Death & Taxes & Ridealongs
Just finished them taxes–yeah, live dangerously!
Speaking of death (as he would no doubt like to think of himself), I ran into Nick and the long-suffering (or is that short, suffering) Sam. He revealed that he won’t fight at Guns & Hoses because it might mess up his pretty face (which would thwart the aspiration he mentioned to me the last time I ran into him, which was to become a porn star–he never got around to explaining why that career path hasn’t worked out for him. He also suggested I could become one, but I disagree, since I have no acting ability.) . He also called me ugly, opined that my vacations would be boring without him (this is known as being Desperate for Validation), and said, “How about a mini ride-along? I’ll give you a ride home!” What a pitiful fantasy about something to which I will never consent. (“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he murmurs…) And why won’t I consent, you may be wondering? (Or you may not be, but far be it from me to sound Desperate for Validation.)
MY PROBLEM(S) WITH RIDE-ALONGS
–I might encounter something gross or messy (for example, dead bodies, mud, a house full of fleas/roaches/bedbugs/eyebrow mites).
–I might encounter something dangerous–high-speed pursuit, BEING SHOT AT (or, as Rom says, “the bullet that’s marked ‘To Whom It May Concern'”). As I’ve said before (hell, by now I’ve probably said everything before in one post or another), if I’d wanted to put myself in danger, I’d have become a cop. (Now there’s a thought for you. Just think about it a moment.) If anything were to befall me on one of these mandatory adventures, I–or my next of kin–might decide to become part of our litigious (I always want to say “litiginous” for some reason) society.
–I might encounter Nick in other than my optimum situation of, “Thanks for the ride. You can go now.” (I should probably throw him a couple cat treats for his trouble–I got a bale of ’em on sale at the $ General.) And that might involve…well, I prefer not to speculate, that being what’s known as Borrowing Trouble. (I promise to give it back when I’m done with it!)
CRISIS IN PROGRESS: OVERHEARD FROM ACROSS THE ROOM
–“Sir, our police department does not use helicopters.” Damn!
–“I’m making a traffic stop on a riding lawnmower.” Now that’s more like it!