Terre Haute, IN
reported by SNN staff
Jimmy “slash and bend” Furbee, a known squirrel troublemaker, was sentenced to life in prison without parole today. His sentence is controversial because some see him as a “victim” of the “three strikes” rule. Some say his relatively minor crimes do not deserve such a harsh sentence, yet it is his third conviction for the same crime.
Mr. Furbee was convicted for the third time during a recent bike riding event that starts in Terre Haute and ends in Richmond. The event is known as RAIN, which stands for Ride Across Indiana. His crime? He slashed the tires of more than 15 bikes before being apprehended and caged. In addition to slashing the tires, he bends the rims, which seems to be his signature mark. Police are now working to connect him with several slash and bend cases around the state, especially in Lawrence and Orange Counties.
Squirrel News Network sat down with Jimmy recently to ask how he ended up leading such an unusual life of crime.
Jimmy, how do feel about your sentence?
I don’t know man! Don’t really care! I’ll just say that I’d do it all again. I hate bikers with all that I have and all that I am. I detest those spandex-wearing freaks running around with retard helmets on. They wear their little clothes all bright and tight – makes me sick. I’d love to slash and bend all their tires and rims.
Can you tell us why you hate cyclists so much?
Yeah man, I’ll tell you. When I was a kid, me and a little brother, Bobby, stayed at home with our mom. My little brother was disabled–born without a tail. People made fun of him and stuff like that; called him Bobby bobtail and Bobby no-tail. I remember how much it hurt my mom and dad. My dad worked really hard to feed all of us. Mom couldn’t leave the house because of Bobby. One day dad didn’t come home.
[At this point Jimmy looks down and tears fall from his eyes, his tail drooping noticeably.]
We waited and waited. Mom kept saying that he’d be home. “He’s never let us down.” Friends came by to help us wait. Someone said, “Maybe he got hit by a car.” “Nonsense,” mother blurted out, “He’s always very careful – he can hear a car or truck a mile away. He can even tell what kind it is.”
As she said those words, Johnny “three-leg” Talltale came rushing into our nest. He saw me and broke the news, “There’s been a horrible accident! I’m so sorry, but your daddy is dead.” Through our tears we asked what happened. “Well, it seems that your daddy was in a corn field, outside of Orleans, looking to bring you home an ear or two. He decided to cross the road, and according to a witness, three humans riding bicycles rapidly approached. The first one, a guy dressed in red, riding some kind of weird looking bike, hit your daddy and killed him. The other too just laughed at the tragedy. Evidently he didn’t see them in time.”
After that I started drinking Old Hickory Juice and smoking jimson weed. I ran with the wrong pack, jumping in the wrong kind of trees, if you know what I mean. Then one day, in an altered state, I saw a bike at a gas station in Orleans. The guy was in the store getting a Diet Coke. I slashed his tire and bent his rim. That’s how it all started. Look, I can’t talk any more about this. I wish I was out of here. They need to pay for what they done to my daddy.
Jimmy ended the interview, lit a cigarette, and looked off into space.
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