The Wheels of Injustice

See also: Banned, Arrested, Locked Up, Free The Lad

Nigel here.

Imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning, sunburnt from to an afternoon at the beach, to see a status update supposedly from the Lad, talking about the "end of the prison story".

I was as shocked as you were to read his words.

But here's the thing: They weren't his words.

Bear with me now, because what I'm about to relate is San Andreas fault material -- that is, earthquaking stuff.

As picketers grew in number through the day yesterday, amounting to thousands by sunset, the incarcerators at the LA County Jail got nervous. The LLL fans greatly outnumbered the on-duty officers, and they were frankly worried about the fans forcibly releasing not only LLL, but the criminals as well.

They were also worried about this growing into another LA Riot.

So they dragged the Lad into the interrogation room, injected a truth-serum into his arm to learn his MySpace password, then plopped a network-enabled laptop computer onto his laptop, and dictated a "confession". He would never have complied with something so unethical, but as I mentioned earlier he was under the effects of a truth-serum.

While he was under, he was also forced to divulge where he buys his slick clothes.

They even got a Photoshop expert in the department to fabricate some "evidence". Oh, how quickly the wheels of injustice spin!

All this comes to me from a whistle-blower inside the LAPD, whose name I shan't reveal, as she wouldn't live to see the next smoggy sunrise in Tinseltown if I did.

Let's just say her name is Jane. Or Jean. Or Julie. Enough said.

In any case, we've got a situation on our hands now. Because I deleted the supposed confession, and now I am on the run from the law. A fugitive. How ironic. It's rather exciting, though... A lot more fun than being a label manager.

I am writing this from an undisclosed location in the Sonoran desert, southwest of the LA basin. As jets fly over me with their deafening roar, en route to LAX, I am tapping this away in the rear seat of my fuchsia Bentley. I shall have to move soon, in case this file is being traced.

But I have changed the MySpace password for good now, and the Lad -- or his captors -- won't be able to do a thing to misguide you any further. I am in charge now. I am the state. And as the French say, apres moi, le deluge.

What becomes of the Lad now I know not. I advise you all to get back to the picket lines and force his release, through revolution if necessary. We need him back. I for one am missing his music.

Oh, and buy an autographed 8x10 of the Lad's mug shot in the Shop. I will fulfill all orders dutifully, despite being on the run.

Yours,
Nigel