Thursday, April 26, 2007

Rosie O’Donnell Leaving The View to Join The Apprentice

Rosie will leave The View in June after failing to agree on an extended deal with ABC. She is set to ink a multi-year deal with NBC to be a judge on Donald Trump’s The Apprentice.

“She’s a fat, disgusting, stupid, and vile pig, and I wouldn’t hit that with my car if she was straight, but bottom line- she is ratings gold and I really look forward to working with her, Rosie you’re hired!” said Donald Trump.

NBC spokesman Gerald Miller added “We are looking to bolster our female demographic and women audiences love Rosie, and Rosie really, really loves women!”

When asked if NBC is worried about any lingering animosity between O’Donnell and Trump in their long running war of words, Miller said “We gladly anticipate and fully expect venom between Donald and Rosie. Public hostility between celebrities’ equal huge ratings no matter if it’s real or not, look at Simon Cowell and Ryan Seacrest as one example. We view this feud as an untapped area of potential revenue growth. So far, the only areas attacked were Rosie’s weight, and Donald’s hair. Weight Watchers and Just for Men Hair Color already signed on as sponsors for next season. Just wait until Donald and Rosie exploit the multitude of other personal defects each possesses. The sponsorship possibilities are boundless!

Over at The View they don’t seem to be shedding any tears over Rosie’s exodus. “June can’t come fast enough for me! How’s THE VIEW from the unemployment line, Rosie? I can finally go back to being the only loud mouthed New York liberal on the show… and Barbara too of course….sorry boss” said Joy Behar.

“I don’t know how many times I had to tell her, NO means NO!! I like men, and if I ever did decide to go the other way the woman would have to be a Republican and look like me , well, because I’m hot” added Elisabeth Hasselbeck.

When asked to comment, Barbara Walters was tight lipped… thanks to the terrific work of her Manhattan plastic surgeon Dr. Marc Katz. But she did manage to tell us the following; “We weely wanted to work things out with Wosie” as she hopelessly attempted to wink. “But it didn’t happen, so now we need to find a weplacement… Good Widdance Wosie!!... Oh it huwts to laugh”

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Alec Baldwin Called My Phone by Mistake

BALDWIN: I want you to know something, okay? And I want to leave a message for you right now because again it’s 10:30 here in New York on a Wednesday and once again I’ve made an ass of myself trying to get to a phone to call you at a specific time....

ME: I watch CSI: NY on Wednesday from 10-11. I don’t answer the phone while great shows are on. You might want to try calling 9PM on Thursdays when your dopey show 30 Rock is on. I don’t know how you’ve “made an ass of yourself trying to get a phone” since the phone is in your pocket right? Did you remove your pants to answer it or something worse?

BALDWIN: When the time comes for me to make the phone call, I stop whatever I'm doing and I go and I make that phone call. At 11 o'clock in the morning in New York and if you don't pick up the phone at 10 o'clock at night. And you don't even have the goddamn phone turned on

ME: By the looks of you, I know you are not jumping off the treadmill to make that 11 AM call.

BALDWIN: I want you to know something, okay? I’m tired of playing this game with you. I’m leaving this message with you to tell you, you have insulted me for the last time.. You don't have the brains or the decency as a human being.

ME: Not really, I could insult you way more and don’t even get me started on your whacked out brothers. You’re the one without the brains, you've been screaming at someone you don’t know for the last five minutes

BALDWIN: I don’t give a damn that you have the mind of a 12 year old or 11 year old child, or that your mother is a thoughtless pain in the ass who doesn’t care about what you do

ME: Please don’t tell Michael Jackson I have the mind of a 12 year old. Okay, so you want to tell mother jokes?? Your mom is like a toilet…she’s white, she’s fat, and she smells like shit!! SNAP

BALDWIN: As far as I’m concerned you’ve insulted me for the last time with this phone

ME: Your right! The phone is so old school. I’d much rather insult you via IM, email, or with a homemade YouTube production

BALDWIN: And when I come out there next week, I'm going to fly out there for the day just to straighten you out on this issue.

