Arrested Underdevelopment

Posted by on March 9, 2011

I joke with my friends that I never get arrested because I’m allergic to handcuffs. That isn’t always the case. I have a habit of getting nabbed by overzealous police officers once every other year. It’s a nasty habit but it’s one that keeps my street cred alive and thriving. This story isn’t about me getting arrested later this year (which will be 99.9 percent plausible. Vegas odds say “300%+ on the over/under), but this story is what transpired when I was arrested two years ago in June 2009.

Sadly, it's a true story.

Of all the crimes I’ve committed, the heists I’ve masterminded and the crazy shit I’ve done to deserve jail time, this was the only time I was roughly 75% innocent. I’m a big believer in the judicial belief that if you don’t look half way guilty, you go home. Good thing I’m not a lawyer.

Rewind to June 20-something 2009. My night was going swimmingly. A beautiful girl whom is still a dear friend (to this day) broke up with her long term boyfriend/husband/concubine and I made it my duty as a platonic friend to take her out for drinks and random fun. My female best friend at the time, we’ll call her Dizzle, accompanied us to my best friend’s house to get insanely drunk. Cheap malt liquor was flowing and inhibitions were being lost every hour. Dizzle and her boyfriend were getting smoochy and I was staring at my platonic friend’s fake tits more and more. For reasons I cannot recall, and reasons unknown, Dizzle invited us (and her beautifully crafted fake mammary glands) back to Dizz’s house to continue the party. I guestimated it had something to do with Dizz having a built-in beer pong table in her kitchen.

For the sake of the story I must warn you that this was an unspeakably horrible decision. Her roommate, whom I introduced her to, turned out to be a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde beefcake Mexican. He was a good friend of mine for awhile but he showed his true colors when he porked one of my girlie friends. I was asleep on the sofa snoring (in deep slumber) because I had to care for HotWheelz the next morning while she was turning his steroid-addled balls upside down in the bedroom. Regardless, I let it go because shit happens. She’s a slut and he’s a guy that wants to fuck anything with two (or four) legs. As much as it bothered me that he besmirched our friendship for a moderately hot piece of ass, it was my duty as a man to not be a bitch about it. I’m not going to cry a river over a girl who was so drugged up she probably could have fallen into Courtney Love’s Hole. In doing so, Dizzle’s relationship with her roommate deteriorated immensely. They had the type of roommate situation where each roommate kept weapons in their room and a steel dead-bolt lock on their doors.

I guess I had a small influence in that.

So, throwing temperance to the wind, we decide to show up at 1:30am and play beer pong. Loudly. In the kitchen. Tensions escalated when he emerged from his cave and saw me with a super-hot girl and saw his roommate having the time of her life with us. I guess it bothered him that he was with the drugged-up, moderately hot piece of ass in his room and we were sexy people assassinating our sobriety on a Monday night freely in the kitchen. Oh well. You chose your fate, Beefcake.

In hindsight, we were being rude. But he fucked the girl I liked and was a dick to my best friend so the alcohol gave me the ability not to care anymore. Regardless, I still kept it neutral. I apologized to him and we all went outside for a smoke. Ten minutes later there is a knock on the door and Beefcake Mexican runs to open it. We all come inside and in comes three police officers. Apparently, Beefcake Mexican called the cops on his own roommate. Not only did he narc us out, but he told them we were threatening physical violence. Dizzle is fuming and screaming at this point and I don’t blame her. I approach the officers to explain the situation because I’m highly rational and well versed in law (I watch a lot of Matlock and my high school German teacher is a former law professor and my pro-bono lawyer), so as I am walking to the door I am shoved by Beefcake Mexican. None of the cops see this so I volleyball spike my beer at him and it bounces off his giant forehead like a ping-pong ball. I might be a pacifist and prone to diplomacy, but don’t punk me in front of an audience. Especially, when you call police officers thinking I won’t do anything because I have an out of state warrant. As my Bud Light bounces off his over-inflated big head,  the po-po turn around and ask me to step outside. At this point I’m assuming that I’m getting charged with battery for volleyballing my Bud Light off this idiot’s forehead, but the cops didn’t even fucking notice.

