This Perp’s “Captain Dickhead” Alias Reminds Me Of My Own Idiotic Attempt To Avoid Trouble

Socrates Johnson7 years ago

There are two types of wrongdoers in this world: those who own up to their actions and face the consequences and those who will do whatever it takes to avoid getting into trouble, no matter how backed up against a wall they may be. For those in the latter group, being the type of person who fesses to their fuckups can eventually come with age, but sometimes it takes a while for you to shed the thrill of throwing out red herrings and admit to being caught red-handed.

During that period, there’s a variety of methods you can use (depending on how desperate and/or reckless you are) to avoid doing time for the crime. One of the more common methods is using a fake name.

When employing this method, it’s paramount to use an alias that the authorities in question will actually believe. Something that Florida native Joseph “Captain Dickhead” Boren probably should’ve thought of before his own run-in with the law.

From The Smoking Gun:

Cops responding to a 1:45 AM disturbance at a residence in Sebastian encountered Pamela Alonge, who apologized for arguing loudly with her boyfriend in the home’s backyard.

When asked multiple times to identify himself, the boyfriend refused and was “being evasive and argumentative with officers at the scene,” according to an arrest affidavit.

After cops handcuffed the man, they took one more shot at extracting a name from him. “At which time he said his name was ‘Captain Dickhead,’” an officer reported.

Investigators subsequently identified “Dickhead” as Joseph Boren, 25. He was arrested on a misdemeanor obstruction charge

Now, the Captain Dickhead thing was probably more of this dude just giving the cops a hard time rather than attempting any sort of legitimate runaround. Nevertheless, this run-of-the-mill Florida Man story still struck a cord with me personally. Mainly because it reminded me of my own idiotic attempt to avoid trouble back in the day by using a fake name.

It was my junior year of college, and I was roaming around campus with a couple buddies, each of us several Four Lokos deep. It was around 1 in the morning on a Saturday, and being that I went to a small school, there was pretty much nothing going on. Perfect recipe for trouble.

Considering that we were all sorts of Cuatro Crazy (the term we used for being severely messed up on Four Loko), we decided that a little bit of a late-night parkour session was in order. We found the first climbable thing we could — a freshmen dorm building — and easily scaled it with the help of an adjacent tree branch. We stayed on top for maybe a couple of minutes, surveying the scene like a couple of drunken conquistadors, before deciding we were good to come down. That’s when we heard the voice of an RA. “Get down right now. I’m calling security.”

Now, my one buddy, who we’ll call Jeff, wasn’t about to deal with security. He had been told by the dean earlier that year that one more fuckup would be cause for immediate expulsion. So, gripping tightly onto the branch we had used to climb up the dorm building, he quickly swung down, aiming for a couple of bushes. Well, it turns out the branch was way less sturdy going down than coming up, and it immediately snapped. It was a decent drop, and Jeff howled out in pain before picking himself up and powerlimping off into the night (Upon later prognosis from a friend who was majoring in Health Studies or some shit like that, Jeff had most certainly broken his leg from the fall. But, as far as I know, he never got it checked out and can walk just fine, so some piss poor prognosis that was.)

Anyway, me and my other remaining friend (Steve), now with no escape route, were just laying completely prone on top of the roof.

“I can see you,” the RA, who had just gotten back from calling security, yelled up.

“No, you can’t,” I literally blurted out.

“We’re not up here,” Steve quickly followed up with.

Eventually, campus security, which consisted of one old dude and one narc-ass college student, showed up and shined a flashlight up at us and told us to get down.

“We can’t get down,” I said. “You’re going to need to get us a ladder.”

They huffed and puffed around for a few minutes before finally bringing back a ladder, which Jeff and I took our sweet time climbing down on.

As soon as our feet touched solid ground, Steve and I were separated by security and asked for our information. Conveniently, neither of us had any form of ID on us. Which is when the fake names came into play.

Jimmy Johnson is what I ended up going with. Not a bad name if I were a former Miami Dolphins coach or a NASCAR driver. Sure, it’s not as ridiculous as Captain Dickhead, but it’s also not completely believable either. But after a couple more minutes of questioning, security told us they’d be contacting us within the next day or so.

Now, what made “Jimmy Johnson” entirely less believable is the fact that the name that Jeff ending up going with was Jimmy McElroy. I shit you not. Fucking two Jimmys. No way security was believing that.

Flash forward to a couple days later, and sure enough, I get a Facebook friend request from someone I don’t know. One quick glance at his profile, and it’s the narc-ass security kid. Jeff got a similar request soon after. Like I said before, we went to a pretty small school, and they probably didn’t need to do much digging to put two and two together.

Obviously, we didn’t accept the requests, but the jig was up and later that day, me and Steve were called down to the dean’s office. I was already on social probation for another Four Loko-related incident, which I’m sure I’ll explain in detail some another time, so I had to come up with something quick before I got put on, I don’t know, double secret probation or something.

In the time it took us to walk the 10 minutes from Jeff’s place to the dean’s office, I formulated one of the least believable stories of all time. Something involving some kid running at us while we were just soberly walking around campus, throwing one of our phones on the freshmen dorm’s roof and us both climbing up to get it. Somehow the dean bought the story and was actually more pissed at us giving fake names to security, which resulted in a light community service sentence.

Needless to say, in the end I learned a valuable lesson from that incident on the roof. When in a tight spot, don’t pull a Captain Dickhead and give a fake name.

Just fucking run for it. .

[via The Smoking Gun]

Image via Indian River County Jail