ME: What’s the issue again, global warming? I’m stupid, remember.

BALDWIN: I am going to get on a plane and I am going to come out there for the day and I am going to straighten your ass out when I see you. Do you understand me? I'm going to really make sure you get it.

ME: “I’m going to straighten your ass out when I see you” “I’m going to really make sure you get it” Quick question here.. Is your next role in a prison movie by any chance? Just a guess.

BALDWIN: Then I'm going to get on a plane and I'm going to turn around and come home. So you'd better be ready Friday the 20th to meet with me. So I'm going to let you know just how I feel about what a rude little pig you really are. You are a rude, thoughtless little pig, OK?

ME: You know what a inconvenience it is to fly these days, so I think you should just stay put. Besides, Friday the 20th doesn’t really work for me. OK, OK I’m a pig I get it, are we done with this call yet?

Saturday, April 21, 2007

We’re Going to Disneyworld (Part III)

I spent the rest of the flight feeling jealous about Big Kurtis’ big lifestyle. I realized I was a bigger loser that I originally thought. Like a good husband I also frequently checked on my wife and kids. They were all doing well.

Toward the end of the flight my wife was in deep conversation with some guy who looked like he just graced the cover of GQ Magazine. They were clinking two glasses of Cheap Airline Chardonnay together as I approached. “Oh hi honey” she said in a giddy and startled tone. “This is Todd” Todd?? What a pussy name I thought to myself. “Hey” he said, as I stood there with an extended hand. He just nodded, no handshake occurred. What a total douche.

Kurtis had kindly offered to switch seats with my wife an hour and half into a two hour flight. “I’m okay” she said. “I’ll just stay here since the flight is going to land soon” she answered glancing over at Todd the douche who smirked his approval.

I married a total whore!

Next I went to see how the kids were doing. They were watching magic tricks performed by a guy with a Mohawk, many tattoos, and multiple piercings, many of which were imbedded in his face. Marbles could fit through holes in his earlobes.

Daddy this is Razor, he is a magician and a clown” my nine year old daughter explained. “Can he come to my birthday party at the Magic Kingdom?” “Pleeease Daddy”. I’d seen enough, I rounded up the whole crew, I told my wife to put down the wine and switch seats with Kurtis, I told the kids to come with me. “I want to be just like Razor when I grow up, and I want to keep sitting next to him” my seven year old son protested as I pulled him away. “NO, YOU DON’T, I shouted back to him. “Can I get a tattoo at Disney, dad?” he asked. “Keep moving” I answered.

My wife and I placed the kids on our laps. The flight attendants were on us like flies on shit. “Sir, TSA regulations state everyone must have their own seat” one chirped. I wish she was that quick to approach me when I was looking for that second Budweiser. “We will land in approximately fifteen minutes, the children must be seated and belted” she continued.

A nice couple who were seated one row ahead of my kids and Razor had volunteered to let our kids take their seats for the remainder of the flight. The couple had taken a liking to our kids earlier in the flight and didn’t mind the trouble of moving or Razor.

We landed in fantastic sunny Orlando without any further incidents. Of course, our luggage on the other hand decided to catch a connecting flight to Atlanta to check out a Braves game

“Sir, we are terribly sorry for this inconvenience, we will have your bags sent to the hotel as soon as they arrive” As soon as they arrive happened to be two days later...

Friday, April 20, 2007

We’re Going to Disneyworld (Part II)

“Hi I’m Kurtis, with a K not a C” he proudly announced as he hoisted a fat sweaty hand toward me. I was puzzled because he seemed way too friendly to be a business traveler and seemed too old to be going to Disney, at least by himself.

He was as wide as he was tall, had a cheesy mustache and was wearing brown leather suspenders that look liked two belts turned sideways. He had the white trash chain extending from his front pocket to his wallet in the back pocket. His hair was jet black and slicked straight back. He looked like a character in a 1950’s movie, except real fat. I don’t think Americans were fat in the ‘50’s, at least not the ones in the movies.