I'm sitting in this car right now.

Seeing that I’m the soberest of the group, one officer politely asks me to step outside to “discuss this matter”. He places me in handcuffs and does his, “this is for your safety” spiel. Knowing the drill, he asks me if I have anything that will poke him, stab him, shank him, etc and I tell him I am holding weapons grade plutonium in my cell phone, which he quickly pulls out and throws on the ground. I guess roid-raging police officers don’t like smart-ass jokes. I know this might be hard to believe, but for the next 15 minutes I didn’t say a fucking word after my phone hit the pavement. I quietly sat on the driveway listening to the cops interrogate everybody smarter then me who stayed in the house. The officer who detained me came over, picked up my cracked cell phone and put me in a police car with Dizzle’s boyfriend.

Game. Set. Match.

NICK “What am I being arrested for, occifer?”
OFFICER RODELO “You, Sterling… drunk in public. He’s (pointing to Dizzle’s boyfriend) is violating his probation”
NICK “Ok, but I was not in public, sir”
OFFICER RODELO “You’ll be out within 12 hours. I’m taking you to Vista to resolve this”.
NICK “But sir, I was inside of a house. Logically, how could that be a DIP if I was in a private residence?”
OFFICER RODELO “Because you stepped outside of that residence”.

Well played, sir.

He got me.

Dizzle’s boyfriend was fucked from the get-go, so I hatched a little plan to get even. What most of you don’t know and what I don’t always convey to people is that I always think of ways to outsmart people. It’s a defense mechanism. It’s my way of saying, “hey, I’m smarter then you”. In this case, I was legitimately being fucked over. I lived three blocks away from Dizzle’s house. I was under the influence but I was in no way, shape or form, drunk. If the cop wanted to solve the “situation”, he could have asked me and my friends to leave and dealt with the roommates separately. Instead, he arrested me in front of the perky breasted “platonic friend”. He was being a total cop block.

During the 20 minute drive to Vista I ask him, “is it a viable decision to use state resources to take a guy who posed no harm, threat and has no pressing legal issues to jail for 12 hours; a guy that has been honest, candid and cooperative with you to a county jail 16 miles away from his place of residence, sir?“.

He told me verbatim, “you’ll be out in less then 12 hours, SIR”.

I told him, “I could be out in 2 minutes, if I wanted, SIR”.

He laughed. He shouldn’t have mocked my respect for his authority. I might be a skinny white kid who got suckered into a fool’s trap, but I am always thinking.

Match. Point.

I can break my wrists with enough pressure and I’m double jointed. This makes it damn near impossible to handcuff me. Don’t cuff me in a seated position where you can’t see my hands.  Within 2 minutes I broke my left wrist, slid my thumb over the handcuff and pulled it down, slicing a piece of skin. Dizzle’s boyfriend is looking at me shaking his head knowing this results in catastrophe. He is trying to tell me this is “bad news bears”, but I smiled and nodded; I knew what I was doing. This was his first foray into dealing with Nick Sterling and him “being right”.

Rodelo pulls up to the jail complex and I lift my hands and say, “I hope you don’t mind, they were cutting my wrists”. He bolts out of the car and suddenly there’s four cops hog-tying me and CARRYING ME into the station. If I had a cigar I would have lit it and said, “I love it when a plan comes together“.  No cigar, just cold pavement and a very disheveled desk clerk wondering why four cops were treating me like a terrorist.

They start barking like bloated seals about “felony escape”, “violating the Patriot Act”, etc. After ten minutes of confusion and false threats they sit me against a wall in booking and five cops are standing there staring at me.

Hi gentlemen“, I say.

COP 1: Why did you try to escape?

“I didn’t try to escape.”

COP 2: The handcuffs were off when you were in the patrol car. How did that happen?

“I think Officer Rodelo didn’t tighten them enough. And I do have skinny wrists…take a look”

The cuffs fall off again. Don’t hustle a hustler.

OFFICER RODELO You said you could escape in 2 minutes if you wanted!

