Some of you may remember a few months back when I talked about a particularly unstable gentleman named Jerry Cole and the interesting adventure my roommates and I had involving his untimely apprehension by the Tallahassee Police Tactical Apprehension and Control Unit.  If you're new to the site, you should definitely follow this link and read about what a whackjob this guy was and how his legal troubles resulted in the only "Outdoor SWAT Party" I've ever attended.

Well one of the many consequences of owning my own personal slice of the internet is that I have very little privacy to tell disparaging stories about unsavory characters, since anything that I post here can be pretty much read by anybody smart enough to operate a computer.  The Jerry Cole tale is no exception.  This was evident when I opened my inbox recently and discovered a lovely little message from our good friend Mr. Cole, complete with the subject line "WELL WELL WELL".

Of course, at first I just thought someone was fucking with me, because I had serious doubts about the chances of Mr. Cole actually locating my site on the intarwebs.  However, I also cannot deny the fact that my story is the first thing that comes up when you Google "jerry cole tallahassee".  I decided that, fake or not, I was going to go ahead and pop this baby up on the site for all the world to see.  And since I rarely respond to hate mail personally and this wasn't a story that Sexx had any first-hand knowledge of, I decided to let my good friend and one-time Jerry Cole confronter Sergeant Darkfucker field this one.

Enjoy.

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Dear Ben,

After spending three years in the state pen for shooting at a colored gentlemen on a bicycle I thought I should contact you and set the story straight.  First of all it was not a kid on a bike, it was a nigger dope dealer.  You are correct in my lack of dental hygene as I lost five front teeth to a police mans baton in Austin ,Texas.  Being a country and blues singer I could not sing with a mouth full of plastic.  As far as being a broke red neck trailer trash, at the time of my arrest I had fourty two thousand dollars in cash inside my appartment at 523 carolina street.  Unlike you whos mother and father probally supported your ass while you went to school, I have to work.  You still owe me twenty dollars for picking up your trash that was all over my yard.

Please respond.

Oh yeah, get your story straight.

Jerry Cole

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An Open Letter to Mr. Jerald/Gerald/Jeremiah/Jerome Cole:

Dear Mr. Cole,

After spending three years in the goddamned US Army killing terrorists and communists I thought I should write an open letter defaming you on the internet.

Was it a "colored gentleman" or a "nigger dope dealer"?  There's a marked difference in tone between these two descriptions of the shootee.  The real difference is in how it reflects upon the writer (that would be you, Mr. Cole).  Calling him a "colored gentleman" makes you sound like a classy albeit somewhat backwards Southern Gentleman.  Calling him a "nigger dope dealer" (italics mine) reveals your true nature as a low class shitheel.  As Polonius says to his son Laertes in Hamlet, "this above all:  to thine own self be true."  Be true to yourself, Mr. Cole.  You're a shitheel.  Write your emails like one.

Oh, while I'm on it, during the 523 Carolina shootout incident, a bystander I spoke to expressed surprise that it was your house being raided, as he had "just bought weed from [you] this week!"  Seeing as the "nigger" in question was purportedly a fellow member of the Fraternal Brotherhood of Dope Dealers, how could you have betrayed him by shooting at him?  Was he encroaching on your business, perhaps?  Mr. Cole, you had "$42,000 in cash" in your home.  As Tony Soprano said to Phil Leotardo in a recent episode of The Sopranos, "there's enough for all of us."  That especially applies at The Florida State University, where an estimated 2,300 lbs of weed are smoked every day*.  I bet that Jesus would've shared control over the local Chronic market.

Furthermore, even if the "colored gentleman" in question was a "dope dealer" and yourself a upstanding citizen and member of the "Florida Peace Officer's Association" (as the letterhead of the note demanding $20 in cleanup feed stated), I don't believe you had the legal or moral right to shoot at him.  This isn't Deadwood, Mr. Cole.  This isn't Nam, smokey;  this is bowling:  there are rules.  Perhaps your membership in the Peace Officer's Association granted you certain Vigilante Justice Privileges.  I would guess not, based on the SWAT team response by the Tallahassee Police Department.  Remember how they threw a flashbang through your window, then rushed in and balled you up?  That was awesome!  Just out of curiosity, what inspired you to join the Florida Peace Officer's Association?  I would have imagined that the experience of having your teeth knocked out by a "police mans baton" (sic) in Austin would've turned you against the police.

