The rapist from my hood was caught the other day. Ignorant mother fcuker voluntarily gave up his DNA and the great men and women in blue took a freaken fortnight to pick his ass up. More or less giving him the opportunity to swipe a couple of more i-Pods and sexual batter the diverse women of the Upper UWS.
I was sitting with one of the Khaki Short boys from the block and Roommate discussing how absurd the whole mess was. I mean for the last six weeks there have been pictures of this hooded Spaniard plastered everywhere from the brownstone hand rails to the bodega store fronts to behind the cashier at Duane Reade. When the reports came out last week that he rapped a women by going through the fire escape I tapped the flyer facing outward to inform him I’d catch his ass.
From the minute I saw the flyer I wanted to catch that god for saken rapist. Yes, for good measure but more for the twelve G’s the NYPD promised to fork over for the arrest and conviction of the son of a bitch.
I had a plan and everything, and even took action for five nights. Myself, accompanied with two of the Khaki Short boys (think common day Soc’s but Dominican); one about twenty feet in front, one about fifteen feet in back of me. I even had a butterfly knife, ready and waiting.
We walked for what seemed hours while I pranced around in knitted stockings, sandals, a flowy yet tight fitting black skirt, a tank top showing the goods and my Chinatown special Chanel Bag. I also had a borrowed i-Pod and my Blackberry texting while we walked the perimeter we believe the Rapist would be lurking.
Nada. Zilch. So we gave up, me secretly hoping that I would be approached late one night when I was on my way home. I’ve even done my make up and hair for the past weeks to lure the ass out of hiding.
But now he’s caught and I had nothing to do with it. A small blurb in Monday’s paper reading “Uptown Rapist Caught.” Nothing about the women he assaulted, that he didn’t have a M.O. and just rapped about anything from the aging Dominican women to the Asian in her twenties. And nothing about the twelve G’s.
Only that he was only 21 and had voluntarily gave up his DNA two weeks ago. Poppycock.