By the way, you should get paid for that line "spread-legged trollop", its beautiful!

Posted by: Johnny Huh? at June 16, 2004 02:06 PM

See your already back to the "stuff that really matters"....good job.

Posted by: Kimberly at June 16, 2004 02:19 PM

I too have this dys-fantasy. I get accused of a horrible crime. the evidence is stacked against me. People abandon me. I spend 20 years in the can and I emerge a broken man. Then it is revealed that I didn't actually do the crime. I shuffle around the streets of minneapolis in rags and my old friends cross the street to avoid me. Right up there with the lottery fantasy.

Posted by: tim at June 16, 2004 03:51 PM

This entry is just your future alabi isn't it?

Posted by: Beth at June 16, 2004 10:06 PM

You know, now that I think about it. . . probably. Paris Hilton DOES piss me off.

Posted by: Ryan at June 16, 2004 11:31 PM

Ryan, did you also light fires and wet the bed? Then I'll really worry.
The grenade story would be something I would do, I've always had enough smarts to figure out how to destroy things, but not enough common sense to know I shouldn't.

Posted by: Donna at June 17, 2004 07:00 AM

Ryan, you're obsessing unnecessarily. All you had to write here was "I get accused of some horrible crime and they find my blog so I get convicted and die in prison of an impacted cornhole."

Or something to that effect.

Posted by: Jim at June 17, 2004 07:53 AM
StumbleUpon Toolbar Stumble It!