Poor guy, I thought.

I tried to keep it short; “Hello” I responded and shook his greasy palm. “Sorry about the hand… it's Vaseline” he apologized. “I was in the bathroom during takeoff”. he said. It was at this point I started playing “Which is Worse” in my mind. Did he.. A- Just take a dump and wipe with the hand I just shook? B-Just take a leak with the hand I just shook? Or the worst possible and most likely scenario C-He just rubbed one out at 30,000 feet above sea level?? “I get real nervous on takeoffs and landings” he offered. “I try to do anything possible to relax”. Oh shit, it has to be C, it has to be C I thought to myself.

“My mouth and lips get very dry, and I have uncontrollable diarrhea until the plane is safely in the air, so dry as a bone up top, squirting like a Hershey fountain on the bottom” he quoted from the “To Much Information” book. “So you’ll usually find me in the bathroom before takeoffs and landings, the Vaseline is for the dry lips”. Why would I be looking I thought to myself. “I can’t speak with a dry mouth and lips” he said. The face was surely moist at this point because he couldn’t shut-up and since I would be sitting next to him for the next two hours I had also hoped the Hershey squirts subsided.

He went on tell me how he lived with his mother and he was single; two details of which neither came as a shock to me. Then he proceeded to tell me that he owned thirty-two single family vacation units all within ten miles of the Disney complex, he only has a mortgage on the five most recent purchases, so he owns twenty-seven properties out right. He went on to tell me he has a 90% booking rate for all of his properties. He’s flying back to Orlando from a meeting in New York about a possible partnership in a new restaurant on the Upper West Side. He also told me how he is about to close on his first multi-tenant dwelling, It’s a twenty condo unit complete with private nine hole executive golf course three miles from the Magic Kingdom. He tells how he played hardball and they took his $11 million dollar offer!!

He then tells me it’s not all business all the time and pulls out a photo of his girlfriend. She is on his lap in a bikini and she is a few levels beyond smoking hot. He brags how she was a Miss Hawaiian Tropic 2004 and now she’s an actress. He met her at the Hoopty Doo Review. She was one of the cowgirls the night he and his mom had front row seats. She pointed her six-shooter at him as he took a break from his baked beans and glanced up.

He said it was love at first sight, but now he’s grown tired of her. All she wants to do is party and have sex. The last straw came when she woke his mom from a sound sleep because she’s a real screamer in bed. He said it will be hard for him for tell her it’s over but she will just have to get over him…

Thursday, April 19, 2007

We’re Going to Disneyworld (Part I)

After much nagging I reluctantly decided to go..

Our first mistake was booking the flight through US Air, which should be called US Scare. I knew we were in trouble when the guy at the terminal mumbled “How much luggage you checkin’?” I said “five suitcases”, he then said to his co-workers “We got three here!”, I added “Excuse me, I said five”, he fired back “Scuse me, what you think I can’t hear or are you sayin’ I’m stupid?” I said “No, I just wanted to make sure all our bags make it onto the plane” He then looked at his co-workers, then back to me,, then back to them and said “Listen to this racist mutha-effer, he thinks were going steal his sorry-ass bags, know what I’m sayin?”. I had no idea what he was saying but his co-workers were locked in to every word.

We made our way to Terminal C only to realize our flight had been pushed back two hours. To be stuck in an airport terminal with a spoiled little brat for two hours in no fun. Then when you add in her two kids it really sucks. “I’m hungry”… But, we just ate. “I’m tired” You just woke up two hours ago. “I have to go to the bathroom” I just took you twenty minutes ago.

The experience of a boarding a plane is nothing less than excruciating since 9/11. It is bad enough the twenty or so times I’ve taken flights for meetings. But when you have family in tow things are much worse. The line for security snaked around the dangling red valor rope fence for a about fifty yards or so. Even though our flight was delayed two hours it was still morning. This means half the people in line were business travelers headed to Orlando for work and the other half were families headed to Disney for fun.

