grime95!

They call him “Vegas” because he once spent 11 hours at the slots in Tunica and came home with nothing but a divorce and a ferret named Chaz.On Dec. 2, 1995, Ricky Lankford got pinched for running a “pop-up casino” in the American Legion men’s room.The poker game was going fine until someone bet their prosthetic leg, and Ricky tried to collect.“Legs is currency if there’s a buy-in,” he argued, shirt half-tucked, gold chain flashing under that tragic candy-stripe button-down.The mugshot was snapped minutes after Deputy Hargrove forced Ricky to empty his pockets—six dice, a crumpled Polaroid of his ex-wife, and $14 in loose change.He left with a warning and a limp. Not his.

Floyd Danner got picked up at precisely 5:47 p.m., halfway through his fourth Schlitz and mid-lecture on “the sacred geometry of horseshoe pits.”According to the report, Floyd was arrested for “aggressive loitering and unauthorized sandwich distribution” after setting up a card table in front of the DMV and trying to sell baloney sandwiches wrapped in used napkins.He told the deputy, “I’m providing a service, son. You ever sat through a title transfer sober?”When they took his mugshot, Floyd leaned in and asked, “Is this going in the Newsletter? ’Cause I want my good side.”He doesn’t have a good side.

Norma June Wiley never actually opened her eyes the entire time she was in custody.She was found in the high school gym, passed out in the trophy case, clutching a glittery baton and whispering, “Miss Twirl 1973 never dies.”When asked how she got in, she said she had “unfinished business” with the pep band. No one could confirm what that meant, but a flute was missing, and the janitor’s bucket was full of peppermint Schnapps.Deputies said she briefly fought them off using only her elbow and an empty lipstick tube.She finally bonded out when her ex-husband’s cousin recognized her and muttered, “Ah hell, not again.”

Earl "Smokey" Griggs stumbled out of the county jail, his breath reeking of stale beer and bad decisions. Darla Mae, his long-suffering sister, leaned against her Buick, arms crossed.“What now, Earl?” she snapped as he climbed in.He burped and slurred, “Ain’t my fault this time, Darla. The jukebox at The Rusty Nail was playin’ my song, and I just… got inspired.”Darla glared. “Inspired to ride the mechanical bull naked?”Earl grinned. “I thought it’d be funny!”“It wasn’t funny when you knocked over three tables and scared the Johnsons’ Pomeranian into the dartboard!”Earl shrugged. “Sheriff Ponder overreacted. A man’s got a right to have fun.”“You puked in her hat, Earl.”He squinted. “That’s what that was?”As Darla drove home, Earl passed out mid-mutter, while she muttered prayers that he’d someday sober up—or at least run out of bars to get banned from.

Billy Ray Thornton (no relation) adjusted his crooked yellow aviators and sighed as the bondsman snapped his photo.“So, Billy Ray,” the bondsman smirked, “what’d you do this time?”Billy Ray scratched his beard, the faint smell of chili still clinging to him. “Well, it all started when Earl Griggs bet me I couldn’t eat six chili cheese dogs and bowl a perfect game.”The bondsman raised an eyebrow. “And?”“I got to four dogs before I blacked out. Woke up at the bowling alley snack bar with a corndog in one hand and a pile of nickels in the other.”Sheriff Ponder’s voice barked from across the room. “Tell him the rest, Billy Ray.”He winced. “Apparently, I decided to start payin’ for nachos by chuckin’ nickels at the shoe rental guy. He wasn’t impressed.”The bondsman laughed. “And Earl?”Billy Ray shook his head. “He’s back in lockup for some kinda vending machine rescue mission.”Sheriff Ponder groaned, grabbing more paperwork. “This whole town’s lost its mind tonight.”Billy Ray grinned. “Nah, Sheriff. We’re just warmin’ up.”

“Double Adam” McCoy tilted his head at the camera, his two Adam’s apples twitching as he swallowed. His aviators hid bloodshot eyes, and his plaid shirt was shredded like it had been through a combine.“Double Adam,” Sheriff Ponder sighed. “What in God’s name possessed you to lasso the town’s Christmas angel off the water tower?”Adam smirked. “Needed a mascot for the demolition derby.”“The derby that wasn’t even scheduled?”“Sometimes life don’t wait for paperwork, Sheriff.”Ponder gestured to his burnt boots. “And the fireworks?”“Spirited things up. Until the angel caught fire.”“And the truck you flipped into the creek?”“Borrowed it. Temporarily. Technically, I was done with it by then.”Ponder glared. “You know Billy Ray’s nacho cart floated downriver, right?”Adam shrugged. “He should thank me. Free advertising.”As Ponder cuffed him, Adam grinned. “Ain’t this town fun on Friday nights?”

