Sepetember 19, 2010, a date that will live in Infamy. That was the date that I announced the Grand Opening of Dumbass News. The world has never been the same. And it serves the world right, if you ask me.
The first actual post to this blog was published the next day. It was about some dumbass bitch that let her boyfriend have Mad Monkey Sex with another woman for his birthday or some shit. We haven’t looked back since. In the intervening 20 mmonths or so I’ve written about some real stoopid people who have done some real stoopid stuff. Dumbass Subject Matte, or as we professional blogging-type dip stick call it, DSM, has ranged from The Frozen Dead Guy who is still on ice in Nederland, Colorado (I used to live there) to a recent incident in which a drunk lady hit a cop in the head with a plastic ding-a-ling, or as very lonely women call them, “boyfriend”.
I come across some insane material in doing “research” for this blog. “Research” of course meaning stealing shit from other blogs slaving away for hours on end, employing a highly evolved and technically intricate form of Google Fu (typing in what are referred to as “search terms” into a Google “search box”) known to very few men, looking for Dumbass News-worthy stories.
While I have written a few stories that feature plastic weenies as protagonists, I have, surprisingly, not come across too many Dumbass Bank Robber tales. I “searched” the Dumbass News Archives, located in the left sidebar of any page, and came up with only a handful of Dumbass Bank Robber stuff – one about a guy who took a get away bus after a bank heist. Another one about one of the Biggest Dumbass Bank Robbers in History who, after committing the crime, went on his Facebook page to brag about it!
Such is the life of a Dumbass Criminal in 2012.
When you look back through history, the guys really good at bank robbin’, Bonnie & Clyde, Jesse James, Billy the Kid, etc., were meticulous in the preparation aspect of the heist. Every single detail, no matter how small, had to be anticipated and possibly dealt with at a split second’s notice. Of course 99% of your Average Bank Robbin’ Population (ABRP) just walks into a bank, hands the teller a note saying he has a gun or bomb and give me the damn money. Not much planning involved. Not only did our Dumbass Bank Robber in today’s story not have a very detailed plan, he didn’t have a clue either.
Let me splain.
Some would-be Dumbass Bank Robber in Chicago was anxious to get down to the bidness of being caught on video by approximately 2 billion surveillance cameras located in the bank’s lobby. I have never understood that. Don’t video cams take, like, you know, video and shit? Real live as-it-happened documentation likely to be used as evidence against the Bad Guy when, if, he goes on trial? But, I digress.
Anyway, after literally seconds of planning his crime, the Bad Guy goes into the bank, passes a note to the teller saying he has a bomb, give me the money. Now comes the hard part. the Getaway! His heart pumping like a two stroke Briggs and Stratton lawnmower engine, the Bad Guy makes good his escape! “The heat will never find me!” he shouts in head as he leaves the scene of his misdeed. The heat will never find the money either. “Why?”, you ask, anxiously sitting on the edge of your computer chair, the tension in this story building to almost unbearable levels. Let me tell you why. The. Dumbass. Forgot. The Money. Yup. Left it at the bank.
Now, I have never robbed a bank and the thought to do so has never been that appealing to me, but I think this ain’t the way it’s supposed to work, is it?
On the Lam
As of this writing, the Little Dumbass Bank Robber That Couldn’t is still at large.
All this poor schmuck has to show for his efforts is a shit load of cops and Federal Agents looking for him and that ever-fleeting moment of triumph – fleeing the crime scene looking like he was shot out of a cannon. Oh, what a high that must have been! “I did it! I did it!” echoing in the Dumbass’s head as he flies into Freedom a rich man.
Then a little thing called “reality” sets in. He. Forgot. The. Fucking. Money. I think this is the proverbial stop that ruins a perfectly good fall from about 10,000 feet.
Thud. Just like Wile E. Coyote.