What Happened to Taco Bell's Volcano Burrito?

Have you ever been in love? I mean, like, really in love? I’m talking about the kind of love that keeps you up at night. The kind of love that has you doing things you’d never otherwise do. The kind of love that makes you question every single decision you’ve ever made in your life that’s led you to an existence where you aren’t with the one you crave?

That’s me with the Volcano Burrito from Taco Bell. And in 2013, it was taken from me, along with my will to live. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Volcano Burrito was introduced in May 2009, piggy-backing on the success of Taco Bell’s Volcano Taco in 2008. Together the two items combined to form the Volcano Menu, which sported the tagline “Get ready for the good hurt.” That tagline would end up being more appropriate than Taco Bell could have ever imagined. The food was indeed very very good. And then when they canceled the menu, the hurt was indeed very very bad.

When the Volcano Burrito began taking over the world it was $2.99, which seemed expensive considering you could get an entire feast off Taco Bell’s “Why Pay More” menu for the same price, which at the time featured gems such as the cheesy double beef burrito for only $0.89 and triple layer nachos for $0.79. The cost was mitigated on December 21, 2010 when Taco Bell introduced the Volcano Box for just $5.00. The box included the Volcano Burrito ($2.99), a Volcano Taco ($0.89), a traditional crunchy taco (which could be swapped with a soft taco, a savvy veteran move)($0.89), cinnamon twists ($0.79), and a medium drink ($1.89). Now all of a sudden we’re talking about a $7.45 value for just $5. I never understood how Taco Bell was making a profit on these boxes, and that may be why they ended up discontinuing them.

Regardless of the cost, once you took a bite of the Volcano Burrito you immediately had an answer to the question “Why Pay More?” It was a masterpiece in your mouth. It was stuffed with a double portion of Taco Bell’s questionable-yet-delicious seasoned ground beef, expertly mixed with a scoop of their Mexican rice, a sprinkle of crunchy red tortilla strips for texture, cool sour cream and cheddar cheese to balance it out, all snuggled up nice and cozy inside a warm 12 inch flour tortilla. (It was also 800 calories, had 42 grams of fat, and 81 carbs. 100% not part of a balanced diet, but also 100% worth it).

Taco Bell’s expertise lies in figuring out new ways to deliver the same four ingredients to your face that make you think you’re actually making something new, and the Volcano Burrito was no exception. Except for one key difference: Lava Sauce.

It’s hard to articulate what separates Lava Sauce from Taco Bell’s traditional hot sauce. It’s a little spicier, sure, but there’s more to it than that. Reddit user jachambers tried to describe it to some poor soul who’s never had it before, saying “it had a really good spicy taste to it, but it also was kinda creamy in a way.” Far from scientific, but I get what he’s saying. It was both spicy and creamy, kind of like buffalo ranch. But it didn’t taste like buffalo. Or ranch. It just had a similar breakdown. You know what I’m saying?

If not, here’s a more scientific explanation. Taco Bell’s Lava Sauce had 50% more capsaicin in it than their traditional hot sauce. A quick Google search taught me that capsaicin is not just a great name for a heavy metal band, but also an active component in chili peppers that causes a burning sensation in any tissue it comes in contact with. That sounds super dangerous and something no human should ever want to deal with, but pretty much what it means is Lava Sauce was 50% hotter than Taco Bell’s hot sauce.

It also contained more Scoville Units than traditional hot sauce, clocking 800 to hot sauce’s 500. The Scoville Scale is a way to measure the spiciness of various chili peppers as well as other spicy foods. For context, a standard jalapeno contains over 3500 Scoville Units, so Lava Sauce wasn’t nearly as spicy as their ads implied.

Lava Sauce was so good that there are numerous articles and videos of people out there concocting their own recipes in an attempt to replicate it, but they’re never quite right. Maybe it’s the faulty memory of my taste buds. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s a lack of overhearing minimum wage employees loudly complaining about their jobs in the background as I enjoy my meal. But none of the recipes I’ve found online have been able to capture the magic of Lava Sauce. The closest I’ve found was this youtube video, where the bulk of the recipe is hot sauce with some butter, cheese sauce, horseradish and a myriad of spices and seasonings. It definitely has the creamy element that our friend jachambers referenced above, but the flavor still isn’t quite the same.

There’s another recipe on Reddit that apparently is pulled directly from Taco Bell themselves. It uses soybean oil and egg yolk (so it’s mayonnaise based) as well as cheddar cheese and tomato paste, as well as a bunch of unpronounceable ingredients like propylene glycol alginate and disodium inosinate & guanylate. The inclusion of these obscure ingredients makes me think that this may actually be the correct recipe, but they don’t include portion sizes to make it yourself at home. I also don’t live near a chemical plant to get all the necessary ingredients.

At this point you may find my desperation to find an adequate solution a bit sad. And believe me, I’m willing to step back and acknowledge that all humans have different tastes, and that maybe the Volcano Burrito wasn’t as universally loved as I want to believe it was. Or maybe I’m misremembering how much I actually enjoyed it. But I’m not the only one confused by Taco Bell’s irrational decision to get rid of it. A simple Twitter search for “volcano burrito” turns up hundreds of tweets sent by people all over the world asking why the volcano burrito was taken off their menu.

There’s even a *petition out there demanding the return of Lava Sauce! Now, granted, it does have more than a couple of typos and grammatical errors and only managed to amass 289 signatures, but still. The passion is there. And could you imagine if it had actually worked? Nothing would make me happier in my entire life than if a petition to bring back Lava Sauce was able to reach the 100,000 signatures needed for an official response from the White House.

*There was a Twitter handle associated with this petition (@BringBackLavaSa) that has since been suspended. I’m trying to hold my conspiracy theories at bay.

Taco Bell tried to scratch the itch back on September 23, 2015 when they announced they were bringing back lava sauce as an ingredient in their new Volcano Quesarito, and I have to admit it was really good. But ultimately it felt like a tease. While the sauce was as delicious as I remembered, the Volcano Quesarito experience just wasn’t the same as with the Volcano Burrito. And it proved to be even more of a tease when they took the the promotional item off their menu after just one month, leaving us in a lava sauce-less wasteland yet again. Had I known the promotion would be so short I would have purchased an irresponsible amount of Volcano Quesaritos and stocked my freezer full. And *possibly would have had a sample of the lava sauce sent to a lab where scientists could accurately break down its contents.

*Definitely

Taco Bell discontinued the Volcano Menu sometime in late 2012, and by early 2013 they had eliminated Lave Sauce completely. The discontinuation of the Volcano Burrito was like the end of Titanic when Jack freezes and sinks into the abyss while Rose floats safely on a piece of driftwood. Only in this scenario Jack is the Volcano Burrito, Rose is Taco Bell, and the driftwood is Taco Bell’s menu. There was plenty of room on the driftwood (menu) for Jack (Volcano Burrito), but Rose (Taco Bell) decided to let it go anyway.

Supposedly the Volcano Menu is still running in Iceland, South Korea, and parts of the U.K. The Taco Bell UK Twitter account even taunted us all with a tweet as recently as March of this year, stating “Volcano Burrito > Relationships.” I couldn’t agree more. And I would sacrifice every relationship I’ve ever had to bring back the one I’ve treasured the most.

My Name's Brian Bockelman, and I'm No Longer a Felon

I woke up at 5:30 the morning of Monday, February 4th to go back to the worst place in the entire world: Neosho, MO. My elusive court date had been rescheduled so many times that I was bracing for a call telling me it had been moved for what would have been the eighth time. That call never came.

I had spoken with my lawyer on the phone for the first time ever the Thursday before. I’m disappointed to report that she was actually quite pleasant during our brief conversation despite my determination to hate her. She assured me my appearance would be uneventful and that this would all be behind me soon. She went on to say that the only witness the prosecution could call in would be the police officer who made the initial arrest, but she doubted he would show. He had been fired from the force since.

I asked if she had any more insight into how this happened in the first place. I was still fuzzy on some of the details and the story I had in my mind didn’t quite add up.

“You didn’t get a discovery packet with all that information in it? You should have received it a couple months ago.”

“No.”

“Oh. Well we’ll have that sent over.”

She told me mostly what I already knew. A man named Steven Hurley cashed a forged check at a bank in Neosho, MO for $38 on October 15, 2015. It’s her belief that when Hurley recited his driver’s license number to the bank teller, the teller mis transposed what he said and messed up the last digit, making it my driver’s license number. So the check was written out to “Steven Hurley” but had my license number on it. For some unbelievable reason the police decided to pursue the driver’s license number on the check as opposed to the ACTUAL NAME WRITTEN ON THE CHECK!?????

INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT — NIGHT

OPEN ON TWO POLICE OFFICERS STANDING IN FRONT OF AN EVIDENCE BOARD WITH NOTHING BUT A CHECK PINNED TO IT. IT’S SIGNED IN BLUE CRAYON.

OFFICER 1: Well sir, it says Steven Hurley right there on the check. I think we have our man.

OFFICER 2 STARES OFF INTO THE DISTANCE AS HE TAKES A LONG DRAG FROM HIS CIGARETTE.

OFFICER 2: It’s too goddamn obvious.

OFFICER 1: Sir, I don’t thi-

OFFICER 2: I SAID IT’S TOO GODDAMN OBVIOUS, JACKSON!

OFFICER 1: Shouldn’t we at least check out Steven Hurley first? See if the teller can ID him? He lives right here in town.

OFFICER 2: Get the Hell out of my face before I rip yours off.

OFFICER 1: B-

OFFICER 2: OUT!!

OFFICER 1 LEAVES FRAME. OFFICER 2 SITS IN A CHAIR FACING THE EVIDENCE BOARD. HE LEANS BACK AND TAKES ANOTHER DRAG FROM HIS CIGARETTE.

OFFICER 2 [TO SELF]: I’m going to find you, you sonuvabitch.

My lawyer told me to meet her at the courthouse at 9:00 am on the 4th. I agreed. We hung up.

The drive to Neosho was as forgetful as I remembered. I’m convinced God made the drive as boring as possible as a way to deter unknowing travelers from accidentally ending up in Hell on Earth. As we pulled into the outskirts of town I observed a series of open trash bags strewn along the side of the road. It was a pretty fitting welcome, and if I’m being honest they actually spruced the place up a bit.

Lauren and I found our way to the all-too-familiar courthouse where my lawyer was supposed to be waiting for us. First we had to clear security, and by security I mean a man who looked as if he had just eaten another man sitting in a folding chair next to a metal detector (this may seem like a mean and unfair description but trust me, he was kind of a dick). We rid ourselves of any metal on our person and went through the detector. Each time, the detector’s alarm went off. Each time, the man who looked as if he had just eaten another man half-heartedly patted us down. He shrugged and let us through.

I signed in and went to the waiting area just outside the courtroom. For a moment I thought I had walked in on a town hall meeting because of how packed it was. The room was lined wall to wall with denim and I immediately felt over dressed. As I surveyed the room I couldn’t help but wonder if Steven Hurley was there. Given his track record it seemed like more than a possibility.