Besides the obvious, that being the kids surrounding the parents, there were other ways you could distinguish the Disney people from the business people. The Disney people were ear to ear smiles kids and parents alike. A week away from the drudgery of work should make anyone smile. I don’t necessarily have to be headed to Disney for that to happen

I could feel the sneers being cast upon the Disney families by the business people. I wasn’t sure if they were pissed about us going on vacation or just pissed that the line was so long because there were so many damned kids. Either way, they were pissed.

Forty minutes later we all put our shoes back on and boarded the plane.

Because I booked with the cheapest online fifth rate travel agent I could find; the four of us sat in three different aisles. My son and daughter were together two aisles ahead of me. My wife was three aisles behind me.

On most of the business trips I’ve taken people in the seats next to me are too busy either sleeping, punching something up in their laptops on have their face buried in the Wall Street Journal to chat. They are not interested in conversations nor am I. I can’t ever recall exchanging two words with a fellow passenger…

Monday, April 16, 2007

It’s Not You, it’s my Grandma She’s a Royal Pain in the Ass

Prince William broke up with his girlfriend Kate Middleton because the Queen Mum thought she was too common for her grandson. This supposedly happened after Kate Middleton’s mom; Carole made the faux pas of asking the Queen the whereabouts of the shitter. She may have used lavatory, toilet, or even water closet, I couldn’t make the party so I don’t know for sure. But to warrant her daughter getting dumped I hope to hell she said shitter as the queen let out an “oh my” and fainted ass over tea kettle.

Believe me, the irony of asking the queen “Where’s the throne?” is not lost on me. I get it and I like it a lot.

“This country is riven by the class system. It is more alive than it has ever been," the Daily Mirror's royal correspondent James Whitaker said after the separation was announced over the weekend. I’ve never heard or seen the word “riven” before and I don’t have Roget’s Clitoris at my fingertips but it has to mean “divided”. I wish these proper English would learn proper English. He later added “and our bloody dental plans are all absolutely dreadful, rich or poor!!” through his multi-directional, multi-colored chickets.

Carole Middleton should have realized the queen had no idea where the toilet is, she probably hasn’t wiped her own turd-cutter in a good sixty years. They have court jesters to do that for her. The Earl of Dingleberry is her personal favorite.

And if she did use a toilet you could be damned sure it’s not a toilet any one of our arses has ever touched. “Young man, oh young man, you left the seat up and the odors are ghastly!! Have him sent to the gallows this instant...I command you!!”

The clash of the classes apparently took place last December at William’s graduation at Sandhurst Military Academy; which is the equivalent of West Point here in the U.S. "Nobody could believe it when Carole Middleton chewed gum throughout," Whitaker said. Big she deal she chewed gum, it wasn't like she whipped out a tit and started gnawing on it.

Keith Richards snorted his dad and he’s a bloody knight! It’s all a bunch of bollocks I tell you!

A brief detour here because I have a short attention span and an even shorter penis. Why did Princes William and Harry attend Sandhurst? What a waste of resources. This is like sending Stevie Wonder to NASCAR school, or giving Steven Hawking a year’s worth of karate lessons. The next battle William will be involved with will be the battle of the bands as a judge and even then he will suck:. “I cunt decide, they were all jolly good!”

I know they sent the other brother; Harry off to Iraq you say? That kid won’t leave the comfortable confines of some cushy diplomatic air conditioned office unless it’s for a photo-op that can be picked-up by The Sun or Daily Mirror. They will place him face down holding an AK-47 in the sand, snap a few quick photos, then rush him back in inside for tea and crumpets before a bead of sweet reaches his brow. If by some miracle he did see combat and got wounded or killed, no worries he’s the spare, remember!

How would you like to go through life with that self-confidence building nickname, “THE SPARE”?? The commoner’s parents just call the rest of their unwanted kids mistakes. The spare is just mean.

