Thanks, Megan Boyle, For Saving Me From The Chicago Police

Thanks, Megan Boyle, For Saving Me From The Chicago Police


I don’t pay too much attention to internet celebrities, but when I heard you married the guy who wrote the poorly titled books that are in some of my friend’s bathrooms, I Googled your exploits. I read about how you had some sex with people; that’s cool, I think sex is pretty good. Sounds like Muumuu House is going to publish a book of your blog poetry (bloetry) and even though I don’t read words after they make the pilgrimage from internet to an actual for real book, I think this is pretty impressive because someone had to read that poetry and decide it was worth risking their financial stability. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I’ll never forget the night you saved me from getting beat up by the Chicago police.

We went to college together, and you were the manic friend of my manic friend.  Your combined mania when in the same room and on the same intoxicants was awe-inspiring. I didn’t know you basically at all, but you were in a group of friends that was going to attend a party. I had a lot to drink before the party; this was all prior to my ability to handle my liquor, plus I was underage. I noticed it had freshly snowed and figured it was the best idea to write the word “J-Spot” in the snow with my finger on everything I could see as we walked to the party, including what turned out to be a parked cop car at the police station. Immediately, two cops jump out of the car and four more make their way out from the station. All of my also-drunk friends bolted.

I had never dealt with policemen outside of St. Paul before. St. Paul police seem more curious than pissed off about whatever it is you’re doing, and their reaction to my many instances of playing inner-city frisbee golf in downtown was more boggled than threatening. Chicago cops, on the other hand, within seconds had me surrounded and physically detained, and began to shout at me about breaking my glasses and kicking my testicles into my chest. My youthful exuberance, coupled with my inebriation and lack of common sense, caused me to do the opposite of what I should have done as I talked back with similar snippiness as angsty conversations with my Mom. Just as I was about to have my sac beaten in, Megan Boyle, current internet celebrity, swooped in to act as witness and escorted me to safety.

So, thanks a bunch, Megan Boyle, because I like my testicles.

Jack Spencer