Lauren and I wedged ourselves between a couple of potential convicts. It was 9:25 and my lawyer was nowhere to be found. At 9:30 there was an announcement over the intercom for anyone with a 9:15 or 9:45 hearing to enter the courtroom. You could see how this would be confusing because, again, they made this announcement at 9:30. The room cleared out except for an older woman sitting across from us to the left and a young man with glasses sitting across from us to the right.

My lawyer still hadn’t arrived so we continued to wait. I knew I had a 9:30 hearing, but I was becoming uneasy that I was supposed to be in the courtroom at that time. I called my lawyer’s office to see if they could put me in contact with her.

“She should be there by now.”

“She isn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“……”

I went back to the sign-in desk and asked the woman behind it it if I was supposed to be in the courtroom or not.

“Have you signed in?”

Surely it was a joke. This was the same woman who had just signed me in not 15 minutes earlier. I stared at her waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come:

“Yes.”

“One moment.”

She began clacking away on her keyboard. I stood by anxiously. With each second I became more convinced I was supposed to be in the courtroom, and I wasn’t about to miss my appearance because my lawyer didn’t show up on time. The woman behind the desk told me she wasn’t able to confirm whether or not I was supposed to be in the courtroom and encouraged me to go back into the waiting area until my lawyer arrived. Unpleased with the answer, I did as she suggested.

I sat back down next to Lauren on the wooden pew and relayed the lack of news. The waiting area was quiet except for the sound of the broken metal detector going off whenever someone new would walk through it. They either didn’t realize it was broken or they didn’t care. I tried to distract myself by fiddling with my phone.

“I don’t know if I’m in the right place.”

I looked up. The older woman across from us was looking at Lauren and I, a strong indication that the comment had been directed at us. She was clutching her purse in her lap with both hands and wore a long floral dress. Lauren engaged, because she has a heart of gold.

“That’s okay — we don’t know if we’re in the right place either.”

“I was told to be here at 9:30 and it’s 9:45 now. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Lauren and I silently reacted to the information. 9:30 was the same time my case was scheduled to go in front of the judge.

“We were supposed to be here at 9:30, too,” Lauren told her with way more sweetness than I could have mustered. “All we can do is sit here until someone tells us what to do.”

This seemed to comfort the older woman, at least temporarily. Lauren and I took to our phones.

Lauren: 9:30 — who do you think she is?
Me: Idk the bank teller maybe
Lauren: Ooooooh I bet
Me: But [REDACTED] told me the only witness they had was the police officer so..???

Not long after this exchange my lawyer made her grand entrance. She was accompanied by two other attorneys from her firm, both men. I couldn’t help but read into it. Was this whole thing a bigger deal than they made it out to be?She formally introduced herself and told me she was going to go into the courtroom to speak with the prosecutor. On her way out of the waiting area, she dropped a line to the young man who had been sitting across from us.

“We’re going to need to speak with you here shortly.”

As quickly as she had arrived, she was gone. Someone had turned on a radio over by security. Country music quietly played in the background as we resumed the waiting.

“I’ve got friends in looooow places…”

I was surprised by how nervous I was. I was moments away from finally being able to put this behind me and move on with my life. This case was a slam dunk. I had been reassured it was a slam dunk. Yet something about the whole thing stunk.

“I just don’t know what’s going on.”

It was the older woman again, only now she had tears in her eyes.

“Oh, it’s okay.” Lauren to the rescue. “I’m sure someone will come talk with you soon.”

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”

My heart legitimately broke for this woman. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know her situation. I didn’t even know if she was involved in my case or not. But I could empathize with the feeling of being alone in the dark. I had been in the dark for the previous nine months. But by then I had at least evolved into one of those creatures from The Descent and knew how to navigate it.

It wasn’t long before my lawyer emerged from the courtroom and called back the young man across from us. After he got up and left Lauren and I speculated who he may be. My best guess was the police officer, but my lawyer had been confident he wouldn’t show.

As the young man with glasses entered the courtroom, a woman we hadn’t seen before exited. She wore heels with her pantsuit and carried a portfolio of some sort. She strode over to the old woman across from us and began talking with her. She spoke lowly but was no match for the otherwise overwhelming silence. Lauren and I hung on every word as we live-texted the interaction.

What we learned was that the old woman was in fact the bank teller who had accepted the forged check. She had been called in as a witness for my case, but my lawyer was requesting a separate court date at a later time to bring her back in. They needed to “gather more information” before speaking with her. My heart sank when I heard that. That was not in line with my plan to never enter Neosho city limits again.

The old woman didn’t understand. “Do they want proof? I have a picture if they want proof.”

The old woman’s lawyer, sensing the in-no-way-subtle eavesdropping Lauren and I were doing, ushered her outside to continue their conversation. They got up, left, and Lauren and I gossipped like school girls. I didn’t know what to make of what we had just overheard. I was too concerned with the news that my lawyer was pushing for another court date.

My lawyer came out of the courtroom not long after. I stood as she walked toward us down the long hallway. I hated her body language. She wasn’t looking me in the eye. She looked as if she had bad news.

“Ok, so…”

I swear to God. I swear it. If you tell me that this is getting rescheduled, I will personally make it my mission to destroy this town. I will infiltrate ISIS. I will attend their meetings. I will climb the ranks. I will make Neosho our sworn enemy. I will-

“…the prosecutor has agreed to dismiss the case.”

Oh.

“He looked at the evidence, determined this couldn’t have been you, and is going to drop it. Let’s go outside and I’ll tell you more.”

We stepped outside and she caught me up to speed. Apparently they had switched the prosecutor on my case. The new prosecutor took one look at the evidence and agreed this was a no-brainer: I couldn’t have done this. His decision was reinforced when the police officer (the young man with glasses) said he didn’t recognize me and that I wasn’t the person he arrested back in 2015.

This was all good news, but as expected there was a hitch. Just because they were dismissing my case didn’t mean my record was going to be cleared. I would still have to go through the process of expunging the felony and misdemeanor charges. That process could get started once the case was formally dismissed, which the prosecutor was expected to do by the end of the week. My lawyer said she could help me with the expungement which would only require a couple of signatures on my end. I told her that would be fine.

Before we parted ways, she told me one other thing: that I should sue the shit out of the local police department. She said there was more than enough evidence to prove the case had been grossly mishandled on the most basic level and that if anyone had done their jobs none of this would have ever happened.

I was skeptical at first since Nick had told me suing would be a lost cause. (“Unfortunately you can’t sue someone for being shitty at their job.”) Also because I assumed she just wanted to milk me for more money. But she said she wouldn’t be able to represent me if I were to go down that route. Her husband had worked for the police department in the past and she didn’t want to be the one to go after them for small-town political reasons. I warmed up to the idea knowing she had no skin in the game. There was something about the way she said it — almost as if she was withholding a bombshell — that made me consider. I told her I would talk to some people and see if they thought it was worth pursuing.

Driving home I didn’t know how to feel. The prosecutor had verbally dismissed the case, but it still wasn’t officially official. Once it was, I would still have to go through the process of getting the felony taken off my record. And even then it wouldn’t officially be dropped until 180 days after that goes through. I had expected the resolution to feel anticlimactic. I didn’t expect whatever feeling this was.

That was Monday, February 4th. On Sunday, February 10th my lawyer sent me an email with a recommendation for a lawyer in Kansas City in case I were to sue. I replied asking if my case had been dismissed yet. I didn’t hear back until eight days later on Monday, February 18th. She told me she still hadn’t heard, but would let me know as soon as she did.

On Wednesday the 20th I decided to call the lawyer she recommended. After a game of telephone tag I was able to get in touch with her assistant. I downloaded her on everything that had happened, all the way up to the prosecutor agreeing to dismiss the case. She asked me if I would like her to see if it had been dropped yet. I said “yes, please.”

“This is odd,” she said. “Did you know you have a dismissal hearing scheduled for May 27th?”

I passed out. When I came to, I told the assistant that no, I was not aware of that. My lawyer told me I would never have to go back to Neosho, and that this was supposed to be done by the end of the previous week. I had even gotten an email from her two days earlier that made no indication anything had changed since we last talked. The assistant said she would reach out to her on my behalf to get things cleared up, as well as let her boss know what was going on.

She called me back the next day saying she couldn’t get in touch with my lawyer. I wasn’t surprised. I was her client and I couldn’t even get in touch with her. She said she would keep trying and let me know if she heard anything. I haven’t heard from anyone about it since.

This is likely my last time writing about this. I still don’t know if I’m going to sue, but even if I do, this has started to feel like homework. I’ve had people tell me I should try to sell my story to various publications, but I know better than to believe anyone is going to care that a white straight male got screwed out of a couple thousand dollars by the legal system.

In hindsight I suppose I’m lucky. I’m lucky I never got pulled over while the warrant was out for my arrest. I’m lucky I have a job that allows me to pay my legal fees and take time off to deal with this. I’m lucky I have a network of friends and family who support me and were willing to help, including but not limited to Ben Grace, Heather Field, Molly Hastings, Laura Brand, Nick Brand, Ethan Sageser, and Maren Ozier. I have a lot of favors to pay forward.

I’m not sure what the takeaway is. I guess it’s to not let a stranger forge a check using your identification in a town that happens to be run by a particularly incompetent police force. But for the most part, I feel like I’m living out the final scene of Burn After Reading.

“What did we learn, Palmer?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“I don’t fucking know either.
I guess we learned not to do it again.
Though fuck if I know what we did.”

My Name's Brian Bockelman, and I'm STILL a felon: Part Three

It’s been fifty-four days since I last posted about my case, and a lot has happened since then. Phone calls have been made. Conversations had. Lies made. Emails exchanged. Hope had. Hope lost. Voices raised. Tears shed. Shit shat. But one thing has remained the same: I’m still a goddamn felon.

Let me walk you through how we got here. Which is nowhere.

Let’s pick up where we left off, which was with my previous lawyer informing me on October 2nd via text that he had quit his job with the law firm I’ve been employing. Not to be confused with my first lawyer who informed me on August 26th that he had quit his job with the law firm I’ve been employing. Different lawyers. Both quitters.

In neither instance did the firm find this information important enough to relay to me themselves, so in the days following the news of my lawyer’s departure I was forced to reach out to them to figure out how to proceed. Between the dates of October 2nd and October 20th I called my law firm eight times. They didn’t reach out to me once.

I’m willing to step back and admit that, under normal circumstances, calling someone eight times in the span of 18 days could read as a bit desperate. Especially when they never call you back. It’s like, take a hint, I get it. But when you have a felony on your record for a crime you didn’t commit in a town you’ve never been to and are paying someone $250/hour to resolve it, I think knowing how the people you’re paying $250/hour are spending their time is a reasonable request.

Unfortunately, I still don’t have an answer to that question. Every time I called I was greeted by the receptionist (or legal assistant, or paralegal, or whatever) who politely told me, without fail, that my lawyer was unavailable. Despite leaving several voicemails pleading her to call me back, I’ve still never heard the sound of my lawyer’s voice as of me writing this.

During one of the eight calls (they all blend together) the receptionist (or legal assistant, or paralegal, or whatever) could sense my mounting frustration when she once again told me my lawyer wasn’t available. In either an attempt to make me feel better or an attempt to break me she said “Hey, look at the bright side: at least you don’t have a warrant out for your arrest anymore. Things could always be worse.”

