The schuck of your misdeeds

So when I was a kid my mother never told me that Santa keeps track of your rotten little actions and that I would get coal at the end of the year if I were bad. I must give her credit for this. However, I am not sure whether she (1) knew that I would be bad anyway and say screw the presents (2) knew I wouldn't believe her (3) didn't want to lose credibility with me, the jury, when Christmas rolled around and my grandparents got me a doll I was afraid of instead of coal, though I would have actually preferred the coal, which writes very nicely on the wall or (4) she just didn't want to frighten me with the idea that some weird invisible fat man was hovering over me watching my every move. Let me say it now, thank you mom.

However, years later, still somewhat afraid of dolls, I have an internship in the District Attorney's office and lo and behold, there are records of your misdeeds, but the district attorney is not fat or invisible. The records are called 'shucks', a nonsensical name for little envelopes that are open on one side. You can see through the front and call people up and then open the shuck and you just never know what you will find. Today I opened one to read that this lady trashed some other lady's fish tank and the property damage included her fish. Now, who fucks up someone else's fish? There's Puddles, swimming around, la la la, "Oh, who's this?" and next thing you know he's on the floor in broken glass dying because some crazy fuck has an anger problem. I mean really. Her fish tank? I have a fish tank, and it was the first thing my girlfriend and I bought together when she moved in (insert "awww" here) and I love my little fishies, who get buried in the yard when they die. Not deep or anything, but we don't flush them. Well, there was that one fish but he was kind of weird. Anyway so I got a little offended. There was this other guy who "beat (some poor jerk) about the head and face with his fists, causing a bloody nose and extreme pain." I checked his record and again, anger issues. Dude, learn to talk, what's up? When I told him he could leave today, I said "hey" and he turned around and I said "Man, quit hitting people!" I doubt this got through to him. Then there was the woman who was in court for the wrong charge. She's got so many she has her court dates mixed up. Open the shucks...and voila! Your ass gets coal for Christmas.

Perhaps, rather than coal, which they would probably go dump in someone's fish tank, we should have a weird fat guy follow them around and make little notes and give them dolls that scare them. Maybe they could be little talking dolls that say "Stop hitting people! Stop hitting people!" or "Sit down! Shut up!" or "You REALLLYYY don't need to drive. Give me the keys. Give me the keys." But until I can have some influence over prison reform, I guess I will continue to read about fish killing drunk driving sewage dumpers whose mother apparently never properly frightened them with the idea that on some level, you pay for your actions. Line up the shucks, Madam clerk, Santa Attorney is coming to town.