Bed Intruder? Not So Fast.

I imagine if you are reading this blog, then you have too much time on your hands, some of which is likely allocated to keeping yourself apprised of the latest you-tube phenomena.  If I have typecast you correctly, then I imagine you have seen the news footage of the “bed intruder” at the Dodson home in the projects of Huntsville, Alabama.  I realize that this is sort of a late reaction, but today when Heidi and I were chuckling at this video together (during a telephone conversation via my landline), we were suddenly struck with a need to point out the clear fallacy contained in the incomplete enthymematic deductions made by Dodson and his fellows.  If you do not know what I am talking about, please follow this link before continuing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y54yESyq6Io

You may also enjoy the auto-tuned rap song version of this footage which sparked the written outpour below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMtZfW2z9dw

“Obviously we have a rapist in Lincoln Park…,” says Antoine Dodson, brother of the alleged victim, but we challenge this logic.  The evidence suggests that the existence of a rapist is not at all obvious.  Please read on as we share the incompetence of the claims made by the Dodsons.

“He’s climbin’ in yo windows, snatchin’ you people up, tryin’ to rape ‘em…”  To assume that someone is a rapist simply because he climbed through an upstairs window and crawled into the room’s bed with its unsuspecting occupant is foolishness.  Clearly this man was drunk, lost, cold, lonely—a myriad of adjectives could describe his state of being at the time of the incident.  Hungry for unsolicited sex? Surely not. Methinks this conclusion the work of someone with a colorful imagination.

“You don’t have to come and confess; we lookin’ fo you; we gone find you.”  No doubt this statement warms the heart of President George W. Bush—he appreciates your buying into his war doctrine.  Indeed, your intruder would probably love nothing more than for you to find him so that he may redeem his shirt and any other belongings left behind when you and your sister so rudely purged him from the inner sanctions of your home.  Is this any showing of Southern Hospitality?  This isn’t Canada, friends.

“So you can run and tell that, homeboy.”  Homeboy?  The ever-reliable UrbanDicationary.com tells us that one cannot go through life without a homeboy and that it is hard to have more than one because a homeboy is one in a million.  Is your homeboy not someone who is welcome in your home?  For instance, I am Heidi’s homeboy.  Sometimes I cuddle with Heidi.  Does she misconstrue this for attempted rape?  No.  Not usually.

Kelly Dodson, the alleged victim, claims, “I was attacked…by some idiot in the projects.”  Perhaps she needs a vocabulary lesson—cuddling is not synonymous with attacking.  My notion is that the only idiots in these projects are those who occupy your home, Kelly.

So let’s, for a moment, assume that Antoine is right—the intruder was a rapist.  Dodson’s solution?  Hide your kids.  Hide your wife.  Hide your husband…(‘cause they rapin’ ere’body out here).  Our confused friendly drunken sailor has quickly become a pedophilic bisexual rapist.  A solid case for a slander suit?  I think so.

So you see, Antoine, there is no need to hide every member of your family—simply lock your windows, or give your sister's boyfriends keys to the front door.