Tammy Jo Carter sat in the holding room, her sweater pristine despite the chaos she’d caused.“So,” began Deputy Hargrove, holding back a grin. “You stole Billy Ray’s nacho cart and drove it into the gazebo?”Tammy Jo nodded, unbothered. “It was blocking the bingo hall. The ladies were restless.”“And the spray paint?”“‘No nachos on bingo night’ felt appropriate.”“And why’d you release Earl’s pet pig into the bakery?”Tammy Jo shrugged. “Earl bet me twenty bucks I wouldn’t.”Sheriff Ponder pinched his nose. “Tammy Jo, do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done tonight?”“Not as much as Double Adam or Earl,” she said sweetly.Ponder sighed. “You bonded out yet?”“Already done,” she replied, smug. “Same as every Friday.”Tammy Jo was a local legend—her crimes were always petty, but her timing impeccable.

Gary Wayne Mullins had one talent: falling asleep in the worst possible moments.“Gary, wake up!” Sheriff Ponder banged the table. “You’re in jail, for Pete’s sake!”Gary’s head jerked up. “Huh? Where am I?”Deputy Hargrove shook his head. “You fell asleep at the gas station… again. Truck running, gear in neutral. Rolled straight into the donut rack.”Gary winced. “Was anyone hurt?”“Only the powdered donuts. Whole shelf toppled. Brenda Sue’s still sweeping up sugar.”Gary nodded solemnly. “Reckon I should apologize.”“Reckon you should stop napping in public places,” Ponder snapped. “Last week, it was the hardware store. Before that, the post office. I’m out of patience.”Gary yawned. “Well, jail’s quiet. Can I catch a nap now?”“You’re bonded out already,” Hargrove said. “Tammy Jo paid it.”Gary scratched his head. “Tammy Jo? Why?”“Don’t ask us,” Hargrove muttered. “She just said you’re ‘good for a laugh.’”

The thing about “Honest Buck” McGraw is that nobody believes he’s honest, least of all himself. By the time he rolled into the station tonight smelling like diesel fuel, he was already two steps into trouble.Buck had been drinking in a booth at the Rusty Spur, scribbling poetry about "the beauty of oil stains on asphalt." By his third bourbon, the poem had somehow turned into a plan. Ten minutes later, he was sprawled under the sheriff’s cruiser in the parking lot, mouth-siphoning gasoline with the kind of passion usually reserved for true love or last rites.When they dragged him in, still coughing up fumes, Buck just grinned through bloodied teeth. “A man’s gotta keep the engine running,” he slurred.The mugshot shows him defiant, shirt stained with whiskey and grease, eyes daring the camera to blink first. Somewhere in the background, you can almost hear him mutter: “They’re gonna call this art one day.”

When Rusty Jane Walker walked into the county fair's chili cook-off, there was no mistaking her presence. With her hair permed into a mullet sharp enough to cut steel and a pair of denim overalls that looked like they’d been through more wars than peace treaties, she became an instant conversation starter—and ender. The overalls weren’t just her statement piece; they were her armor.Rusty Jane had a knack for two things: out-eating anyone dumb enough to challenge her, and scaring off barflies with her thousand-yard stare. It was said she once stared down a runaway bull, and the bull apologized. But tonight wasn’t about livestock or looks—it was about chili, and Rusty Jane's concoction, “Fire in the Hole,” had earned her three consecutive first-place ribbons.Except this year, Old Man Tugger decided to wager big against her. Tugger, with his "secret family recipe" (rumored to include wild mushrooms and a splash of moonshine), had upped the stakes: the loser had to pose for a mugshot in front of the fair’s fake county jail—an embarrassing rite of passage.Rusty Jane didn't bat an eyelash. “Tugger,” she drawled, her voice lower than most men’s, “if I lose, I’ll even let you slap my mugshot on the billboard down Route 12.”The contest was tight. Tugger’s chili made a judge cry actual tears, but Rusty Jane’s lit a fire in their souls. The deciding factor? A random carnie running through the fairgrounds screaming, "Tugger used canned beans!" Rusty Jane leaned back in her chair and roared with laughter as Tugger was dragged, fuming, to the photo booth.Rusty Jane, ever the crowd-pleaser, stepped into the booth too. "Take one for the fans," she told the photographer, deadpan. And thus, the legend of Rusty Jane’s mugshot was born.