Things could always be worse. What an absolutely brilliant thought. And what an even more brilliant application of that thought. Covering up the horrendous job you’re doing by observing that hey, things could always be worse. I might have to start using that in my everyday life whenever I shit the bed on someone else’s behalf. “Sorry the client presentation was a trainwreck and we lost the business, but hey…it could always be worse.” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I decided it was best for my sanity to stop calling for a while. All it was doing was causing me to yell at my dashboard on the drive home from work everyday, and my dashboard did nothing to deserve the verbal abuse.

I ignored the shit storm hanging over my head the best I could until I received a letter from my lawyer’s office. The letter informed me that my court date had been pushed back from October 25th to November 7th. Why? I have no idea, because that’s all the letter said. And when I called the law firm to ask why it got pushed back, you can guess what happened.

NOTE:
Because of how I write these and when I post them there’s always a ‘dead’ gap of time between where I leave the story and when the post goes up. For example, my last post went up on October 24th, but the story left off with my second lawyer quitting on October 2nd. Everything you just read is what happened in the weeks in-between. Which, as you can see, was pretty much nothing.

Back to the misery.

A couple hours after my last post went live on October 24th I received a phone call from my Dad. Never a good sign. The last time my Dad called me was to tell me they were putting down my childhood dog, so I was sure someone must have died.

It wasn’t much better. He told me he’s concerned that I’m openly discussing an ongoing case over the internet and warned that anything I say can and will be held against me. To prove his already valid point, he told me a story about a friend of his who discussed his case online which ended up opening a whole new can of worms, and heeded that sarcasm doesn’t always translate over text.

I was embarrassed. Or ashamed. Or whatever it is you feel when you’re very insecure about a thing and hope no one says anything about the thing but then someone comes along and confirms that you were right to have felt very insecure about that thing. And that person is your own Dad, so you feel even 100x stupider.

I respect my Dad’s opinion above any other. While I would argue I’ve done nothing but further illustrate my innocence with these stupid little posts, I knew he was (and still is) probably right. As I’ve been writing these, in the back of my head I’ve worried that it’s probably ill-advised. Hearing him confirm it made me feel like a stupid little kid. I wished he had called to tell me someone was dead.

He ended our call by requesting I refrain from talking about my case any further until it’s all officially said and done. I agreed that was probably for the best.

Fifty-four days is a pretty good run, though.

Later that same night my girlfriend, Lauren, got a call from her cousin, Ethan. He told us that his girlfriend’s parents happen to live just outside Neosho (y tho?!?!) and that her step-dad is friends with the District Attorney of the county. The DA isn’t the prosecuting attorney on my case, but rather her boss. Or boss’s boss. I think. I don’t really know.

Anyway.

My girlfriend’s cousin’s girlfriend’s mom had read my posts and agreed my situation is absurd. She suggested I share them with her husband so he could share them with his friend, the District Attorney. When Ethan asked if that would be okay, I was of two minds:

1) Do I really want to share an article where I describe Neosho as “if a $5 hooker were a town” with the man who has the power to make this shitty situation even shittier for me?

2) Fuck it.

I gave him the green light.

About a week went by before we got a text back from Ethan on October 30th. He said that his girlfriend’s step dad had read my posts and also agreed that the whole thing is insane. He had called the DA and was waiting to hear back. The following week on November 8th, we got another text from Ethan saying to give him a call.

Ethan told us that the DA had read my posts and requested that I send him some photos of myself 😏. He was going to look into the bank’s security footage and wanted to be able to confirm if it was me who cashed the check or not. If he could confirm without a doubt that the man in the footage wasn’t me (spoiler: it’s not), he said he could probably get this dismissed without me having to make another appearance. I hung up, collected some photos of myself, and sent them his way.

I was allowing myself to feel slightly optimistic. After sending the email I once again went about my life as usual while trying to ignore the shit storm hanging over my head…until November 23rd when I opened my mailbox and saw that I had another letter from my lawyer’s office.

I knew what it was going to say before I opened it, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating when I read that my case had been pushed back again, this time to January 21, 2019. And again, there was no explanation why.

I was unapproachable after reading that letter. My case, which should have never existed to begin with, that was originally supposed to be resolved on September 19, that got pushed back to October 31, then pushed back to November 7, was now being dragged all the way into next year. And God forbid my lawyer utilize 19th century technology and give me a phone call to explain what was going on.

I have no reason to believe this will actually be resolved on January 21st. I’m sure in the next couple weeks leading up to the holidays, probably on Christmas morning because fuck any joy that might still be rattling inside my heart, I’ll receive another letter saying my court date’s been pushed back to January 2020. And then in January 2020 I’ll probably get another letter that will skip right to the point and simply read “Go fuck yourself.”

The following week on November 27th, after I had mentally accepted that this case is now permanently part of my identity, I got an email from a coworker titled “felon stuff.” I had known ahead of receiving the email that my coworker’s husband was a lawyer because I had been encouraged by some other coworkers of mine to reach out to him for help. I’m not sure why I hadn’t. Maybe I figured if I kept pretending everything was alright that it would be. Maybe I was worried the more lawyers that got involved, the more complicated the matter would become. Or maybe I’m just stubborn and hate asking other people for help. Regardless, she made the decision easy for me by reaching out with a massive favor.

She explained that her husband had read about my case and was happy to lend his legal perspective. She said he was a civil lawyer, not a criminal lawyer, but that he could still look help me out as much as he could. At the bottom of her email she went ahead and included the email she had received from her husband after he read my posts about my case.

He won me over with his opening line: “My thought is that it’s absolute bullshit.” That sentence was, and still is, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. Seven words in and I was already smashing the subscribe button on whatever he had to say next. I was ready to run through a brick wall for this guy.

He went on to say that I might have a claim for “malicious prosecution,” something I didn’t understand at the time but made me say outloud to myself “fuck yeah I do.” He also said that he thought this was a gross abuse of power (seriously, someone find me a brick wall to run through) and ended it by asking a couple questions that even I was still hazy on, such as: Who exactly do the prosecutors think I am? Do they think Brian Bockelman is my alias or the other way around? Regardless, why can’t this all be solved by providing a birth certificate proving I’m Brian Bockelman? GREAT QUESTIONS.

For the sake of this writing let’s refer to my coworker’s husband as “Nick,” which may or may not be his real name. It might be, but it might not be.

But it might be.

But it might not be.

But it might be.

I got on the phone with Nick the next day to talk about everything that’s been going on, but not before receiving a phone call from…wait….what’s this…could it be…my lawyer’s office?! I had to take my phone to the Apple store to make sure it was working correctly because no way was my lawyer actually calling ME. And she wasn’t.

I answered my phone and the receptionist (or legal assistant, or paralegal, or whatever) informed me that my court date that was scheduled for the next day (November 29th) against the city of Neosho was still moving forward as planned.

You may be a little confused, as was I, because I had just received a letter telling me that my court date had been moved to January. As it turns out, but they failed to specify in the letter (because why would they?), is that my court date against Newton County got pushed back to January, but my court date against the city of Neosho was still scheduled for November 29th. This was made even more confusing by the fact that during one of those eight phone calls I made back in October they had told me the two cases were being consolidated into one.

But hey, at least they gave me plenty of notice.

Luckily, they told me it wasn’t necessary for me to appear. They had reason to believe everything would go smoothly and that the city prosecutor would dismiss the case. And I had reason to believe they were full of shit, but any reason to not go to Neosho was good enough for me.

Regardless of how the city case would go, there was still the case against the county looming so I was eager to pick up the phone when Nick gave me a call. I told him the spark notes version of my story and he began digging into my case with some sort of online lawyer database of some sort or something.

As he was doing this, I asked him about the “malicious prosecution” he had mentioned in his email. He explained that if I could somehow prove that the prosecutors were dragging my case out intentionally or were out to get me somehow, that I could potentially file a lawsuit. He admitted it would be incredibly difficult to prove, and more than likely what we’re dealing with is a case of gross incompetence. And unfortunately you can’t sue someone for sucking at their job.

Within minutes, Nick was able to pull up my case. He told me what I already knew: that a man named Steven Hurley forged a check for $38 using my identity, claiming that Brian Bockelman is actually his legal name. When he failed to appear at his court date in December of that same year, a warrant was issued for “my” arrest.

Nick looked up Steven Hurley’s record and, you’re going to want to sit down for this bit of shocking information, he’s far from an angel. Within the last year alone Steven Hurley has been arrested multiple times for a smörgåsbord of crimes including burglary, theft, driving without a license and breaking parole.

Huh. Strange. I wonder who’s more likely to have forged that check. The guy who’s been in and out of the Newton County legal system the past few years who they probably know by name, or the guy who’s been employed in Kansas City the past four years, has bank statements proving he had dinner in Kansas City the night of the crime, and has never heard of, let alone been to, Neosho before. It’s a tough one, it really is. I see why this is taking so long. Credit to everyone involved for working so hard to figure this out. Tell your friends and families I’m sorry for keeping you at the office so late.

Not only had Steven Hurley been convicted of all of those crimes, but he’s plead guilty to every one of them. Each time he’s gotten in front of a judge he’s pretty much just shrugged and admitted he’s a piece of shit. He’s also reportedly used an alias with the police in the past and they even have handwriting samples of his on file. Reminder: I included a bunch of my handwriting samples in the packet of evidence I gave the judge back in September. The packet of evidence that the judge apparently didn’t think was important enough to upload to my official case record.

Nick was also able to pull some of Mr. Hurley’s physical details. He’s about 5’10”, 210 pounds and has neck and chest tattoos. I’m 6’3”, 190 pounds and am so basic that the idea of me having a neck tattoo would cause you physical harm from laughing so hard. Man, would it be convenient if there was security footage out there somewhere that shows what the guy who did this looks like. If only.

The best part came when Nick looked up Steven Hurley’s driver’s license number: B9XXXXXXX5*. And the number he used when he forged the check? The one the bank teller wrote as proof of identity? B9XXXXXXX3. That’s my driver’s license number.

*Obviously the number doesn’t have a bunch of X’s in it. I’m sensitive about giving out any personal information these days. I think you understand.

So one of three things could have happened:

1. The bank teller made a human error and wrote down the wrong number.

2. The bank teller wrote down a 5, but their handwriting is so bad it looks like a 3. (Nick and I each tested this ourselves and a surprising amount of 5’s could be mistaken for a 3).

3. The guy with a neck tattoo and a history of committing petty crimes swapped the last digit of his license number to get away with forging a check, and I’m the poor schmuck whose number he happened to give.

Nick and I agreed that more than likely it was the latter. It stands to reason that Steven Hurley would have trouble getting a valid license given his track record, so to cash the check he simply changed the last number on his invalid license.

Before hanging up, Nick said he’d try to reach out to my lawyer on my behalf since I had yet to hear from her directly. He said he would give her the information we had uncovered (in just 30 minutes, mind you) in case any of it was news to them.

Just a few hours after we hung up, I got a call back from Nick. He said he had spoken to my lawyer (she’s real!) and that she was initially a little hostile. Apparently she thought I had hired Nick to replace her (could she even blame me if I had?) so had her guard up. When he explained that he was a civil, not criminal, lawyer and that he was just reaching out as a friend, she loosened up.