I'm surprised to hear that you're a Country and Blues singer!  I too was a musician, Mr. Cole.  (Now I kill people for a living).  Anyhow, here is a blues song I wrote for you:

Whoa, living near the college
Sellin' lots of dope!
Neighbors left boxes in my yard
I'm at the end of my rope

'Cause I'm a redneck...
Yeah, just a shit-heel a' singin' the blues!
Whoa, I'm gonna shoot that nigger dope dealer
'Cause don't ya know I gots nothin' to lose!

Mr. Cole, it seems you could use some clarification and advice in financial matters.  First, let's speak about your own money.  You claim to have had $40k in cash in your house.  That's not wise fiscal policy, Mr. Cole.  One never knows when the friendly neighborhood SWAT team will kick down your door and confiscate such a thing!  Better to put it into a COD or better yet some sort of IRA.  I hear the pensions for Toothless Country and Blues Singers are pretty shabby these days.  Besides, having a large amount of cash on hand like that makes you look like... well, a dope dealer.

As for myself, you're right, my parents do pay for my education.  And by "my parents" I mean three years of service in the US Army to include an Iraq tour (for my M.A.) and hard work, dedication, and talent which earned me a merit-based music scholarship (my B.A.).  My various other roomates paid for their educations by being Dr. Gaius Baltar-esque super geniuses (Tom), working their asses off at everything they did (Kelly), or working as a Dishwasher at Chili's and complaining loudly to roomates about it (Joe).  Joe may have also earned money somehow by playing Metal Gear Solid 2 or being terrible at multiplayer Half-Life, as he devoted a considerable amount of time and effort to those two activities.  I can still remember his heartbroken screams of "FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!" echoing through the townhouse;  they still bring a smile to my face.

Now let's talk about the money.  You say we owe you $20 for cleaning up the box mess that was in our portion of the yard.  What was it, you were having a "business meeting"?  Would a messy backyard really have queered a drug deal, Mr. Cole?  "Sure, sure, 3 pounds and 4 ounces of Maui Wowie for $475... wait a minute, is that a box mess in your yard?!?  (monocle pops out) DEAL'S OFF, MR. COLE!!!"  The legitimacy of that invoice aside, my friends and I probably spent more than $20 on beer and chicken strips entertaining ourselves while we kept out of our townhouse due to a police cordon.  As I see it, Mr. Cole, you owe us money.  Tell ya what though, "you gives us what you have on you, we calls it even."

One last note, Mr. Cole.  You couldn't hit an unprepared victim from 20 feet away.  I can consistently hit an intermittently appearing man-sized target at 200m, and hit half the time at 300m.  My weapon of choice is a 7.92mm German Infantry Rfile that can put a hole in a half-inch of steel.  A "which Battlestar Galactica Character are you?!?"  quiz on MySpace said I was most like COMMANDER FUCKING ADAMA.  Stay away from my friends and family.

So say we all!

SGT Morloc Darkfucker
Aeronautical Scientist
The Moon (on it, not in it)

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You scored as Commander William Adama. You have risen to your position by being damn good at what you do. Not only that, you have the deepest respect for the people under your command, and you command the same respect from them. You may be a little grumpy and unapproachable, but every commander needs to distance himself. Commander William Adama 85% CPO Galen Tyrol 75% Dr Gaius Baltar 75% Capt. Lee Adama (Apollo) 69% Tom Zarek 69% President Laura Roslin 50% Col. Saul Tigh 50% Lt. Kara Thrace (Starbuck) 38% Lt. Sharon Valerii (Boomer) 31% Number 6 19%