Worst. Getaway. Ever.

Got time for another Walmart story? This one's in Pennsylvania! That's not really that far from where the last one of these stories took place. Maybe just look at it as our sort of working our way across the Walmart denizens of the eastern states?

CBS3 gives us our report on this story. It would seem that a one 32-year old and old enough to know better Craig David Jr., of Smithfield, PA needed to have a prescription filled. Naturally, the place you'd go to have that done is your local Walmart pharmacy. The report isn't clear as to what Mr. David's prescription was, but it did say that he had "...just been released from a hospital." It would seem that he had some injuries stemming from a domestic incident (Translation: A wife and/or girlfriend beat the holy living S out of him). These injuries occurred when Mr. Davis was "...hit with a frying pan and a table leg." Judging from this incident, I'd have to say that Mr. David is apparently some sort of cartoon character. Who else gets hit with frying pans?

Anyway, he had contacted an ex-girlfriend of sorts who had agreed to pay for his medication. When she met him at the Walmart, he was still wearing his hospital gown. Judging from this behavior, I'd have to say that Mr. David is apparently some sort of cartoon character. Who else shows up at the Walmart wearing their hospital gown? Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital if you're wearing one of those?

Now, I'd think that the medication would be pretty important. I'm guessing it's some sort of pain reduction medication to help relieve any aches and pains sustained during the cast iron attack which occurred on January 1 (Happy New Year, you idiot!). But it didn't seem to be as important to Mr. David as that fifty bucks that his ex-girlfriend was going to give him to cover the cost. No, that's why he took the fifty dollars and fled. On a motorized shopping scooter. Wait. What now?

That's correct. He took the fifty bucks from her, hopped on one of those in-store Rascal-like contraptions and attempted to make his getaway. Judging from that sort of behavior, I'd have to say that Mr. David is apparently some sort of cartoon character.

How fast do those things go? ONE mile an hour? TWO? They're for hauling your ass around the store while you shop, it's not like they need to meet NASCAR qualification standards or anything. Was this Walmart at the top of some sort of hill? Some sort of very tall hill with very flat paved roads leading away from it? How could he not think that he'd get caught when he was making a getaway on an object that most people can walk faster than?

Here's the part that I really don't get: He seemed to see fit to walk into the place! He didn't need any sort of assistance doing that! Perhaps that long jaunt from the parking lot or wherever just plain ol' tuckered him out and he had planned on taking a little rest, but then realized that he had all of that fleeing to do and hopped on the scooter. I really don't know. But I can't imagine that he thought he was going to get anywhere anytime soon on one of those things! Have you ever been behind one of those in the stores? It's a nightmare. You're better off just turning around and walking clear around the entire store to get in front of them than you are waiting for them to get out of your way!

It will come as no surprise to you (I hope) that Mr. David was apprehended and charged with robbery and disorderly conduct. I don't understand why they didn't slap him with joyriding or grand theft scooter cart or something as well. I'd really like to know how far he got on that thing and how, exactly, he was "apprehended". Did the officer just jog along side of him and read him his rights? Seriously, what is wrong with people?

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They Call It Dumpster Love

So tell me something. Are there NO hotel rooms in Wichita, Kansas? Is there such a need for some sort of personal privacy in Wichita that folks must resort to areas designed to collect public refuse? I'm only asking because there HAS to be some sort of explanation that I am completely missing as to why on earth a couple, a man and a woman, would both be WILLINGLY inside of a public trash dumpster. And not just in the dumpster hanging out or having a cup of coffee together whilst they peruse the morning paper. No, this is a couple who is willingly in the dumpster because they are willingly going to have willing sex with each other! A scenario to which I can only say EWWWW!

Seriously. It's a dumpster. People throw God only knows what in there. Actually, I take that back. God isn't the only one who knows what gets thrown in there. You've thrown things in there. I've thrown things in there. WE know what we throw! And a lot of it is downright gross! Now don't get me wrong, it's not as if I've never been in the throws of physical romantic passion before because I have! (A couple of times even with another person!) So I understand that physical burning, pressing, extremely urgent urge to get things going right THEN! But if right THEN the only option for THAT was a dumpster? I think that if I even briefly considered it for a split second that I'd really find myself feeling a need to go off to some remote area by myself for a while and take good, hard look at my priorities in life. Granted, if I were in Wichita at this point, I might realize that I should have done that a long time ago, but better late than never, right?

As if your life isn't at a low enough point to where you find yourself engaged in dumpster sex, it CAN get worse. And for this couple, it certainly did. See, after they were riding dirty (excuse the pun, I had to throw one in somewhere) what do you think happened? That's right. The police showed up. But the REASON the police showed up is only because THEY CALLED the police! Because they had just been ROBBED! Wait. What now?

