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Police Report No. 5952
Deputy Alex Barron
75th Precinct, Los Angeles
Suspect was apprehended at approximately 3:30 a.m. at the Twelve Oaks Retirement Center, Los Angeles. Elders at the home had reported hearing strange noises, as if someone was in the building with them. Between 1 A.M. and the time of his arrest, Kutcher reportedly photographed and harassed residents, one woman stating "He claimed to be the man with the magic touch, and just jumped on top of me" Suspect quoted as saying "I was only looking for a new wife." He also claimed to have been filming a commercial for the Nikon company, but no camera crew was found.
Mr. Kutcher was charged with breaking and entering, disturbing the peace, and attempted rape.
The arresting officer searched the suspect, nothing found on his persons. No evidence found at the scene, other than a photograph of a 75 year old hairy beaver. Just who's beaver is presently unknown. Lineups of old lady beaver have been assembled, arranged by density of bush.
Suspect detained 4:05 P.M.
Released on bail 6:30 P.M.
But what that small police report fails to mention, are those 2 or so hours Ashton Kutcher was kept locked up in a cage with wild animals. To them he looked very much like fresh tender meat, and to him it seemed as if there wasn't a single soul there that was not hungry. Ravenous eyes followed him as he nervously paced his cage, beads like lead bullets running down his face. A man on a cot in a corner seemed to sleep, but would occasionally lift his head, his eyes locking on Ashton each time he did so. His hand would go up to his face and he'd take a snort, smile and drop his head apparently going back to sleep. In another corner two jail birds chirped at one another, singing out a plan they were going to fulfill once they got out. One spoke of a hidden pipe, buried at a hidden location, the other of a hidden stash that only he knew the location of. They planned on meeting up after they go out so they could both get high.
The system wasn't working.
When it came to reform it failed horribly, but when it came to fear, its machinery performed so well it purred like a new kitten. But its never the people who are on the inside who are afraid, its the people on the outside, and they've been taught to be afraid to ever end up locked up, because there are plenty of horrible people in the world - madmen, cheaters, liars, criminals, but in there, you're locked up with them, and you can't get away. Worst of all, you're considered one of them, and with that comes all the fear and loathing that results from being labeled "no good" by society. Ashton was feeling this now, in waves all up and down his body. He prayed for someone to come bail him out, but his wife Demi had no idea of his whereabouts - she was too busy taking pictures of her ass in granny panties and posting them on Twitter to notice. Similarly, no friends came either, because quite frankly Ashton had the type of friends who never seemed to be around when he really needed them - that is to say friends who weren't really his friends at all, but rather celebrities who tolerated him because he too was a celebrity, and birds of a feather flock together, no matter how loud, obnoxious and spastic they may be.
When given his one phone call, he asked instead if he could have just one Tweet.
"Please sir, just one Tweet." Ashton pleaded. "Just 140 characters or less, its all I need - its the only way I know how to express myself. Its the only way I can reach my people." By 'my people' he meant retards. After much pleading his request was granted, and at 4:32 A.M. the hopeless retard posted a Tweet that went like this:
Only minutes after the tweet went out, an entire network of retards helped spread his message, with text messages and emails, those who still had voices made phone calls, those who were skillful enough to write legibly and smart enough to spell made signs with colored markers and glitter that said things like "FREE ASHTON," and "LET HIM GO." They were all animals through and through, collected together outside of the jail, and like vultures so came the media men and paparazzi looking for a fresh kill upon which to feed.
Inside the jail, similar animals, differing only in that they were caged, were coming alive too.
The head wolf had awaken from his slumber, and now with a hungry appetite he was looking to feed. His ears perked up, listening for a quiet whimper similar to the moans of a dying dog, for the stifled cries of fresh meat too afraid to cry wholly out loud. His half-closed eyes, still heavy with sleep scanned the cell, no good, no good, ok, no we had him yesterday, no, ahh perfect. He had found Ashton, who's eyes met his own and glimmered with a certain fear. He looked as if at any moment he may cry. The wolf smiled, his face contorted into a wicked grin.
"I know you." The wolf said. Ashton simply curled into a ball, a mouse accepting defeat. "Good boy." He said, as he licked his lips.
2 or so hours later, when Ashton had finally met bail, Officer Barron went to the community holding cell where he was kept. Ashton was found draped over a cot, belly down, with a heavy set man goin' to town on him. He had been in that position for those 2 hours, as the wolf and his pack each took turns defiling him. Officer Barron broke up the sodomy, and like wild dogs they all scampered off, tails between their legs.
Leaving, Ashton found a certain new found appreciation for his freedom, and a certain gratitude that retardation like his wasn't illegal, for he new he wasn't one for prison life.
He's far too pretty.
FURTHER RETARDATION:
Punk'd, ever see it? . . . Exactly.
Real life best friends with Sean William Scott, a real life douche.
Ashton challenged CNN that he could get a million followers on Twitter before they did, in one of the most ego driven competitions in recent years.
At 18 he robbed his high school, convicted to 3 years probation and 180 hours of community service.
What Happens in Vegas, what shit fest...
