Miley Cyrus. . .

. . .says she’s pansexual. What does she use for lubricant? Pam?

The good thing about being pansexual is you can never get an STD because of your teflon coated pussy.

I walked into. . .

. . .a public rest room and the stench was so bad I said,
 
“Oh, shit! This is The Aristocrats joke in odor.”
 
For those unaware of The Aristocrats joke, let me lead you here:
 

She asked. . .

“Why should George Clooney get a life time achievement award?” She was an angry woman, probably not just about George, standing in front of me.

Not knowing he received an award of this type, but wanting to help, I answered,

“Well, there’s the good work he did in Dafur.” She looks at me with zero comprehension. So, having been here before, I trudge along, “And it’s sequel, Dafive.”

Tender Situation

I’m arranging things in the back of the truck when someone gets into my eye line. I look up and she holds a finger up to me in the time honored ‘I’m busy right now but the moment I’m not I’m going to want something from you’ pose.

She’s on the phone and, by the frenzied state of the conversation, I can tell she’s nowhere near the end. So I go back to moving things around the back of the truck. I’m still right next to her but now we’re both doing something. Seems a win/win.

But it’s not. I can tell she’s a little perturbed that I’m not standing guard over her phone call.

She talks, staring at me, for the next minute and a half, two minutes while I do my chore. I don’t know why she’s so mad. I’d actually be glad someone gave me some space while on what has to be, if the general outrage is to be believed, a very pressing conversation.

I can tell by the tone the conversation is getting to it’s conclusion. It’s not over yet, she still has to assure the other party that she’s going to get right on this, but it’s winding down.

So I stop paying attention to the truck. Remember, she’s still talking. She hasn’t stopped talking since she walked up. Just not to me. But I’m right there for when she decides it’s my turn to be honored by her attention. She’s not going to have to wait a beat.

“Well that was rude.” I’d like to think, because I don’t want this to start off adversarial, that she’s talking about the person from the phone. But we all know that’s not the case. I can feel the first wave of an ass reaming working its way into my smile. She doesn’t know that.

Yet.

I ignore her comment and ask what I can do for her on the grounds that it’s a little early in our conversation to get the old ass reamer up to def con five.

“I mean, you just continued to fuss around in your truck when I came up to you.” She spits out the word ‘truck’ as if it were a persimmon seed. Complete with sour pursed lips.

At this point I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the duration and intensity of the alarms going off in my head. I keep telling myself, ‘It’s too early to shred her. It’s too early to shred her. Don’t open your book of insults. Try to get this one through without making someone cry.’

“Yes I did.” I’m looking at her wondering what in the world she needs me for.

And then she starts. She launches, without warning, into what seems like a replay of the conversation I partially heard. Why? Is she doing it because she thinks I missed something when I turned around? Maybe she doesn’t know that sound travels and I heard every little thing she said. But also, why would I be interested?

It doesn’t take me long to realize she’s doing this because she wants me to be outraged like her. And I do understand why she’s angry. But I also understand why this group ventures into lily white suburbs to have their little gatherings. They want those lilly white suburbanites to do what they do best (well, maybe second best after raising hellishly spoiled offspring): become outraged.

It seems as if the klan has petitioned her town to make a public speech. I remember this happened some years ago. People were outraged! People wrote letters to the editor! They had community meetings! People, those  people got their ire up! People were saying the group was going to be armed! There was even talk about putting snipers on rooftops to protect the citizenry!

Sorry but I’ve got to think the klan is eating this publicity up. They hadn’t even said a word and they got more press than I’d seen about them in years in these parts. You want to get some press? Piss off an over caffeinated soccer mom.

In the end all that happened was some old guy talked while some pudgy donut addicts duck walked in front of him. If Charlie Chaplin made a klan version of The Great Dictator it wouldn’t have been more absurd played than this guy.

But I do sympathize with her. It’s terrible to have people talk hate right out in the streets of your fine city. Talk that’s normally reserved for your finer upscale private country and social clubs.

I tried to explain to her that, as much as I agree it’s a terrible thing, they normally win solely on the first amendment. The right, I don’t bother bringing up, that allowed her to saunter up to me and spew her unwanted words at me works for them.

All the pre-hysteria only brings more attention to their cause. I know that’s probably not a very popular rationale but I know if I don’t want more people to know about cat juggling I won’t be discussing cat juggling.

Outside of my very exclusive low rent unfurnished basement, of course.

My problem now was I still didn’t know what she came here originally to do. I had to get her off this conversation. And you know me, there’s only one way to do that. Piss her off. With humor. But I don’t think she’s going to see it that way.

“You can say anything you want about the klan but, you have to admit, their sun protection is second to none.” I see her eyes blow up. At first she doesn’t get it’s because they totally cover their body so sun can’t reach their skin. But when it does she is even more upset. I guess it’s time to def con five all over her face before she regains her balance. “I think they should change their recruitment slogan. I think it should be, Hate melanoma? Join the klan!”

