Apple Valley, Minnesota When Rhonda Arkley ran for the Minnesota Senate in 2002, she was a Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party candidate. Priding herself as very progressive and active in environmental and atheist organizations, she completely left out ‘crazy as a shithouse rat.’ I’m kind of astounded she didn’t win. She fits the political profile. After all, the great people of Minnesota elected an ex-professional wrestler, Jesse Ventura as their Governor several years back: they elected the shitty comic, Al Franken, who donned a large diaper and made a complete ass out himself and now expects to be taken seriously. What the hell could have been so different if they had elected Rhonda. Who knows? She may have had the guts to fix whatever plagues the political system up there. She seems to be quite resourceful in that department. Plus, she’s got the crazy thing down pat. There’s not much hiding it. Not now, at least.
The cause of death of Rhonda’s 22-year-old son who was found in his bedroom November 17 has yet to be determined. But suffice it to say, that’s neither the prelude nor the epilogue to Rhonda’s “erratic” behavior.
The address wasn’t difficult for police to find, they’d been there several times before. Rhonda (49) was no stranger to seeing police respond to her address either. She served a year’s probation in ’05 for 5th degree domestic assault. Who knows what kind of hell went on behind those closed doors and who knows if part of her behavior led to the death of her son. What is certain is some new form of hell broke out last week that left her husband scrambling, a neighbor calling 911, and Rhonda leading police on a chase through a nearby community.
Mr. Arkley fled and a neighbor phoned 911 as their house on 142nd street became fully engulfed in flames. I’m not sure why Rhonda was opposed to turning up the thermostat or perhaps building a small fire in the fireplace. Those two options would have fared better than taking a can of gasoline through the back part of the house and striking that match. If it was a large display she was after, she succeeded. But this wasn’t just any breed of crazy she was wearing. The flaming box of memories wasn’t the only thing she set out to destroy. Her next steps showed her determination to get to the heart of the matter.
With Stuart out of the house and suffering from some smoke inhalation, a search for our little crazy ass pyro ensued. But they needn’t look far. Rhonda was locked up tight in her vehicle sitting in the driveway getting a little stabby with a screwdriver, right into her own chest.
Seeing the police sort of snapped Rhonda back into reality. She started her car and took off like a bat out of hell. It wasn’t until spike strips were thrown over the road ahead of her vehicle that she finally decided running wasn’t exactly beneficial. Plus, fleeing wasn’t in the plans – that only came about because police were interrupting the poky poky game she was playing with that screwdriver. So with flat tires and the risk of harming herself via a moving vehicle, she stopped her locked car and gave herself up to the police. Or something like that. Kind of. Only after she stabbed that screwdriver into her chest a couple more times using a hammer to drive it. And that folks, is some hard-core crazy. (the “ain’t coming home any time soon” kind of crazy)
With the house a total loss, both Rhonda and Stuart hospitalized, a station wagon with flat tires, and a whole string of fucked up, authorities are still grappling to see what to charge her with. Fleeing a police officer, arson, too psychotic to see the light of day? The first two are being considered, the third…well…even the best trained officers know not to fuck with that level of insanity. Plus, they may need a government job when she’s elected.