Nick told her about the similar driver’s license numbers, Steven Hurley’s criminal history, and his physical appearance. Apparently she sounded surprised when he told her all this and it was in fact news to her. So again, I’m not sure what I’m paying $250/hour for. Then when Nick mentioned how I told him that I still hadn’t heard from her yet, she refuted it and claimed that she had spoken with me that very morning.

This is false. Her office called me. Not her. If my lawyer happens to be reading this, I would love to speak with you directly. Please. I’m all but begging. I will take your call at any hour of any day. I’d love to talk about what you’ve been doing to his point, where we stand, and what we do from here. For what it’s worth, I don’t doubt that you’ve been doing everything in your power to help me (okay, maybe a little), nut I’d love to know what that is. I’m tired of being left in the dark and would love some basic information. I want to know why something so simple is taking so long. I want to know why my court date keeps getting pushed back. I want to know why you haven’t demanded the security footage be pulled. I want to know the case that the prosecution supposedly has against me. I want to know why the evidence I gave to the judge was dismissed. I just want to know that you give a shit.

Two days later on November 30, the day after my court date against the city, I got another call from my lawyer’s office. They confirmed that the prosecutor for the city had dismissed the case. Technically the charges don’t get dropped for another 180 days in case new information comes to light and they can reopen it, but for all intents and purposes it’s done.

The law firm concluded the call by billing me for their work on the city case. Which they had apparently been charging me for separately from my case against the county. Even though they initially told me they were consolidating the two cases into one since I was being wrongfully charged for the same crime twice. The same crime using the exact same defense and evidence. Evidence which I’ve collected for them.

Got it. Sure. Take my money. You’ve earned it.

Now all that remains is my case against Newton County, which I’ve been told could prove to be tricky. Apparently the county prosecutor, the one I spoke with on the phone the day I learned I wrongfully have a felony on my record, wants to drag this out. It blows my mind that she’s devoting so much energy to something she’s ultimately going to lose. Maybe she’s still offended because she claims I swore at her on the phone the day we spoke.

I never swore to her on the phone but to be clear, if she does happen to stumble upon this, go fuck yourself. Absolutely. Positively. Fuck. Your. Self. I don’t know who hurt you in your past that made you such an awful person, but I’m sure you deserved it.

And if this offends you, I’m pretty sure the first amendment has me covered. Here’s a Wikipedia link in case you’re unfamiliar.Now you’re one step closer to being a competent lawyer. Congratulations.

That’s where we stand. It’s now December 17th, and I still haven’t heard from my lawyer, and I haven’t heard from her office since they billed me on November 30th. I supposedly have a court date on January 21st against the county, but I’m sure it’ll get moved back again for undisclosed reasons.

A very sincere thank you to everyone who’s reached out to offer help. It means a lot. Seriously, I’ve been blown away by the amount of people who have lent a helping hand. I originally started writing about this because I found it therapeutic and it helps me sort through what’s been happening. I never thought it would turn out to be my best shot at getting this resolved.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

My Name's Brian Bockelman, and I'm Still a Felon: Part Two

I got up before the sun on September 19th ready to make the nearly three hour trek down to Neosho and put this whole thing behind me. I had no idea what to expect when I got there, but I was prepared. As prepared as I could be, anyway. I had reprinted all my evidence for the judge and put it in a nice little packet. I even had my girlfriend, Lauren, by my side. For moral support, sure, but also in case I got arrested and needed someone to bail me out.

I had spoken with my lawyer, Jeff, on the phone the night before. He said he was familiar with the judge handling the case and was confident this would all get resolved painlessly and my life would go back to normal by the end of the day. My appearance was scheduled for 10 am, but he told me he’d be getting to the courthouse at 9:45 and instructed me to do the same. He was going to try to talk to the judge early and give him the down low on my case.

After stress eating two sausage egg and cheese biscuit sandwiches from McDonald’s and pounding a venti caramel macchiato from Starbucks on the drive down (not an ad), we crossed into Neosho city limits. If you’re the judge or prosecutor of my case and you’re for some reason reading this, please skip to description #2 of Neosho.

1. At first glance, Neosho somehow failed to live up to my incredibly low expectations. At second glance, it was even worse than at first glance. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it’s like if a $5 hooker were a town. I’d be worried someone from Neosho would see this and be offended but I’m pretty sure no one there has internet.

2. It was the greatest town I’ve ever seen or been to.

It was about 9:45 when we got to town. We located the courthouse and I shot Jeff a text telling him I was there. After a couple minutes he responded saying he wouldn’t be there for another 15 minutes or so. So much for being early.

Lauren and I sat there in the car and waited. I debated going inside the courthouse to wait, but was concerned I’d be arrested on the spot. You may think I was being paranoid, and I’ll admit I probably was, but my law firm had warned me it was a very real possibility if I showed up to the courthouse without a lawyer present. Thankfully my car has air conditioning (nbd) so it wasn’t an issue.

10:00 am rolled around and I got another text from Jeff saying he was running late and to go on in without him. It figured. Why would this go smoothly when everything else up to this point had been a forty car pile up? I got out of my car, watching my step carefully. I didn’t want to chance tripping and falling on a stray syringe of meth.

We went inside the courthouse, went through security, and were directed toward a woman sitting behind bullet proof glass. She asked for my name, I gave it, and she began typing. After a few moments a puzzled look overcame her face.

“We don’t seem to have you scheduled for an appearance today.”

On the drive down, between stuffing my face with McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches, I had joked with Lauren that perhaps I should just crash into the medium as a quick way to solve all my problems. I was beginning to think I should have.

I told the woman that yes, I did have a court appearance that day. She asked who my lawyer was and I told her his name. She didn’t recognize him and told me to go sit with the other accused criminals who were waiting to get in front of the judge. I joined my brethren on a bench that ran along a hallway with an unmarked door at the end.

As I sat there I couldn’t help but entertain the idea that Jeff wasn’t even real and was never going to show. To be sure he was real, I pulled out my phone and went to the law firm’s website to look him up, something I probably should have done before driving three hours that morning. To my relief I found him listed under the “Meet the Attorneys” tab along with his photo. He looked like a nice enough guy: goofy smile, beard, messy hair, about 30ish. Now I could identify him when he showed up. If he did.

In the meantime Lauren and I made small talk about who-fucking-knows-what as I craned my neck every time someone came through the door, hoping to see Jeff’s beautiful bearded face. Each time someone walked in and it wasn’t him, a piece of me died. Kate Upton could have come through that door and paraded around naked and I would have told her to put some fucking clothes on and sit down so I could see the door.

Finally, after 800 years of waiting, Jeff arrived. He rushed through security, found me, and formally introduced himself. Our interaction was brief. He apologized for being late, grabbed my packet of evidence from me, and told me he was going to go back and talk to the prosecutor to get this resolved. Within seconds of appearing, he was gone. If he hadn’t physically taken my evidence from me I would have been convinced I imagined the interaction ever even happened.

He was gone about 15 minutes before re-emerging from behind the unmarked door at the end of the hall. He relayed to me that the prosecutor was unwilling to resolve the issue that day. Apparently she was still trying to build her case against me and had yet to pull the bank’s security footage from the day of the crime. You know, the security footage that showed the person who did this? Her supposed smoking gun? From nearly three years ago? She had yet to pull it.

He went on to say that while I couldn’t get the felony taken care of, I could at least get my warrant lifted while I was there. Which was great, because it meant I could do 95 out of that God forsaken town while doing bumps of cocaine off my dashboard without having to look over my shoulder every two seconds again.

Jk.

Out of curiosity I asked what sort of case the prosecutor was trying to build against me. Jeff told me they were trying to say I was down there visiting a friend when I commited the crime, and that the friend covered my expenses for me while I was there. This was why there were no charges on my bank statements in the area of the crime that weekend.

“But what about my purchase in Kansas City the night of the crime?”

“Good point, I dunno.”

Lol what the actual fuck was going on? Where did these people study law, www.pleasegivemeadegreesoicanfuckpeopleover.com? And who was this supposed friend of mine I stayed with? By all means, bring ’em in so we can catch up.

Jeff went back behind the unmarked door as I sat and waited with my fellow criminals to be called in front of the judge. Not much later a voice over the intercom called my name.

As Lauren and I walked into the courtroom the first thing I noticed was how empty it was. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps the narcissistic part of my brain thought this was the OJ trial of Neosho and that the whole town would show up. Instead I was met by five people: Jeff, the judge (male), the deputy clerk (female), the prosecutor (female), and a police officer (male).

Jeff was standing in front of the judge. As I walked up to meet them I had one of those “what do I do with my hands?” moments. Like, what would a felon do with their hands and what’s the exact opposite of that? In the pockets? Crossed? Hands on hips?

I didn’t have much time to overthink it as the room was quite small, and before I knew it I was face-to-face with the man who could make this all okay. My lawyer introduced me and instructed me to hand the judge my packet of evidence. I obeyed and the judge tossed the packet aside without giving it a glance. He looked down and began doing some sort of paper work as Jeff and I stood there in awkward silence.

It took everything in me to not fill the silence with some stupid wisecrack, because that’s who I am by nature. It’s my defense mechanism for when I feel uncomfortable. “Come here often?” I wanted to say to the judge. Or “I wore a black belt with brown shoes. I hope you aren’t judging me too hard for it.”

Thankfully the judge saved me from myself and broke the silence.

“Alright,” he said. “The warrant for the arrest of Brian Bockelman issued by Neosho County has been lifted.”

Great!

“But….”

Oh no.

“I only have jurisdiction to lift the warrant issued for the forgery charge. I don’t have jurisdiction to lift the warrant issued for the larceny misdemeanor charge.”

He said it so casually I was sure I must have misheard him. He continued talking but all I could think about was what he had just said. A second charge? For what? When? I had a million questions. By my side, I could feel Jeff’s energy screaming “What the fuck, man? You only told me about the forgery.” Bro, that’s all I knew about. I’m as shocked as you right now.

I regained consciousness in time to hear the judge’s final statement. “If you aren’t able to get ahold of the appropriate judge and get the warrant lifted, we’ll have no choice but to take you into custody. Until then, you aren’t allowed to leave this courtroom and we need to detain you.” He banged his gavel and dismissed us.

Horror flooded my body as I processed what the judge had just said. It started in my chest and spread to my fingertips until I was drowning in it. Jeff bolted from the room, presumably to try to get ahold of the necessary judge to get this sorted out. But part of me wondered if he was bouncing for good. I wouldn’t blame him.

The deputy clerk called me over.

“Okay, so we’ve got you scheduled for two separate court appearances, one for each charge. The first is October 25th for the misdemeanor theft. The second will be October 31st for the forgery.” She scribbled this on a slip of paper and handed it to me. A souvenir to remember this horrible trip by.

The police officer grabbed me by the arm and directed me to a bench where I would have to sit until my lawyer (hopefully) came back. As I sat there, I admittedly and understandably was freaking the fuck out. How was this actually happening? What was the theft charge for? What did they steal? If I actually go to jail will I be able to post bond and get out today? Or will I have to stay overnight? Why won’t the judge open my packet of evidence and see there was no way this could have been me?

