Here is a mindless clown aging to the point where soon his underage status will neither save him nor his stooges from the havoc they continue to wreak in the walnut hill district of Petersburg, amongst other places. The problem here lies in the fact that without money and the means to secure work because no body trusts him, including the fact that he feels to important for regular employment suited to his micro minded predatory ways, as you see, President Obama already has Ray Quan Cookes' job sewn up.
So now, instead of simply urinating on the houses and garages of folks he fears threatened from, in order to "Show" them something, he has resorted to throwing some sort of chemical on the wall. So there it stays untouched, as a reminder to the punk that will, invariably, reach the age of majority and, after having been thrown out of this mothers house, because, in all probability, she hates his guts, because he reminds her of the one night stand she had with the coke dealer that turned her on and she could not pay, but pay she does. The molecular coalescence comprising both, Ray Quan Cooke and his worthless, prison punk, sperm donor, will soon, with any amount of luck, be re-united in Sussex 1 state prison.
Of course, the chemical he used to grace the wall of my property will remain there as a remembrance to him, because in order to get to the prison, he has to commit a crime of enough magnitude to place him there.
this is the part where life becomes frightening. Picture this hoodlum crawling through your broken window in order to steal what he can get to see his simpleton needs met. The poor resident either not home, sleeping, or inattentive in some way, suddenly accosted by Ray Quan Cooke, and the feces that follow him, in their own home. The interesting part is, is the homeowner armed and gut worthy enough to end this punks existence!!? Does this punk grab and run, or rape and kill?
Will the police be smart enough to put two and two together, encountering him hidden in his mothers closet and subsequently arresting him, arraigning him and relieving the community of yet another dirtbag, another to replace him? Does the home owner take out his trusty revolver and make the days of Ray Quan Cooke short? So what happens?
Forewarned is forearmed.
With the economy in the dire straits that it is in, in due to governmental mismanagement, the likes of this form of humanity sit in Poplar Springs with a fancy diagnosis from a fancy doctor. Your tax dollar paying for the inept therapy provided. Or to the public system engaged in the process and disposal of this waste, alive or dead, to their respective place.
We are in 2012, with the winter solstice coming around once again after a torpid summer, the Mayan calendar calling an end to the times.
So, dear reader, just where will the likes of Ray Quan Cooke take habitation? He might move into your house and impregnate your illiterate daughter in the flower of her youth, and move in with you. After all, Petersburg has the most witless of school systems and the highest teenage pregnancy rates in the state. This will save the school the annoyance of yet another dumb witless youth coming there and seeking your tax dollar for public assistance to give to her drunken doper baby syndrome child.
Yet the waste on the garage will remain as a monument to the bravado of a gutless punk with low slung pants entering Sussex state prison to reap yet more of your tax dollar.
In closing this brief, lock your doors, monitor your child in their youth, and when the likes of Ray Quan Cooke comes through your window to inflict his remedy upon your soul, take your revolver and place two right in the center of his chest, proclaim to the world that enough is enough, I have had it with the lousy communist government, the lousy schools producing material not fit for a dog to lift its' leg on, and the officials out to put you in such a Kafkaesque position in the first place. I am the President