He was a front runner of that whole Trucker Hat bullshit.
iR
co-writs: Wild Jesse
Deputy Alex Barron
75th Precinct, Los Angeles
Suspect was apprehended at approximately 3:30 a.m. at the Twelve Oaks Retirement Center, Los Angeles. Elders at the home had reported hearing strange noises, as if someone was in the building with them. Between 1 A.M. and the time of his arrest, Kutcher reportedly photographed and harassed residents, one woman stating "He claimed to be the man with the magic touch, and just jumped on top of me" Suspect quoted as saying "I was only looking for a new wife." He also claimed to have been filming a commercial for the Nikon company, but no camera crew was found.
Mr. Kutcher was charged with breaking and entering, disturbing the peace, and attempted rape.
The arresting officer searched the suspect, nothing found on his persons. No evidence found at the scene, other than a photograph of a 75 year old hairy beaver. Just who's beaver is presently unknown. Lineups of old lady beaver have been assembled, arranged by density of bush.
Suspect detained 4:05 P.M.
Released on bail 6:30 P.M.
But what that small police report fails to mention, are those 2 or so hours Ashton Kutcher was kept locked up in a cage with wild animals. To them he looked very much like fresh tender meat, and to him it seemed as if there wasn't a single soul there that was not hungry. Ravenous eyes followed him as he nervously paced his cage, beads like lead bullets running down his face. A man on a cot in a corner seemed to sleep, but would occasionally lift his head, his eyes locking on Ashton each time he did so. His hand would go up to his face and he'd take a snort, smile and drop his head apparently going back to sleep. In another corner two jail birds chirped at one another, singing out a plan they were going to fulfill once they got out. One spoke of a hidden pipe, buried at a hidden location, the other of a hidden stash that only he knew the location of. They planned on meeting up after they go out so they could both get high.
The system wasn't working.
When it came to reform it failed horribly, but when it came to fear, its machinery performed so well it purred like a new kitten. But its never the people who are on the inside who are afraid, its the people on the outside, and they've been taught to be afraid to ever end up locked up, because there are plenty of horrible people in the world - madmen, cheaters, liars, criminals, but in there, you're locked up with them, and you can't get away. Worst of all, you're considered one of them, and with that comes all the fear and loathing that results from being labeled "no good" by society. Ashton was feeling this now, in waves all up and down his body. He prayed for someone to come bail him out, but his wife Demi had no idea of his whereabouts - she was too busy taking pictures of her ass in granny panties and posting them on Twitter to notice. Similarly, no friends came either, because quite frankly Ashton had the type of friends who never seemed to be around when he really needed them - that is to say friends who weren't really his friends at all, but rather celebrities who tolerated him because he too was a celebrity, and birds of a feather flock together, no matter how loud, obnoxious and spastic they may be.
When given his one phone call, he asked instead if he could have just one Tweet.
"Please sir, just one Tweet." Ashton pleaded. "Just 140 characters or less, its all I need - its the only way I know how to express myself. Its the only way I can reach my people." By 'my people' he meant retards. After much pleading his request was granted, and at 4:32 A.M. the hopeless retard posted a Tweet that went like this:
Only minutes after the tweet went out, an entire network of retards helped spread his message, with text messages and emails, those who still had voices made phone calls, those who were skillful enough to write legibly and smart enough to spell made signs with colored markers and glitter that said things like "FREE ASHTON," and "LET HIM GO." They were all animals through and through, collected together outside of the jail, and like vultures so came the media men and paparazzi looking for a fresh kill upon which to feed.
Inside the jail, similar animals, differing only in that they were caged, were coming alive too.
The head wolf had awaken from his slumber, and now with a hungry appetite he was looking to feed. His ears perked up, listening for a quiet whimper similar to the moans of a dying dog, for the stifled cries of fresh meat too afraid to cry wholly out loud. His half-closed eyes, still heavy with sleep scanned the cell, no good, no good, ok, no we had him yesterday, no, ahh perfect. He had found Ashton, who's eyes met his own and glimmered with a certain fear. He looked as if at any moment he may cry. The wolf smiled, his face contorted into a wicked grin.
"I know you." The wolf said. Ashton simply curled into a ball, a mouse accepting defeat. "Good boy." He said, as he licked his lips.
2 or so hours later, when Ashton had finally met bail, Officer Barron went to the community holding cell where he was kept. Ashton was found draped over a cot, belly down, with a heavy set man goin' to town on him. He had been in that position for those 2 hours, as the wolf and his pack each took turns defiling him. Officer Barron broke up the sodomy, and like wild dogs they all scampered off, tails between their legs.
Leaving, Ashton found a certain new found appreciation for his freedom, and a certain gratitude that retardation like his wasn't illegal, for he new he wasn't one for prison life.
He's far too pretty.
FURTHER RETARDATION:
Punk'd, ever see it? . . . Exactly.
Real life best friends with Sean William Scott, a real life douche.
Ashton challenged CNN that he could get a million followers on Twitter before they did, in one of the most ego driven competitions in recent years.
At 18 he robbed his high school, convicted to 3 years probation and 180 hours of community service.
What Happens in Vegas, what shit fest...
He was a front runner of that whole Trucker Hat bullshit.
iR
co-writs: Wild Jesse
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