To be honest I’m pretty sure I jinxed this into happening. From the day I found out I had a felony on my record up until that moment, I made a lot of jokes to hide the fact that I was screaming inside for five straight months. I specifically made a lot of jokes about me ending up in prison or some holding cell in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. In my work email to tell my team I was going to be gone for the day, I literally said “Hopefully the next time you see me I’ll be a free man. And if I don’t come back, it’s safe to assume I lost the case and am in prison.” I joked about it a lot. I never once thought it could actually become a reality.

There must have been a lull in the schedule because after my case was handled the judge and prosecutor began to small talk.

Judge: “How’s the football team doing.”

Prosecutor: “Got a win last Friday.”

Judge: “Ah…that’s great to hear.”

Lull.

Prosecutor: “You know, my youngest started volleyball this year.”

Judge: “Is that right?”

Prosecutor: “Yep. JV.”

Judge: “That’s nice.”

The non-chalantness was suffocating. The way the judge had nonchalantly told me there was a second warrant for my arrest. Then how he nonchalantly told me I’d be taken into custody if I couldn’t find a way to get it lifted. The way the deputy clerk had nonchalantly told me the dates of my next court appearances. The way the judge and prosecutor were nonchalantly talking about their mundane lives without a care in the world as I sat there prepared to be taken to jail for a crime I never commited.

I saw Lauren out of the corner of my eye. She had been sitting a few pews over from where I was since we walked in. She went over to the officer and asked if she could sit with me. He nodded and she sat down by my side.

She had come as moral support, something I had insisted I didn’t need since I assumed everything would go smoothly. But she had insisted even harder that she was going, and that she’d be by my side no matter what happened. In that moment I was happy she had. I needed her then more than ever. I waited for her to say the absolute perfect thing to calm me down, because she knows me better than anybody, and always knows the one thing I need to hear.

“Hey, can I have the keys?”

“What?”

“The keys,” she restated. “To the car. Just in case this doesn’t go well. I don’t want to be stuck here.”

I took the car keys out of my pocket and handed them to her. So much for moral support.

(At the time I was honestly kind of annoyed that was the first thing she said to me, but looking back it was perfect. What an objectively funny thing to say in that moment.)

We sat there and talked, trying to ignore what was happening but never quite succeeding. We were able to get some information from the officer as we waited for my lawyer to return, which helped ease my mind. He told us the judge we needed was the Neosho city judge, and that the judge present was the Neosho county judge. He also said that the city judge’s office was directly across the street from where we were, so it shouldn’t be too long before we heard back from him.

About an hour later Jeff returned with a large man who I prayed was the all powerful city judge. He walked up to the county judge and flippantly said “I lift the warrant. The warrant’s been lifted.” The large man seemed annoyed, which annoyed me. Sorry for the inconvenience, BRO. He turned on his heel and just like that, he was gone.

I was relieved, but also a little confused. Was it really that informal to get a warrant lifted? All a judge has to do is speak it into existence? No paperwork or anything? Would this be put into the system or am I relying on word of mouth?

I didn’t ask any of these questions. I was just happy to be free. The officer let me go and Jeff told me to go outside and wait for him. He’d meet us in a minute. Lauren and I stood on the sidewalk outside the courthouse and waited. It was an absolutely beautiful day, but not even that could mask the shittiness of the situation.

When Jeff rejoined us a few minutes later he seemed flustered.

“Look, no judgements if you did man, but I have to ask: Did you do it? Because you have to realize how bad this looks for you right now.”

“DOES it look bad?” I thought. I didn’t even have enough information to understand what was happening. I didn’t do anything.

“Look, I didn’t do it,” I told him. “You’ve seen the evidence yourself. There’s no way I could have.”

He ran his hand through his hair as he contemplated this. He exhaled, nodded, and agreed. I didn’t do this. There’s no way I could have.

I asked him what the misdemeanor theft charge was all about: when it happened, what was stolen, etc. Jeff told me he didn’t know, but he would look into it as soon as we parted ways. I asked if I would actually need to come down for my court appearances. He said not necessarily.

If the two cases were linked to each other and the security footage clearly showed it wasn’t me who forged the check, all charges could be dropped without me having to make another trip down. If the theft charge was completely separate from the forgery, however, then things would get a little more hairy.

And that was it. I stood there wanting more, wanting to do more while I was there to get the whole thing resolved, but there wasn’t anything else that could be done. I thanked Jeff for his help, he told me he’d look into the theft charge, and we were on our way home.

On our drive home, somewhere between the middle of fucking nowhere and the middle of fucking nowhere else, Jeff texted me: “No probable cause statement was filed for the Neosho City case.”

“Is that typical?” Lauren texted him back for me because I’m responsible and never text and drive.

“Not really.”

Kewl. Care to elaborate? No? Okay.

I got home and anxiously awaited updates. Updates that would never come.

A week later on September 25th I texted Jeff asking if he had found out anything new, specifically around the theft charge. Another week went by before he finally replied on October 2nd. He said he hadn’t learned anything new and that the prosecutor was presumably reviewing the security footage. He also apologized for the delayed response and informed me that he had put in his two week notice with the law firm, meaning he would no longer be my attorney moving forward.

I couldn’t believe it. In the span of two weeks I’d lost just as many lawyers. The conspiracy theory portion of my brain started churning:

What if this is all a set up? What if my case is toxic? What if the person who stole my identity and committed the forgery is related to someone in power and I’m their fall guy? What if this involves the mob? What if this involves the Russian mob? And anytime a lawyer gets close they get pushed out? Or murdered?

Or maybe this firm just has a problem retaining employees.

Regardless, I was onto my fourth lawyer now (including Molly) with no signs of a resolution in sight. All I could do is sit and wait.

My Name's Brian Bockelman, and I'm a Felon: Part One

I’m not a criminal.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve committed crimes. Underage drinking. A couple of speeding tickets. One reckless driving charge. Illegally downloading the entire Blink 182 discography. Stealing a Milky Way from a gas station on a dare. Going the wrong way on a one way street a couple times. Driving when I maybe probably technically legally shouldn’t have (Sorry, Mom). But that’s where the list stops. Just your normal, I’m-young-and-stupid-and-kind-of-a-jackass type stuff.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

In March of this year I applied for a passport. I didn’t have a trip planned or anything; I just figured it would be a good thing to have in case I was feeling spontaneous one weekend and decided to fly to Bermuda. So I went to the post office, paid the $200 or so to apply, and didn’t give it another thought because I knew the process could take awhile.

Then on May 30th I got a letter from the United States Department of State. It read “The Department of State has denied your March 28, 2018 application of a U.S. passport.” Okay. That’s kind of weird. But nothing alarming. Probably just a mix-up. Maybe they didn’t receive my payment or something. Let’s continue reading this very routine letter and see what’s going on here. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary that would impact the next 6+ months of my life. The next sentence read “The Department may refuse to issue a passport when the applicant is the subject of a state or local warrant of arrest for a felony.” Wait wut?

It continued: “This office was informed that on December 23, 2015, the Newton County Sheriff’s Office in Neosho, Missouri entered a felony warrant for your arrest.”

I sat there staring at the letter, reading it and rereading it over and over, word for word, letter for letter, making sure I didn’t miss a “jk” squeezed in there somewhere. How did this happen? What’s a Neosho? Have I ever even been there? Did I commit a felony and not even realize it? What even constitutes a felony? Is there a warrant out for my arrest as I sit here contemplating all this? Could the police break into my apartment at any moment and take me away?

I Googled Neosho. It’s a small town that sits in the southwest corner of Missouri, just past Joplin but not quite Arkansas. I had never been to Joplin, let alone Neosho before. This information did nothing to help me.

I Googled the phone number for the Neosho police department. “I’ll just call the police and sort this all out,” I stupidly thought. “I’ll explain the situation and surely they’ll understand. They’ll lift the warrant for my arrest, remove the felony from my record, and apologize for the inconvenience.”

To my shock and disappointment, the police did not lift the warrant for my arrest, remove the felony from my record, and apologize for the inconvenience. I called the Neosho police department and after a few “uuuuuhhhh…please holds” was able to get in touch with a woman who had access to the police records for the area. She confirmed that I did indeed have a felony on my record and that there was indeed a warrant out for my arrest (neat!).

I tried to explain the situation to her: that I had just learned about all this, that I’ve lived in Kansas City the past four years, that I was in KC at the time of the crime, and that I’d never even been to Neosho before. Ultimately my desperate pleas proved futile and pathetic. She gave me the phone number of the prosecuting attorney for my case, wished me luck, and hung up.

“Alright, the police weren’t helpful, but surely the prosecuting attorney will understand the mix-up,” I, again, stupidly thought to myself. “I’ll explain what happened, convey that I’m a good person, and they’ll call the police to get this all sorted out.”

I called the phone number I was given by the police and explained the situation to the woman on the other end of the line. I was met by a pause and then “Wait…YOU’RE Brian Bockelman?” I confirmed. “Please hold.”

I was put through to another woman who I soon learned was the prosecuting attorney. The woman who had apparently been trying to hunt me down for a crime I didn’t commit for the past three years. Quite poorly, I might add. It’s not as if I’ve been using a fake name, living out of hotels, and grew a mustache. There are very public records with my name on them stating where I live and work. My personal website where I list my location as Kansas City is the fifth result that pops up when you Google my name, followed by my personal Twitter and LinkedIn accounts. Scooby Doo could have found me.

I again explained the situation to the prosecutor: that I had just learned about this, I was in KC, I had always been in KC, I’ve never been to Neosho, etc. She wasn’t having any of it.

She explained that they’ve been looking for me, and that this isn’t going to go well if I don’t confess and turn myself in immediately.

It’s hard to convey her tone of voice over text, but the best I can do is to say it was “nasty.” Disdain was packaged within every word she said. And her tone, along with the overall situation, may or may not have led to me being mildly-to-moderately combative in my conversation with her.

“What is it you think I did, exactly?” I asked, doing my best to put verbal air quotes around the word “I.”

The prosecutor explained some of the details of the case. The story goes that I used to live in Neosho and that my name is actually Steven Hurley, but I prefer to go by *Brian Bockelman. In October of 2015 I forged a check linked to some woman’s bank account who identified the fishy activity and reported it. A court date was set for December 2015 and when I no-showed, the judge issued a warrant for my arrest. I was never seen or heard from again. Until now.

*If I ever met a person and they were like “Hello, my name is Joe Johnson, but call me Gus Timmerman” I would turn that person into the police immediately because there’s a 100% chance they’ve committed a crime of some sort.

“That wasn’t me,” I said curtly. “I’ve been in Kansas City the past four years. I’ve never even been to Neosho.”

“Well where are you now?”

“Kansas City.”

I felt my IQ drop the second the words left my mouth. It was perhaps the dumbest thing I could have said. There was a warrant out for my arrest and I just told the woman trying to find me where I was.

“Well sir, we have a Neosho residence on file for you in 2015, and I spoke with you on the phone leading up to your court date. We even have footage of you cashing the check at the bank.”

“I understand, but that WASN’T ME. BRIAN BOCKELMAN. NOT ME.”

