Donold J. Grump Jr. #2

Part 2 - The Potential Prisoner Swap

They shuffled into the small Canadian border-town jail under heavy RCMP escort, handcuffed, muddy, and miserable.

The jail itself wasn’t what they expected — no cold dungeons or scary iron bars. Instead, it looked more like a rustic hunting lodge. Warm wooden walls, clean floors, three cozy cells in a row.

There were even little paintings of moose on the walls.

It would have been almost comforting — if not for the handcuffs, the angry Mounties, and the stench.

“Alright, boys,” the lead officer said cheerfully, “you smell like a cow's backside in July. Time to get cleaned up. Strip!”

Donnie Jr. gulped, trembling.

They were marched into the delousing room — a big tiled shower space with a rusty metal drain in the center and a massive overhead sprayer.

They stripped down, shivering under the cold air, and stepped into the steaming shower.

The Mounties circled them with gloved hands, inspecting.

Suddenly one barked:

"Hold up! We got lice!"

Chet blinked, then scratched at his bald spot.

"I thought my head itched," he mumbled.

“Sorry, boys — regulation. Head shaving time!"

Donnie Jr. panicked.

"No! No! You can’t! Not the hair! Not the beard!" he cried. "At least let me keep the beard! Please! My daddy loves my beard!"

The Mounties just grinned.

Ten minutes later, all four of them were shaved slick, beards and all.

Their faces gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Chet winced as a nick on his scalp bled slightly.

They were hosed down with brutal efficiency, scrubbed raw with long brushes like racehorses at a track.

When they were handed bright orange jumpsuits, Donnie Jr. almost fainted from humiliation.

As they were led to the booking desk, a bank of police cameras flashed like paparazzi at an awards show.

The strobe lights hit Donnie Jr. square in the eyes — he stumbled, squinting, waving his hands in front of his face.

The end result?

His mugshot was a masterpiece:

Eyes wild, mouth hanging open, and skin glowing pale and bald like a terrified boiled potato.

Chet’s was barely better — still pink from scrubbing, cow poop finally gone, but blinking awkwardly.

Randy and Kyle tried to pose tough for the cameras but looked more like dazed squirrels.

The Mounties led them down the hallway towards the cells, the first cell was empty, the cops shoved Chet, Kyle and Randy into the first cell.

The second cell was empty. They dragged Donnie past the cold steel door and opened the third cell.

Inside was a huge, leather clad, tattooed, gruff-looking man sitting calmly on the bottom bunk, arms crossed, with a wicked gleam in his eye. His name patch read "SPIKE."

“Put the big fella in with Spike,” said one of the Mounties, fighting back a grin.

Donnie Jr. froze, trying to backpedal.

"N-no, I’ll go with my friends! I belong with them!"

The door clanged shut behind Donnie Jr.

He immediately ran to the bars, gripping them tightly, face pressed against the metal, eyes wild and panicked.

"DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY!" he screamed, rattling the bars so hard they shook.

"I want my PHONE CALL! I want MY DADDY!"

In the first cell, Randy whispered:

"Dude, shut up, you’re embarrassing yourself..."

Chet just sighed.

Spike leaned back on the bed and smiled lazily at Donnie Jr., tapping the mattress next to him.

"C’mon over, little guy. Sit down. Let’s get cozy. You look like you could use a friend."

Donnie whimpered, sliding down the bars, hugging his knees, bald, defeated, and terrified.

"C’mere, little guy," Spike said, patting the bed next to him with a heavy hand. "Let’s have a sit-down. Get to know each other..."

Donnie Jr. shook his head violently, his bald head catching the light like a cue ball.

"N-no thanks! I’m fine over here! I’ll just… sit and cower in fear."

He squinted at Spike’s tattoos, squirming.

"A-are you... with MS-13?" Donnie blurted out, peering suspiciously at the ink.

He squinted harder at the bare arms, looking for gang symbols he remembered from bad PowerPoint slides at MAGA rallies.

Spike’s grin faded instantly.

His eyes narrowed.

He stood up slowly, towering over Donnie.

The air seemed to grow heavier.

Without warning, Spike slammed his huge fist down on the bed, the old springs groaning under the force.

"I said, SIT."

Donnie Jr. jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

His legs moved without thinking, scrambling over to the bed and plopping down like an obedient puppy.

Spike sat next to him, close. Way too close.

He slung one giant, sweaty arm around Donnie’s narrow shoulders and gave him a rough squeeze.

"There ya go, buddy," Spike said, rubbing Donnie’s freshly shaved head with his thick fingers. "Mmmm. Smooth. I like how you feel."

Donnie Jr. made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a whimper.

In one desperate motion, Donnie bolted off the bed, sprinted toward the bars, and slammed his bald head into them with a loud CLANG.

His knees buckled. He slumped to the floor.

Lights out.

When Donnie Jr. opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy.

The ceiling lights whirred past him.

He was strapped down, lying on a gurney, arms and legs bound.

And pushing the gurney?

Spike.

Still grinning.

Still terrifying.

"Relax, sunshine," Spike said. "We’re just takin’ you for a little ride. You’re in good hands now. Real good hands."

Donnie Jr. thrashed against the straps, screaming, his shrieks echoing down the hall.

"HELP! I WANT MY DADDY! I WANT A LAWYER! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED!"

The entire hallway — Mounties, staff, and even janitors — erupted into laughter.

Cameras flashed. Phones recorded.

One of the officers clapped Spike on the back.

"Good job, bro," he said, chuckling. "That was even better than the moose-chase footage."

Donnie Jr. blinked, his mouth hanging open.

"Relax, Donnie," Spike said with a wink. "I’m not MS-13. I’m the chief medical examiner’s brother. And you, buddy, just made it onto the premiere of Canada’s Funniest Criminals."

One of the Mounties held up a phone, already replaying the footage of Donnie face-planting into the bars on loop.

Even Chet, Randy, and Kyle — watching from their cell — howled with laughter.

Donnie Jr. just laid there on the gurney, strapped down, bald, orange jump-suited, and completely defeated.

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Just remember if you have someone in your life that loves you, holds you at night, makes you laugh, cry...

Then you are richer than

"He Who is PU!"