As she’s storming away I find myself wondering who, at this moment, is she more outraged at?

———————————————————————————————-

I saw this after the event and, if she wasn’t so mad at me, I’d send it to her to give her an idea how to thwart that event:

I was looking. . .

. . .at a someone’s computer and saw that it was in safe mode. I asked them why.

“We always have it in safe mode to protect us from viruses.”

Police Log

Whenever I’m at a place and there’s a local newspaper around I get a little excited. No, I’m not interested in Ms. Bessie’s blue ribbon fudge victory. I go right for the police log. It tells you more about the city than anything else. I found one at a friends house and was not disappointed.

Right off the bat, “Police were called to help the animal control officer. . .” Oh boy! This could be good. Maybe its a wolverine. Hell, maybe its Wolverine. Even if its something mundane like a coyote or a fox that could drive your imagination so I read on, “. . .free a rabbit from a household sink.”

Umm, my imagination isn’t that good but I sure as hell have a heap of questions. But while that’s going on, in another part of town,

“An officer went to the pool and asked an ice cream vendor to move along.”

Oh, I can see a battle brewing. A licensed retailer, a gaggle of ice cream wanting kids, I envision mayhem.

“He did.”

And I bet the kid of someone connected in the city pulled right in. To quote the oft quoted quote form Empire Records, “Damn the man!”

Traveling down the page I didn’t have far to go before finding out that, “A woman said a man was flashing lights into her apartment. An officer determined the report unfounded.”

Not without suggesting she see an eye doctor or neurologist if this persists, I hope. I’m not a doctor but seeing flashing lights that aren’t there could be a problem.

In a scary call for all, “A man called police to report that his wallet had been stolen.” Who hasn’t had a wallet or a purse or a random shoe stolen? But the story continues. “Ten minutes later he called back to say he found it.”

Isn’t it nice that the robber had a change of heart laced with a dollop of guilt and brought it back? But that also means the robber can still be in the house! I’d have the cops come by and check. After all, he knows their number.

There is so much to find out about a place by reading the police log. In fact, I learned some people around here are very relaxed. To whit, “A hit and run in February was reported.” We’re in August. It’s a current paper. Maybe it took so long because they wanted to make sure all the snow was melted.

Then again, another group seems to be just a bit uptight.

“Someone told officers that youths were smoking. They found no suspicious activity.”

“Police responded to a person down in a parking lot. Police could find no one.”

“Youths were seen running.”

Oh, oh. I know people who engage in that activity for fun (silly people). I’d better call them and tell them to cool it for awhile. The fuzz is on the prowl.

“A large group of people were making a lot of noise.” I wish I knew that was illegal when I lived across the street from a busy and noisy baseball field.

“A car load of youths were smashing items. When police arrived neither the youths or smashed items could be located.”

That last group of reports all have a common thread, I trust you noticed. Someone got their dander up and called police over nothing. Its like a Seinfeld episode on a city wide level. Which really seems to happen in this city quite often because anything can be a crime.

“He said someone broke into his car. But nothing was taken and there was no damage.”

What we’ve learned from this is next time you have a delusion a crime has been committed take a deep breath and don’t do anything.

In a female version of an earlier story,

“A woman said her purse was stolen. It was later found.”

Probably exactly where she left it.

I wonder if this next item was perpetrated by the remorseful ex-criminal from earlier?

“A wallet was found and returned to police.”

“A man reported being the victim of identity theft.”

This case remains unsolved because when police arrived they couldn’t be sure who the victim was.

In one that would definitely have had a different outcome in a different community,

“A man was passed out in his car at a gas station. When he woke the police told him to move on.”

Really? That happened? But I can understand. The line must have been getting long. I guess that’s the law enforcement you get when the city’s motto is “Commerce Before Safety.”

But my favorite entry was, “A explosion was reported.”

Now there’s one you’d think was going to be covered on the front page. But I knew better. Due to the fact there was no further information I knew what happened.

A squirrel made a complete circuit on a transformer and became a crispy critter.

I’d like to go over more fact filled items from the police blotter with you but I gotta run. I hear running youths smoking and making a lot of noise smashing items. I think I should call it in.

Whenever I talk. . .

. . .sorry, whenever I’m stuck listening to this guy, a grown ass man, I come away with head slapping moment. Such as, earlier today, he tells me that he made a pretty big purchase that he was very happy with.

I don’t say anything to encourage him because, well, I don’t have to. He’s a monologue spewing machine.

“Yeah, I bought $2600 worth of Matchbox Cars.”

I stand there, a bit stunned, I will admit. But, people have hobbies. Its just that most times I’d rather not hear about them. Suddenly he laughs and says,

“Maybe that’s why my third wife left me.”

Ya think?