Correct. They were ROBBED while having sex in a dumpster! (I guess they didn't have one of those "If this dumpster's a rockin', don't come a-knockin' " stickers on the outside of it.) According to the account of this tryst gone bad over there at Kansas.com, "the man and woman, both 44, crawled into the trash container for privacy." 44 years old and crawling into a trash can to be alone with your man. Woman! What is WRONG with you?! Is that the best you can do? Really? Bumping ugly with Oscar the Grouch? That makes me a little bit sad.

The article continues detailing the unfortunate events as "A short time later, a 59-year-old man and his 64-year-old companion interrupted the couple inside the trash container." OK, then. So, are they actually IN the dumpster WITH the amorous couple? Or what? They just poked their heads up over the edge? I don't get how this worked, exactly. And what on earth made these "robbers" even think for ONE second that people who are INSIDE of a trash receptacle would have earthly possessions worthy of stealing?! They're in the TRASH for cryin' out loud! Did you mistake a shiny object on their shopping cart of possessions as some sort of bling (when in reality it was just a pop top from a soda can)? Why would you think they had anything to take?

And that last sentence just goes to show MY ignorance as to what kind of people fornicate like beasts inside a public receptacle for garbage because the "robbers" apparently managed to get away with "shoes, jewelry and the 44-year-old man's wallet." Um, I'm guessing they didn't get much jewelry. But here's the reason why:

We now go to David, an employee working at the Four Aces Smoke and Liquor store where the whole thing got started. According to the information provided by Kansas.com, David said that one of the guys was "a regular customer" and that he "...had been flirting with a 44-year-old woman all day Saturday. But she persistently rebuffed his advances." Um, wait.

All day? Persistently rebuffed his advances ALL DAY? At the Four Aces Smoke and Liquor store? Who in the hell hangs out around the Four Aces Smoke and Liquor store all the live long day? People who have sex in dumpsters and people who rob them, apparently.

David said that when the guy "... saw her cozying up to another man and then leave with him, the guy "got jealous." David surmises it was because "...he didn't get the attention he wanted." Well, he will definitely get some sort of attention when he pops in on them in the dumpster while they're canoodling amongst the rubbish, that's for sure. But that's the point when that guy "...recruited a companion" and went on a hunt for the woman who rejected him. Him. The sort of man that isn't up to her standards of the sort of guy she's willing to have dumpster sex with. Sir, I'd say you're one lucky man. Now put down that damned pocketknife and go home. Oh, damn. I said go home. You can assume he didn't hear me.

As far as what was "stolen" from the frolicking couple, the booty consisted of "the man's identification card, a plastic pouch, cash and his black-and-white Converse tennis shoes." Where's the jewelry? Oh, I guess that for people that have sex in dumpsters "a plastic pouch" constitutes jewelry? We'll say that it does. The woman, apparently, didn't have anything of high enough value for the men to steal from her. Go figure.

David said that the reason the men were apprehended so quickly was because "All the cops know all these people pretty well...and the descriptions offered by the victims gave them a good idea of who may have been responsible." Nice area, eh? You know who the folks are who robbed you while you were having dumpster sex. Real nice. And as for the men themselves, why, they would be none other than "Eddie Whiters, 64, known at Four Aces as "Fast Eddie," and Marvin Moore, 59," no snappy nickname given.

Sir, if you are sixty four years old and going by the name of "Fast Eddie" and you are NOT Paul Newman but are instead a pocketknife wielding, liquor store hanging out, jealous kind of a guy, I'd suggest that you check yourself long and hard.

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Name That Bandit, Smokey

I've always thought of the FBI as an excellent organization and I was sure that those who work there have responsibilities that are more involved as far as what they entail as compared to other jobs. I've always thought that things in the FBI would operate at a "step up" from that of other jobs. You know, the complexities, the multi-leveled thinking approach to things, the intricacies that are involved, stuff like that. I've always thought that there would definitely be something "different" about working for the FBI. I was correct. It is different, all right. Not different in the way that I was thinking of, but different nonetheless.

Welcome to Chicago, where 2008 saw almost a record number of robberies with the total hovering somewhere between 276 and 284. (They're still filling out reports on some of them, so they're not sure exactly how many just yet. I'm just glad there's a fairly reasonable explanation for not having an exact figure. After all, they are the FBI; they should know things like that.) Now with that many robberies, it brought about, according to The Chicago Tribune "an unusual problem." Not a lack of manpower. Not a lack of funds. Not a problem with witnesses. Not a problem with violence. No, they have a problem (wait for it....) coming up with all of those nicknames. Wait. What?

No, seriously. WTF?