“With all do respect sir, if we believed every person who called here and said they didn’t commit the crime they’re being charged with then we wouldn’t have much of a business would we?”

I couldn’t even argue with that. Objectively speaking, it would be very dumb for me to call myself in if I had actually committed this crime. But common sense isn’t evidence of innocence.

She continued talking, but I don’t know what she said. I was trying to process what was happening. Somewhere in all of this I thought about the countless episodes of Law and Order I’ve seen where someone being charged with a crime spoke without a lawyer present, and how it worked out well for them approximately 0% of the time.

“I’m hanging up now.”

My thoughts following that phone call:

1. FUCK

2. I need a lawyer.

3. FUCK

4. I don’t know any lawyers.

5. FUCK

6. Lawyers are expensive.

7. FUCK

8. If they have an address on file, can’t they just track the previous tenants of that address and prove this wasn’t me?

9. FUCK

10. And if they spoke to “me” on the phone leading up to the trial then that means they have a phone number connected to the person who did this. Couldn’t they trace that?

11. FUCK

12. And if there’s footage of “me” cashing the check, can’t I just send them some photo ID to prove it isn’t me?

13. FUCK

14. There’s a warrant for my arrest out right now.

15. FUCK

16. I just told the prosecuting attorney where I am.

17. FUCK

18. Will they come arrest me now?

19. FUCK

20. I need a drink.

I went to drink all the beers in the world with a co-worker who thankfully knew a lawyer I could call for some free consultation. Her name was Molly and I gave her a call from the bar. Within seconds of talking to her I felt better. She had a confident crassness I could relate to, and she immediately confirmed for me that this whole thing was indeed total bullshit.

Molly looked up my case and got some more details, which would only end up making the whole thing more infuriating. The crime took place on October 15, 2015. The check that was forged was for $38 (!!??), and rather than showing photo identification to the bank teller, whoever forged the check simply wrote my driver’s license at the top of the check as proof of ID. A court date was scheduled for December 17, 2015 and a warrant for my arrest was issued the following day when I never showed up, with bail posted as $3500.

I asked what I should do. She said that first and foremost, I need to make sure I have the phone number memorized of someone who has access to $3500 in case I get pulled over and arrested before this gets sorted out. She said that if I were to get pulled over for any reason, even a broken tail light, the police would be forced to bring me in once they scan my license and see there’s a warrant out for my arrest. And not only would I be brought in, but I’d be shipped down to Neosho until someone came and posted bail.

As you can imagine, this became a cause of constant anxiety. Anytime I drove myself anywhere I was running the risk I would be taken into custody.

This would be stressful under normal circumstances, but it was amplified by the fact that I’m super color blind and can’t tell the difference between yellow and red stoplights half the time. Not only has my colorblindness robbed me the full vibrant beauty of the world around me for my entire life, but now it might get me arrested.

Molly also told me that I should begin collecting as much evidence as possible to prove my innocence, such as bank statements for 2015 showing I wasn’t in Neosho when the crime occurred, handwriting samples to compare to the signature on the check, a scanned copy of my driver’s license to prove I am who I say I am, W-2 forms to prove my employment in Kansas City at the time of the crime, etc.

She said she would text me her email address where I could send all the evidence once I collected it. In the meantime, she would reach out to the lovely prosecuting attorney and try to sweet talk her into dismissing the case for me. She warned me that the legal system tends to drag these things out, and my case would likely be no exception. We hung up and I felt relieved, or at least more than I did before talking with her. I had a lawyer, confirmation that this was insane, and an actionable task I could get to work on.

Within minutes Molly sent me her email address, along with a text that read “Email me and don’t panic! Fuck you Newton County!” I was in good hands.

In the following days I worked to get all my evidence together. I went to the bank to pull my bank statements from 2015 (which is a surprisingly difficult process) and found that I had a purchase at a restaurant in Kansas City the evening of the crime. This was good news, but the timing of the purchase made it to where I theoretically could have driven down to Neosho, cashed the check, and driven back in time for my 8 pm dinner at El Patron. A preposterous scenario in which I would spend more money in gas than the check I supposedly forged was worth, but still possible nonetheless.

I scanned the bank statements, as well as a dozen or so handwriting samples and a Facebook status that had me geotagged in Lee’s Summit the same day, and sent everything over to Molly. Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I finally got a call back from Molly some time later (it was probably only a week but it felt like 8 years) and told me she had spoken with the prosecuting attorney. She validated my opinion of her (which is that she’s awful) and told me that the prosecutor wasn’t going to budge despite the evidence I had provided.

Molly told me she felt I had enough evidence to get the case dismissed, but that the prosecutor was going to push for a trial. Because of this, she recommended I find an attorney from Newton County who’s familiar with the prosecutor and judge who would be handling my case. She was willing to continue helping me, but warned that if it were to go to trial and travel were required, it would be a lot more expensive than if I had an attorney already down there who was familiar with the district.

She was nice enough to vet a new attorney for me and put us in touch. I asked her how I could pay her for all her help, and she said “I’ll waive any legal fees if you would send me a gift card to buy a pizza at Minsky’s. That’s really the only reason I am employed anyway, so that I can give my money directly to them and put pizza in my mouth.”

I was going to miss Molly. I sent her a gift card and emailed my new attorney, Scott. Days went by without receiving a response, and each day I became more and more concerned that Scott wasn’t a real person.

After about a week of silence I decided to call the firm Scott worked for. They confirmed for me that he was in fact a real person and more importantly, was in fact working on my case. But they required payment in order to move forward. Annoyed that I had wasted a week and that it took me calling them to learn this, I sent them the money they asked for to keep things moving.

Then another week of silence went by. Fed up, I sent Scott another email to see if any progress had been made. This time I was surprisingly met with an immediate response. It was an automated email informing me that Scott was no longer with the law firm. Kewl.

The email went on to say I could either choose to stay with Scott wherever he ended up or get assigned a new lawyer within the firm. So my options were to stick with a lawyer who I had spoken maybe 15 words with or stick with a law firm that didn’t reach out to tell me they needed payment to proceed and also didn’t reach out to tell me my attorney was leaving. Since I had paid the law firm and not Scott, I decided to stick with the firm and was assigned a new lawyer, Jeff.

I sent Jeff all my evidence via email and got him up to speed on what was happening. He said he would send all the evidence to the judge in an attempt to get the case dismissed, which would save me the trip to Neosho and a court appearance. Several days later though, Jeff got back to me saying the judge wasn’t willing to resolve my case electronically and that an in-person appearance was going to be required. We set a court date for September 19th and I mentally prepared to visit the town where this shitty chapter of my life started nearly three years ago.

Who Would Win the Super Bowl if Every Playoff Team's Mascot Were Thrown Into a Battle Royale?

It’s time for the NFL playoffs, which means it’s time for us to validate the countless hours we’ve spent watching football the past 17 weeks by predicting who we believe will hoist the Lombardi Trophy in February. There’s a lot to consider when predicting a champion: who’s hot, who’s stumbling, coaching matchups, scheme matchups, personnel matchups, overall roster talent, home-field advantage, history, legacy, karma, Nick Fole’s inability to lose a must-win game.

Fuck all that.

To determine who will win the Super Bowl, I’m drawing inspiration from the 2000 Japanese film Battle Royale.

Some set up: following a major recession, the Japanese government passes the Millennium Educational Reform Act, also known as the BR ACT, in an attempt to control the rebelling youth of the country. The act goes into effect once a year when the government selects the worst behaved freshman class in the country to participate in a fight to the death.

The movie follows class 3-B, which consists of some not-so-great kids (one of the students stabbed their teacher). Class 3-B is going on what they think is a field trip but are gassed during their bus ride and taken to an uninhabited island. When they wake up, the students all have metal collars around their necks and are in a classroom full of armed soldiers. They’re told that they’ve been selected to participate in the BR ACT (Battle Royale ACT) and are explained the rules:

1. They are to kill each other off one-by-one until only one student remains.

2. The collars around their necks track their pulse and location. They’re water and shockproof.

3. The island they’re on is roughly 10 km in diameter and is divided into grids. Four times per day, different grids turn into “danger zones.” If a student goes into a danger zone, the collar on their neck detonates and kills them instantly.

4. To start, they each will be given a bag with food, water, a compass, a flashlight, a map of the island, and a random “weapon.”

5. They have three days to narrow themselves down to one, otherwise they’ll all be killed.

They’re each thrown their bag of supplies and sent out onto the island one at a time.

Now back to the original question: who would win the Super Bowl if we pitted every playoff team’s mascot against each other in a similar battle royale? We’re talking about the person or animal that each team’s name represents, not costume mascots like K.C. Wolf. First, we need to set some guidelines:

1. We’ll use the same island as the movie for our battleground. It’s 10 km in diameter and surrounded by water on all sides. The terrain is primarily forest with some open fields and a few abandoned structures scattered throughout.

2. We’re going to lose the collars and danger zones. The mascots are free to roam the island as they please.

3. Each mascot will be assigned a weapon commonly associated with the person they represent.

4. Mascots that aren’t typically associated with any specific items, such as animals, will be randomly assigned a weapon featured in the movie.

5. It’s assumed the mascots are capable of using whatever weapon they’re assigned, regardless of how unrealistic that may be.

6. All the mascots are trying their hardest to kill one another. There are several animals involved that wouldn’t typically bother engaging each other in the wild. For the sake of this argument, everyone’s actively going after everyone.

7. In reality, the playoffs are a tournament featuring head-to-head matchups with the winner advancing to the next round. This fight is a free for all.

Those are the guidelines. Now let’s give out some weapons.

Mascots Already Associated with a Weapon

Kansas City Chiefs: War Hatchet
A bow and arrow would have been a reasonable option here, but research shows that it was much more common for Native Americans to fight with striking weapons. I couldn’t find any weaponry specific to chiefs in particular so I went with what Wikipedia shows one holding: a war hatchet.

New England Patriots: Long Rifle
One of the Patriot’s early logos depicted a Revolutionary War minuteman named “Pat Patriot” hiking a football, so we’re going to assume the patriot in this fight is a minuteman, not some guy with an American flag tattooed on his chest. While it was tempting to assign them a tomahawk because of Mel Gibson, I went with the long rifle since it was more traditionally used by soldiers during the Revolutionary War.

Houston Texans: A Really Big Hat
Back in March of 2000 the NFL announced that the name for their soon-to-be Houston franchise had been narrowed down to five choices: The Appollos, Bobcats, Stallions, Texans, and Wildcatters. All four unchosen options would have better served them in this discussion than literally a person from the state of Texas, but apparently they had no interest in winning this fictional battle royale when choosing a name for their franchise. As for giving them a really big hat, take it up with Google images if it seems stereotypical or ignorant.

Los Angeles Chargers: Lance
While the Charger’s logo implies that they’re some sort of an electrical charger, 1960 general manager Frank Leahy said the name was actually inspired by the Los Angeles Dodgers. “I liked it because they were yelling ‘charge’ and sounding the bugle at Dodgers Stadium.” My middle school mascot was a Charger and our logo was an armored knight riding a horse with a lance, so that’s what we’ll use. A Dodge Charger was another possibility.

