It can happen to the best of us. One day you’re living the dream — you’re taking big shits, you’re feeling up big tits, you’re taking the weekly schvitz — it’s a good life. Then one day everything changes. The good times abruptly come to an end and suddenly you’re staring down the fat, corrugated barrel of Johnny Law’s pump action and the lawyers are brought in. You thought it was just going to be another slap on the wrist, but everything seems more drastic this time. Perhaps you violated your county’s seldom-cited three-strikes policy when it came to pooing in the dressing rooms at the local J.C. Penney. Or, just maybe, you drove drunk through a soccer game comprised exclusively of blind kids, an event that paired with Benny Hill music could have been amusing had it not been so graphically gory and tragic. Whatever you did, people are mad at you, and, to make matters worse, everyone seems to be throwing around the words “mandatory jail time” a little too liberally for your liking.
All of a sudden the once-simple life you led revolving around new episodes of Breaking Bad and warm holes to put your dick in is gone. It’s been replaced with an ever-intensifying hurricane poo-nami of legal jargon, bills, and court appointments. The corrections officers and judges belabor over a sentence with intensive rehabilitation and repayment of your debt to society. Outside of picking which gang to pledge during the prison rush week, it all sounds just awful. You’ve come to rationalize that if America wants you locked up, well, then you don’t want to be in America. Sure, you’ll miss your family. You’ll probably miss not using the metric system. Heck, you’ll might even miss watching the fatties in their Jazzy Scooters zip around Wal-Mart searching for returned wedding cakes on clearance. In the end, though, you’d rather live abroad, not facing imprisonment or missing the series finale of B^2, than repay your debt to American society.
First step, if you’re not free, you need to make bail. Do whatever it takes; have your attorney do some serious lawyering or pull some Yiddish magic to get you out. Liquidate your investments. Sell your fantasy football picks to the highest bidder for any and all future seasons. Test the market for your left kidney with the dialysis crowd. Truly embody that Israeli remix that goes, “Don’t worry about fucking bitches just get money.”
Once you’re out on bail, awaiting trial or sentencing, figure out where in the world you want to go, Carmen Sandiego. Look for countries without extradition treaties with the US. That way you can’t be easily transported back for prosecution should your whereabouts be discovered or you get in trouble over there. Your prospects aren’t amazing at this time; most of the countries lacking US extradition treaty exist in Africa (not surprisingly), the Middle East, Central Asia, and Eastern Europe. Sure, they’re not London, Tokyo, Paris, or Sydney, but if you like unstable governments in countries lacking drug restrictions and basic infrastructure then this ragtag, Bad-News-Bears collection of countries could be perfect for you.
Next, finagle a way to get there. You might have an entrepreneurial friend in the passport game. Seducing a businessman in Dubai over the Internet and getting him to fly you over is always tantalizing for a weekend getaway, or the rest of your life. Or, maybe, you’ll find a sketchy ship captain on Craigslist who will look the other way for stowaways, provided they have soft eyes, tight mouths, and calloused fingers. Think about it, you’re assuming a new identity in a foreign country; hence, it really doesn’t matter how many depraved, disgusting things you have to do to Moroccan opium barons or Russian train conductors. You’ll be assuming a new identity anyways; so you can be sure to make it one where you don’t remember being passed around a Vietnamese fishing ship like a bottle of soy sauce.
Now, hopefully, you’ll arrive without too many scars, physical or emotional. You can reinvent yourself now, albeit after you find an Internet café to stream the last few episodes in order to see what happens with this whole Walt-Jesse-Hank hate triangle.
Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most Thursdays and some Tuesdays usually. Look for more of his writing, his BroBible.com archive, and his updates at www.justingawel.com or follow him @justingawel on Twitter.