Apparently, if a robber is a "serial robber" (which, by apparent definition, is someone who is responsible for doing all of the robbing at least three times), they are supposed to get a "unique and memorable name". The nickname is important because it draws public interest and the interest of the media. (And those in the media love a good nickname for anything! Doesn't matter what it is! A good nickname or a catchy phrase will have those in the media practically wetting themselves in anticipation of being able to use said nickname in their story.) So if you're of the serial robbing type, you've gotta have a nickname. And according to a one Ross Rice who is the FBI spokesman in Chicago and the name-assigner for that area, "It's actually one of the more trying parts of the job."

The names?!? The freaking names that you have to make up are one of the "more trying parts" of working for the FBI?! Are you kidding me?! If that is one of the more trying parts, I'd love to know what are some of the easier aspects of working for the FBI! Let's see...tracking that Unabomber guy for 16-17 years....that DB Cooper thing that hasn't been figured out since 1971....the World Trade Center ordeal and looking for that Osama dude....yeah,l all a piece of cake compared to coming up with a little nickname for a robber. I see.

Oh, but I kid. (Actually, I don't. This is ridiculous. Naming anything, anyone, it doesn't matter. It's NOT hard!) One of the things that made it so, soooo hard for this guy to give nicknames to the evil doers is the sheer number of them. Now, I'm doing the math here (because it's what I do) and if there were 276 robberies and you have to have committed 3 of them to be a "serial robber" and get yourself a shiny gold star and a catchy moniker to go underneath your blurry surveillance photo on the evening news, you're looking at a maximum of 93 names. 365 days in the year. That's one every 3.92 days. You can't come up with a nickname for someone in 3.92 days?! Really? I think I could come up with a couple of 'em in 3.92 seconds. Give me 3.92 days and I'll nickname them all. Forget the other 361.08 days, I won't need 'em! (Slappy McRobs-A-Lot! Stick 'em Up Pete! Bank of the West Pest! Shall I go on? No? Thank God.)

Rice was responsible for names (that were much better than mine I just threw out in less than 3.92 days) like " "....The Cadillac Bandit," (for his getaway car), "The Brazen Bandit" (for his demeanor) and "The Straw Hat Bandit" (for, well, some names are less trying than others)." Who the hell is going around robbing banks in Chicago (of all places) in a freaking straw hat is what I want to know? Old McDonald?

Rice was also responsible for the naming of a one robber Michael Staadt as the "Groucho Bandit" because he wore a fake moustache during his robberies. "Groucho" was later arrested outside of a bar when alert employees called police. (They're always alert when something like this happens. Never do you read "The dozing, half-wit bartender then called police with the information." Never.) He's not always quite so clever when it comes to his dubbing of the dastardly. Apparently, two different robbers decided to don an oh-so-stylish Kangol hat during their robberies. The first guy got the obvious "Kangol Bandit" distinction. The second one got the also obvious (but a little silly sounding) "Kangol Bandit 2" distinction.

OK, I wouldn't know a Kangol hat if it bit me in the ass. (I'd know I'd been bitten in the ass, but I wouldn't know what did the biting. I'm just saying.) What's with the name, anyway? Kangol. Is it like a cross between a kangaroo and a Mongol? I had not idea, so I looked it up and, in case you're interested (and how could you not be at this point!) THIS is a Kangol hat. Behold!

OK, so a "Newsies" hat? Paperboy in the 1920s? Do people really wear those? If so, why? You'd think that if they did that I'd have already made fun of them by now. And if people aren't really wearing those these days, couldn't you have gone with a name along those lines? "The What Not To Wear Bandit", perhaps?

I wish that the person who wrote the article over there at the Chicago Tribune had asked Mr. Rice why it seems that only in nicknames of criminals do you hear or see the word "bandit" used. The only other time you'll hear "bandit" bandied about is if it involves Burt Reynolds and is proceeded by "Smokey and the". Other than that, "bandit" is conspicuously absent from day to day language. Just look at all of these other "bandits" that were out robbing things all over the place:

• The Leprechaun Bandit

The Playboy Bandit

The Second Hand Bandit

I think that my favorite "bandit" nickname is one that, unfortunately, did not originate in Chicago. It was the doing of the FBI guys in Seattle when they came up with the name "Can You Hear Me Now Bandit" for a guy who kept talking on his cell phone whilst robbing places! I also think that I'm glad that the practice of nicknaming criminals gets toned down a bit when it comes to those who kill other people. I was good with "The Unabomber" as a nickname (no matter how ridiculous it is). I wouldn't have been good for 16-17 years of "Be on the look out for "Explode-y Von Bombs Your Ass."

So what have we learned? The FBI is a pretty tough place to work. Or not. Maybe we've learned too much about the inner workings of the FBI. Or not enough. Either way, I think we learned that if you're going to be a bank robber, don't always wear the same damn thing every time you rob a place. I think we also learned that we're glad that bank robbers (in general) aren't real bright and will continue to wear the same damn thing every time they rob a place, which earns them a catchy nickname which aids their eventual capture. It's one of the few times when I'm actually grateful for stupidity

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