New Orleans Saints: Bible
Not all of the “weapons” given out in Battle Royale are actually weapons, so it’s only fair to stay consistent with this in our hypothetical fight. Not only do saints not have any actual weapons associated with them, but they’re in fact very anti-violence. That’s going to be a problem when they’re bent over in prayer as the other mascots try to rip their beating heart out of their chest. They get a bible.

Dallas Cowboys: Single-Action Revolver
This one’s pretty obvious. When you think of cowboys, you think of revolvers (and disappointing playoff performances)(sorry). Revolvers used by cowboys in westerns are typically single-action, so that’s what’s assigned to our cowboy.

Mascots Not Already Associated with a Weapon

That leaves six mascots that still need weapons: The Bears, Colts, Eagles, Rams, Ravens and Seahawks. First, we need to narrow down the weapons from the movie to six. These are the weapons I was able to identify throughout the film: a pot lid, binoculars, crossbow, axe, hand grenades, mobile GPS, electric taser, pump shotgun, uzi, hand-gun, katana, sickle, and bullet proof vest.

Using a random name selector, these are the six weapons from that list that are available to our remaining mascots:

1. Katana
2. Pot Lid
3. Pump Shotgun
4. Bullet Proof Vest
5. Sickle
6. Crossbow

Using the same random name selector, here’s how the weapons were distributed:

Bears — Katana
Colts — Sickle
Eagles — Pot Lid
Rams — Bullet Proof Vest
Ravens — Shotgun
Seahawks — Crossbow

We’re almost ready, but first:

A Quick Note on the Mascots Not Associated with a Weapon
You may have noticed that all of these mascots are some sort of animal, the species of which is left ambiguous. Before we breakdown the fight, we need to identify the species or breed of each mascot so we can be as accurate as possible when projecting our winner.

Bears
There are a lot of different types of bears: black, brown, polar, panda, koala. I have to assume when the Bears named themselves they intended to be represented by the fiercest bear known to man. The Chicago Bears will be represented by a grizzly bear.

Colts
The colts are a horse, but not just any horse. The term “colt” is only applied to horses who are less than one year old. Since the term can be applied to any breed, we’ll use the most common breed in the United States. The Indianapolis Colts will be represented by a 6 month old quarter horse.

Eagles
While you might assume Philadelphia’s mascot is a bald eagle, their logo depicts an eagle with an all-white head and a gray beak. No eagle I could find fits this description, so I’m going with the most common species in the Northern Hemisphere. The Philadelphia Eagles will be represented by a golden eagle.

Rams
A “ram” is simply a male sheep. To decide the exact breed, I’m going with the one that looks most like the Ram’s logo. The Los Angeles Rams will be represented by a bighorn sheep.

Ravens
I didn’t know this but there are actually different types of ravens. For the purposes of this discussion, we’re going to go with the most common type. The Baltimore Ravens will be represented by a common raven.

Seahawks
I’ve always heard that the seahawk isn’t a real animal and as it turns out, it technically isn’t. But it is the nick name of another species. The Seattle Seahawks will be represented by an osprey.

Alright. We’ve established the rules, assigned weapons, and identified breeds for the appropriate teams. Let’s fight.

The Results

12th Place — New Orleans Saints
Weapon: Bible
Strength: Relationship with God
Weakness: A moral refusal to fight

I don’t see things going well for the saint at all. The best they could do is hide out and pray until the dust settles and there’s only one other fighter left, but their refusal to fight automatically eliminates them from winning. Maybe if they find an abandoned church to hide in God will protect them, but I doubt it. They find out pretty early on if the afterlife is everything they hoped for.

11th Place — Houston Texans
Weapon: A Really Big Hat
Strength: Being a human being
Weakness: The food chain means nothing here

I’ve met a handful of people from Texas in my life and they’ve all been very nice and pleasant and I don’t have a single bad thing to say about them. But they’re just people. On an island where there’s a grizzly bear with a katana running around like a heat seeking missile, you’re going to need more than the ability to generate consciousness to last. Plus, the really big hat is going to make them easy to spot, leaving them susceptible to being found and eliminated early on. The bear dices them up early.

10th Place — Indianapolis Colts
Weapon: Sickle
Strength: Vision
Weakness: Cowboys

Horses have large eyes positioned on either side of their head, giving them a range of vision that’s nearly 350 degrees. This allows them to easily spot approaching predators, which is good in a free for all fight to the death. Quarter horses in particular also excel at short-distance sprinting, achieving speeds as high as 55 mph. This is also a good attribute to have in a free for all fight to the death.

Unfortunately for the colt, however, there’s a cowboy on the island that specializes in wrangling horses and cattle. The cowboy also has a single-action revolver, giving it a range advantage over the colt’s sickle. This is the worst possible matchup for the colt. It’s eliminated by the cowboy.

9th Place — Seattle Seahawks
Weapon: Crossbow
Strength: Adaptability
Weakness: Being the least dangerous bird in the sky

Osprey are one of the only species of bird that can be found worldwide. Because of this, they have features that allow them to adapt to any climate. Unfortunately for it, there are two other birds (an eagle with a pot lid and a raven with a shotgun) in their airspace actively trying to kill it.

While crossbows allow for long-range attacks, they’re slow to reload. That’s a problem when you’re in the sky with a golden eagle, which can fly up to 120 mph. The osprey gets one shot with the crossbow before it finds itself in a fist fight with the eagle. From there it’s pretty grim. Golden eagles are 14 pounds, have a wingspan of eight feet, and have talons measuring over two inches long. Osprey weigh-in at four pounds with a wingspan of just six feet. This fight is the equivalent of Mike Tyson in his prime (220 pounds, 0% body fat) fighting me (193 pounds, 13% body fat). The osprey loses. Badly.

8th Place — Philadelphia Eagles
Weapon: Pot Lid
Strength: Size
Weakness: The pot lid

This leaves two birds flying over the island and unfortunately for the golden eagle, its size isn’t much of an advantage against the raven. Under normal circumstances, the eagle would rip the raven limb from limb. But when you factor in the pot lid and shotgun, the advantage shifts.

Because of the pot lid, the eagle is forced to fight close range and rely on its natural physical attributes. This worked well against the the osprey because it had the slow-to-reload and precision dependent crossbow, but proves troublesome against the raven with a shotgun. Shotguns are designed for close range fights and require little to zero precision. The moment the eagle gets near the raven, it disappears into a cloud of feathers.

7th place — Dallas Cowboys
Weapon: Single-action revolver
Strength: Wrangling
Weakness: Cowboy boots

The cowboy has an advantage over the colt because that’s what he’s trained to wrangle, but I don’t see him getting many more W’s after that. When stacked up next to the other mascots remaining on the island, the cowboy simply doesn’t stand a chance. His single-action revolver, while accurate, limits his range. Plus his boots are less than ideal for navigating the island’s terrain, limiting his mobility. The cowboy meets his doom when he stops on a grassy knoll overlooking the ocean to give his feet a breather. He’s at peace as the ram bludgeons him to death with its horns.

6th place — Los Angeles Rams
Weapon: Bullet proof vest
Strength: Defense
Weakness: Offense

The opposite of the IRL Rams, the ram in our battle royale is built to absorb damage but is limited in how much it can dish. Its horns help protect its head and the bullet proof vest protects its torso, leaving only its limbs exposed. But the horns are also its only method of causing harm to the other fighters. This means the ram can’t inflict any damage to the raven flying overhead, and all the other remaining mascots possess attributes far superior to the ram’s. It falls to the chief, who tracks it down and hacks off its limbs with his war hatchet.

5th place — Baltimore Ravens
Weapon: Shotgun
Strength: Ability to fly
Weakness: Size/Speed/Range

The raven uses the shotgun to take out the eagle and osprey, giving it sole access to the airspace above the island. But after that the shotgun becomes a hinderance. Not only does the shotgun limit the raven’s range of attack, it slows the raven down. Normally ravens can fly up to 25 mph, but carrying a shotgun is going to limit its speed. Paired with the fact that it has to fly in close to hit its target, I don’t see the raven making an attack and having the speed to avoid the counter. It falls to the bear, who hacks it out of the air with his katana.

4th place — Los Angeles Chargers
Weapon: Lance
Strength: Speed
Weakness: Range

The charger rides a horse, meaning they can conserve energy while moving around quickly. But the horse is also a limitation. The charger is constrained to open fields and trails, making them an easy target. And while lances work well in a jousting situation, it makes it so the charger will either have to sneak up on someone (again, on a horse) or hope the fighter they encounter also has a short range weapon in order to do any damage. Unfortunately, the patriot has a long rifle. Yes, the charger has a suit of armor, but even a basic musket is powerful enough to pierce over an inch of steel. The charger charges toward the patriot in an open field but gets shot down before it gets anywhere close.

3rd place — New England Patriots
Weapon: Long Rifle
Strength: Range
Weakness: Karma

The patriot is well-equipped for a battle royale. Their long rifle allows them to attack adversaries from a safe distance and is lightweight enough they can move around unhindered. Being human also means they can out strategize and plot half the field. They’re definitely a favorite to make it far.

But all that goes out the window when the patriot comes face-to-face with the chief. I’m going to assume that the mass enslavement and murder of the chief’s ancestors plays a factor in their fight and that it doesn’t favor the patriot. In my head, this plays out like the tomahawk scene from The Patriot, only the chief is Mel Gibson and the patriot is one of the random minutemen being hacked to death.

2nd place — Kansas City Chiefs
Weapon: War hatchet
Strength: Home field advantage
Weakness: Grizzly bears with katanas

The chief has an advantage because he has a lifetime of experience navigating nature and surviving in the wild. His vast knowledge of hunting various animals and instinctive survival skills make him built to last in a battle royale. To become chief of a tribe, one has to prove oneself either in war or on a hunt, so it’s safe to say the chief has seen some shit.

The chiefs probably would have been my winner if it weren’t for a MOTHERFUCKING GRIZZLY BEAR WITH A KATANA ROAMING THE ISLAND. I can’t in all good consciousness pick the chief to best the bear in a one-on-one fight to the death. I’ve seen The Revenant.

1st place — Chicago Bears
Weapon: Katana
Strength: Pretty much everything
Weakness: Pretty much nothing

Imagine for a second that grizzly bears didn’t exist. You and your friends go see a movie about a group of campers who get lost in the woods. They proceed to get hunted down one-by-one by a six foot tall, 600 pound monster with four inch blades on its hands and razor sharp teeth and can run up to 40 mph. You would leave that movie saying to your friends “Man, can you imagine if those things were real? Humans would be fucked!”

Those things are real. Those things are grizzly bears.

Throw in a two foot long katana for good measure and the grizzly bear won’t just dominate our fictional island, but the whole goddamn fictional world the island belongs to. I might have picked the grizzly bear even if it didn’t have a weapon. Giving it a katana makes it a no brainer.

The Chicago Bears are winning the Super Bowl.

My Apartment Probably Isn't Haunted, But It Might Be

A growing list of strange things have been happening around my apartment lately. I’m not saying it’s a ghost, but I’m also not not saying that.