“No, I said I could be out in 2 minutes, if I wanted. I’m a Drunk In Public that you arrested in a house because you asked me to step outside. I have no criminal record and no reason not to cooperate with you, so why are you making this more difficult for me? Why would I try to escape when you told me, “you’ll be out in 12 hours”? At this point, sir, I just want to go home. Why did you bring me here when it’s clear I’m obviously not drunk, not escaping and not intending to cause you or any of your co-workers any inconvienence”.


The reason I did that was to prove a point. If you arrest me for bullshit charges and ruin my fun, I’ll find a way to embarrass you. To this day, Officer Rodelo not only remembers my name, but he calls me “Disappearing Handcuffs Guy“.

I wanted him to think twice next time about hauling people to jail and wasting their time over stupid shit. Mission accomplished. Granted, Dizzle’s Beefcake Mexican roommate shouldn’t have called the police but they shouldn’t have placed me under arrest, either. I’m not a behavior psychologist (even though I studied to be one), but I witnessed how much Officer Rodelo enjoyed being in control. All I had to do was break his illusion of control–and the quickest way to break someone’s control? Put them in front of a jury of their peers when they aren’t in control. I simply had to make his mistake reflect on his actions. Most people think that being in a cop car in handcuffs is an uncontrollable scenario–no, it’s a subjective one. I see it as another way to think outside of the box (or in my case, outside of the cop car).

Moral of the story? Next time, arrest someone who’s actually worth processing. Otherwise, use proper discretion; not ego. You never know who you’ll have in handcuffs. Or not have in handcuffs.

"Lo Siento"

The Pre-Affair Contract

Posted by on August 5, 2010

I’ve met a new girl that I’m absolutely smitten with. By some sort of celestial miracle, this pair of tits actually adores me back. Her older sister, however, initially wasn’t as happy for us. Being that her older sister is also my best friend, she was a little hesitant at first to give me her blessing. I explained the physical merits of defiling her younger sister which didn’t bode well. Then I explained that I’m emotionally stable and I’m somewhat talented when I’m sober. She agreed on these points and tried to lecture me about what I’m sticking my erection into.

“But Nick, she’s vegan”.

My penis is organic. No worries.

“But Nick, she’s like a modern day hippie”.

She said she shaves her vag, so that’s good enough for me.

“But Nick, she’s straight edge and doesn’t drink or smoke”.

Even better, that saves all the goodies for me. I don’t have to worry about her drinking my beer.

She let out a big sigh knowing full well that I obviously haven’t thought any of this through. That’s the awesome thing about new relationships: everybody is so fucking giddy and happy to have someone new to fuck that they don’t consider the obvious pitfalls of their decisions. Unlike my bonehead ex’s who think getting married and having kids are a good thing, I decided to prevent all that tomfoolery by drafting up something I’ve aptly titled, “The Pre-Affair Contract“.

The Pre-Affair Contract

Nick Sterling 2010

In addition to other terms elsewhere defined in this Contract, the following terms whenever used in this Contract shall have only the meanings set forth in this section, unless such meanings are expressly modified, limited or expanded elsewhere herein.


  1. Besides absolving me of all emotional commitment, you are liable for broken furniture, torn clothing, 1/2 the cost of meals, and all car repairs when you roar off in a jealous rage and wrap my new Camaro around a telephone poll.
  2. Under clause 1, article 69, you cannot exchange, share, gift or otherwise provide any sort of sexually transmitted disease regardless of medical condition or willingness.
  3. You must maintain a healthy and well-maintained body at all times. Vaginal discharges, gangrene, odorous genitals, “dingle-berries”, eye boogers, unclipped toenails, salty armpit sweat and ‘Taco Bell farts’ will all be considered as breach of contract.
  4. You adhere to a non-disclosure policy prior to and after the affair. Referring to me, Nick Sterling, or any of my constituents (my penis) in a degrading manner is otherwise prohibited and punishable by guillotine.
  5. In the event of a dissolution of the affair, you are contractually disallowed to break up with me in the following situations: (1) while I’m in the hospital dying (2) over a social networking web site (3) on the day before a job interview (4) after introducing you to all my friends and then fucking one of them while I’m at working caring for disabled adults (5) when I’m on a boat.
  6. You fully accept and agree that I’m only able to cheat under the following circumstances: (1) When Miley Cyrus turns 18.
  7. There will be absolutely no crying whatsoever. If I take away your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cell phone and you commence the waterworks, this contract will consider our affair null and void. If you eject saline through your eyes because of being infatuated with my well endowed genitalia, then you are permitted to cry up to, but not longer than 3 minutes. All remaining teardrops will be used for self-massage lubrication.
  8. Under no circumstance am I wrong. EVARR!
  9. You accept me “As Is”. I make no declarations or promises about the condition of my body, mind state or emotional well-being. “What you see is what you get”.
  10. Under penalty of perjury, you will not entertain the idea of marriage, birthing human beings or otherwise trapping me in a financial commitment by relationship favors. I have the right to walk away at any time, regardless of behavior. In the event of an unexpected pregnancy, you will terminate the pregnancy by any of the following methods: (1) wire coat hanger (2) ‘tripping’ down a flight of stairs (3) medically assisted murder (4) a forceful donkey punch of epic proportions (5) purging the fetus with Drain-O.
  11. Sex is mandatory at least thirteen times a day depending on my Bonersarus Rex.