I don’t believe in ghosts. I really really want them to be real, similar to how I hope Bigfoot and aliens exist, but I just can’t get there. I’ve listened to stories told by close friends who claim to have had contact with someone or something from the other side, and I can see in their eyes that they truly believe what they’re saying, but almost every time it can be explained using logic. Or the story is so ridiculous I’m forced to believe they’re flat out lying for attention.

That carries over to the internet, too. With the look-at-me culture of social media you can’t even trust a good ol’ fashioned ghost-captured-on-a-security-camera video on YouTube anymore (not that you ever could) because there’s a built in motive to fake it: attention. I could capture a high res video of an actual ghost on camera explaining who they used to be, how they died, and what it’s like to be dead and people would still doubt the video’s validity. And I wouldn’t blame them.

All that being said, I think my apartment building might be haunted. I’ve lived in the EBT building in downtown Kansas City since January of 2016, and weird shit has been happening ever since. The building was built in 1890 and was originally a department store for travelers heading west called Emery, Bird, Thayer & Company before eventually being converted into lofts in the mid-2000’s. While there’s no official report of any strange deaths or murders happening in the building that might lend itself to a haunting, I think we can all agree that whenever you’re talking about a building from the 1800’s there’s like a 75% chance something fucked up happened there at some point.

I realize most people will be skeptical about what I say, as they should be, so what I did is detailed every weird thing that’s happened since I moved into the building and did my best to explain it using objective logic.

A couple relevant notes before we get started:

• When I moved into my apartment, my girlfriend (Lauren) moved into the apartment directly below mine at the same time. I was in #607, she was in #507.

• In February of 2017 Lauren and I moved into an apartment on the first floor of the same building together.

• The activity has amplified since we moved in together, particularly in the past several months.

• Everything here is 100% true as I remember it happening.

Alright, let’s break this down.

The Thing
A few months after moving into my new apartment I began consistently waking up in the middle of the night. But I wasn’t just waking up in the middle of the night: I was waking up at the exact same time. 3:18. Everytime I woke up and checked my phone it was 3:18. There were even times when I’d wake up and lay there several minutes before checking the time on my phone, trying to trick it into being a different time. But no matter when I decided to look at my phone it was always 3:18.

I didn’t think anything of this until a Google search showed that waking up at the same time every night might indicate the spirit world is trying to tell you something. I also learned that between 3–4 am is what’s known as the “Devil’s Hour” when spirits and demons are the most active. And we’re off.

The (Possible) Explanation
Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe my neighbor was knocking on my wall at the exact same time every night as some sort of lame prank. Or maybe it had to do with *sleep timing, circadian rhythms, and sleep cycles. I’ll let you decide.

*They “debunk” the idea of waking up at the same time each night being connected to the spiritual world in this article by saying “The role of spirits and spells cannot be proven with scientific method.” But it also can’t NOT be proven with the scientific method. You know?

The Thing
The very first night Lauren spent the night at my apartment, she rolled over to go to sleep as I stayed up and looked at Twitter or Instagram or something equally useless on my phone for a little while longer. About 20 minutes later, she abruptly sat up in bed gasping for breath. When she regained her ability to speak (and after I wiped myself) I asked her what was wrong and she said it felt like someone had been choking her in her sleep.

The (Possible) Explanation
My running theory on this is that Lauren was so nervous about the idea of being in a committed relationship with me that she had a panic attack in her sleep. In the event that I am haunted by a demon, my guess is it was threatened by her presence and was trying to take her out. Which if we’re being honest is kind of cute. If I do in fact have a demon haunting me, I find the idea of it being territorial of me charming.

The Thing
In April of 2016 I travelled to L.A. for a work trip that lasted 5 days. A couple days into the trip I was out to dinner late one night (about 11 pm pst, 1 am cst) when I got a text from Lauren saying it sounded like someone was in my apartment directly above her. She said she heard loud thumps from what would be my bedroom, as if someone were moving furniture (or dead bodies?).

The (Possible) Explanation
While Lauren claimed the noises were coming from my apartment directly above her, it’s possible they were actually coming from an apartment either diagonal or next to hers. I know that sounds strange, but there were times we thought a couple was arguing above us and it turned out they were directly next door. Maybe our directional hearing sucks. Or maybe Lauren was being paranoid and/or was/is crazy. Everything’s on the table here.

The Thing
Not long after Lauren and I moved in together a weird thing began happening. And by weird I mean terrifying. Semi-regularly since the move, Lauren will sit up in the middle of the night and stare at the wall in horror for about 10 seconds before snapping out of it and going back to sleep. Whenever this happens she always stares at the same thing: this decorative necklace hanger thing her brother made for her.

I’m a very light sleeper so whenever this happens it wakes me up, and the first few times it scared the shit out of me. I tried asking her what she was looking at in the moment, but she would always just go back to sleep without saying a word.

The morning after one of these occurrences I asked if she could remember anything about them. She casually told me that whenever that happens she’s in a dreamlike state and that for a few moments it looks like there’s a dark hole opening up in the wall sucking everything in. Had I known this would happen I may have reconsidered moving in with her. And have considered leaving ever since.

The decorative necklace hanger thing where portals into the underworld apparently form.

The (Possible) Explanation
Lauren is so nervous about the idea of being in a committed relationship with me that she’s now gone from having panic attacks in her sleep to envisioning her escape from me via creepy black holes in the wall.

Or Lauren suffers from parasomnia which can be brought on with stress and anxiety. But that’s boring, so allow me to entertain the idea that’s not the case for a minute:

The decorative necklace hanger that her brother made is haunted, which seems plausible upon learning that its made out of an old portrait he found at Goodwill. I didn’t see the portrait before he painted over it, but if I had to guess it was probably of a little boy wearing a sailor outfit riding a rocking horse staring deadpan at the camera stoically. Or something like this.

I would further speculate that the portrait contains the spirit of its previous owner who, in order to escape the painting’s grasp, has to find someone else’s soul to lure in and trap in the painting to take their place. Now that I type that I’m considering maybe this has already happened, and Lauren’s soul is currently in the painting while the demon’s soul is in what used to be Lauren’s body.

*Looks at Lauren sitting on the couch*
*She half-smiles and waves slowly*
*Moves to Montana*

The Thing
I was in my bathroom brushing my teeth before bed one night when I saw one of the hangers in my closet begin to swing back and forth in the reflection of my mirror. Not only did it swing, but it seemed to swing forever like it was a Newton’s Cradle before I finally went over and stopped it.

The scene of the incident.

The (Possible) Explanation
At the time this happened we were dealing with a mice problem in our apartment. My guess is a mouse saw all the traps I had set, figured death was inevitable, and decided to take its fate into its own tiny hands by jumping off the shelf in my closet, knocking the hanger on its way down. Did I find a mouse in my closet after this happened? No. But it’s what I tell myself to help me sleep at night.

The Thing
The night of my birthday a group of friends and I went out and got very very drunk. Like, go-home-and-play-Mr-Brightside-by-The-Killers-and-sing-along drunk. I say that in an attempt to make you believe I have a social life and am a fun person, but also to be upfront about the fact that I was super drunk when this next thing happened.

A group of six of us end up at our place late that night and we’re very drunk and singing early 2000’s pop songs together very poorly until about 3 am (Devil’s Hour!?!?). Our friends leave so then it’s just Lauren and I sitting on the couch, hangovers on the horizon. I stand up to go to bed and as I do, the bluetooth speaker we were using to listen to music flies off the top of our entertainment stand and onto the floor. An important thing to mention here is I didn’t actually see this happen myself, but I did hear it happen. Lauren, however, did see it happen and claims it looked as if someone hit the speaker off the top of the entertainment stand.

We took this photo immediately after it happened. The bluetooth speaker landed a good two feet from the entertainment stand (left).

The (Possible) Explanation
So I know I was very drunk when this happened, but it still has me shook. It’s the thing that took me from joking about having a demon in our apartment to actually thinking we have a demon in our apartment.

We considered the possibility that the speaker was playing so loudly it vibrated itself off the entertainment stand, but we tested it the next day by playing it as loud as possible and it didn’t budge. Even so, the speaker landed so far from the entertainment stand there’s no way it could have just fallen off.

My one regret is not taking note of what song was playing when this happened because clearly the demon hates that song.

The Thing
I woke up one night to what I thought was the sound of our bedroom door slamming. Lauren didn’t wake up, but I was so convinced by what I heard that I got up to investigate if someone was in the apartment. Something that, if true, I was incredibly ill-prepared to handle in nothing but my boxers and weaponless. Thankfully no one was there and I went back to sleep.

The next day I told Lauren what had happened. She got a worried look on her face and asked me if the bedroom door had been locked when I went to take a shower that morning. (My bathroom is outside our bedroom). I thought the question was weird but told her that no, the door had not been locked. Apparently she had felt the urge to lock our bedroom door the night before for some reason without telling me. The same door that I thought I heard slam in the middle of the night and was no longer locked the previous morning.

Our haunted bedroom door.

The (Possible) Explanation
I really hope I’m a sleepwalker.

The Thing
Lauren and I were talking in the kitchen after work one night when a lime rolled out of our fruit bowl and across the counter untouched. By this point I had become so immune to all the weird shit going on that I simply picked the lime up and put it back as if nothing had happened. But it further established my deep down panic.

The (Possible) Explanation
It wasn’t as if our fruit bowl was overflowing and this lime had been clinging on for dear life before finally losing its grip. I saw this lime with my own two eyes just roll out of the bowl across the counter. I can’t explain that. If this were the first and only thing that had happened I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it, but we’re to the point where any sound I hear I assume is the demon plotting to possess me.

Okay, I feel like I’m losing my ability to be objective. Let me take a second to clear my mind and think about this rationally.

….

….

….

….

….

It was definitely just the wind.

(or the demon was in the mood for a margarita)

The Thing
Lauren burnt her neck with her hair straightener one morning. No big deal, right? (Other than the fact that she burnt her neck and was in semi to moderate pain for a few days). Well, after she left for work that morning I was in our bedroom making the bed when all of a sudden that SAME hair straightener that burnt her neck fell off her makeup table out of nowhere. Under normal circumstances this would have freaked me out, but I felt particularly vulnerable because *I was naked when this happened. A disclosure here is that I didn’t see the hair straightener fall; I was facing the other way. But I heard it fall and sure enough when I turned around it was there on the floor.

*I don’t normally make the bed naked. That isn’t a thing I do. I had worked out that morning and just taken a shower but was still a little sweaty because the shower didn’t take so I was trying to cool off a bit longer before putting on clothes.

The haunted hair straightener.

The (Possible) Explanation
Lauren left the hair straightener dangling off the edge of her make-up table and I stepped just right that I shook the entire floor causing it to teeter onto the floor.

Or the demon possessed Lauren that morning, forcing her to burn herself with the now haunted hair straightener in an attempt to get rid of her so it can have me to itself.

—

I was forced to leave out a lot of other incidents that have happened for the sake of brevity, but those are the highlights to date. I don’t expect you to believe in ghosts now that you’ve read this. I’m still not sure I do and I’m the one who experienced all this first-hand. But I have Googled how to sage an apartment, so maybe I believe in this more than I’m willing to admit.

And before you suggest it, no, I have not ruled out that Lauren is the demon.