Contract Signee shall indemnify, defend and hold harmless
NICK STERLING, his officers, directors, shareholders, concubines
and personal or legal representatives from and against any and
all claims, liabilities, losses, damages, STD’s, penalties and costs,
foreseen or unforeseen, including, without limitation, counsel,
engineering, disease control, and other professional or expert fees, which an
indemnified party may incur to the extent resulting from
Signee’s failure to comply with NICK STERLING’s obligations under this

I can’t believe anyone would agree to this.


Sign this if you’re insane.





4th Of July

Posted by on July 4, 2010

The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday. There’s no way to go wrong when you combine explosives, alcohol, and huge amounts of unhealthy food together. What better way to celebrate the liberation of our nation from the oppressive bonds of economic servitude than by getting trashed on Miller High Life and accidentally burning our houses down? It’s also the only time of year that my Mexican neighbors are nice to me (probably due to the mysteriously unifying effects of a national holiday) and invite me over to nervously drink all their beer and make everyone ask, “who’s that guy with?”

Here in San Diego, the 4th is always pretty dangerous. Granted, it’s the city in the US with the least amount of US citizens, but everyone enjoys a party (I know I’d be celebrating Australian Independence Day if I was there), and people here enjoy a party by shooting their guns into the air. I’m sure this practice is relatively common in small towns of Texas and Montana as well, but there aren’t 14 million people per square foot in those towns like there are in SD. And while I have participated in this immature display of American celebration, I have to come down on the side of the “no shooters”. A bullet comes down with the same force it has when it’s fired, so essentially, it’s like firing into a random crowd. This might be cool for Communist Chinese Police and gang initiations, but as a means of expressing patriotic exuberance, it’s to be filed under “poor ideas.”

Another 4th of July tradition that sucks is parades. Get a bunch of people, line them up on either side of the street, and then drive huge semi-controllable vehicles in between them. To make things a bit sexier, prop the high school county sausage queen on a fire truck and make her throw melted tootsie rolls at the cheering crowd. I suppose it’s designed to be an event that makes people forget their petty differences/prejudices/hatreds/perverse sexual urges, and brings them together as a unified subset of a unified nation, but parades still suck, and I refuse to participate in such boredom. For me, a parade is a time to reflect on the past, focus on the present, and go from backyard to backyard to see if any one of my dignified neighbors have tapped their kegs yet.

But I can see the good in a national holiday. I don’t subscribe to a boring “celebration of revolution by white upper class repressive Christian bully boys” philosophy, (even though it is slightly valid) because it ruins the fun of drinking and being nice to people whose shoes I normally wouldn’t cross the street to piss on (aka The Neighbors). So, our country is kinda screwed up. It’s always been screwed up, (people always long for the “good ‘ol days”. The “good old days” were a time when people were comfortable with the particular way things we’re screwed up at the time). It’s slightly reassuring to know our country isn’t quite as screwed up as a lot of places, and that we can sometimes get along with each other when alcohol is plentiful. It just sucks we only do it on calendar cues.