Back to the air apparent and his deal… so he dumps this Lindsay Lohan look-alike and blames it on Grammy. He sounds like he is ready to be King… do nothing, and blame somebody else when things go wrong.

Sounds like Willy wants to anoint his royal scepter in some strange new waters.

Bookmakers quickly joined the great debate about the Prince’s next girlfriend. Ladbrokes gambling house promptly installed the upper-class socialite Isabella Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe as 6-1 favorite to marry William. Any chick with four names has to be an upper-crust snob. By the way, Britney Spears is an infinity to one favorite, even before she shaved her melon just in case you wish to partake in wagering.

"A number of socialites will be dusting off their ball gowns and polishing their Pradas now that William is back on the market," Ladbrokes spokesman Nick Weinberg said.

Yup, it’s good to be king… almost.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Top Ten Rejected Imus Excuses

10. You know I’m supporting Obama over Hillary don’t you?
9. I'm really old and it just slipped out of me like a fart
8. I have courtside Knicks seats near Spike Lee
7. My limo driver is black, he knows I’m not a racist, I think?
6. Can’t you tell I’m really dead, no one breathing looks this bad?
5. I’ve never had one damned lynching at my New Mexico ranch, not one.
4. My favorite Cowboy hat is black
3. It was really that racist Michael Richards doing his Imus impression
2. If they accept my apology I will buy the whole team KFC for a year, even the white girl

And the number one rejected Imus excuse..
Some of my best friends are nappy headed hos

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Your Dad is Being a Real Birkhead!

I guess they can stop sending the unemployment checks to Larry Birkhead now that he is the winner of the DNA lottery. Like many suspected, Howard K. Stern is the not the biological father of Dannielynn. I don’t think Stern ever had sex with Anna Nicole, he probably never even saw her naked besides in Playboy, like the rest of us. The closest he got to peeling off her lingerie was handling her legal briefs.

Even though Stern plied her with a boatload of drugs, he got as much action from Anna as her husband oil tycoon J. Howard Marshall II . Marshall was in his eighties and in a wheelchair when he married Anna back in the early 1990’s. You could be sure 'Ole Howard would have hit that, but Viagra wasn’t around back then. I guess that old timer was just born too soon.

On their honeymoon he was so excited he almost had a stroke..but he couldn’t reach and Anna wouldn’t move closer.

"I told you so!" Birkhead crowed to a group of reporter in the Bahamas after the test results were announced. "I'm going to the toy store!" I don’t think he Ferrari dealer on Wilshire Blvd. can be technically classified as a “toy store”

I’ve heard Birkhead interviewed a few times, he is about as sharp as a bowling ball. The DNA test may be the first test he’s ever actually passed. He talked happily about being "able to start a life with my daughter," The first father-daughter bonding moment will be when he opens his little angel’s first joint bank account. Next they will put that down payment on that sweeeet bachelor nursery nestled up in the Hollywood Hills. Fatherhood is a beautiful thing.

He’s this decades Kato Kaelin with blonder highlights and better closing skills.

Don’t feel too bad for Howard K. Stern just because his seed didn’t keep the lead. He was paralyzed with grief when Anna Nicole died, but somehow managed to pull himself together in time to sell the exclusive television rights to the funeral to Entertainment Tonight for a few million dollars all of which he kept. So, I guess you could say he still hasn’t blown his load.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Mistaken Identity (Part III)

Next I was subjected to a battery of questions about my alleged previous criminal activity, any weapons I may own, drugs I may haven taken and or sold. I answered everything to the best of my ability, although I still didn’t have a great alibi because my wife and I crashed early that Friday, even if she didn’t remember this critical fact when asked. Maybe she wants me to go to jail? Dick Small was a real pain in my ass asking the officer to repeat every question he asked. No doubt he learned this annoying practice at law school that is if he even went to law school.

I was then placed in a room, side by side with other suspects that bared no resemblance to me. This was the lineup I’ve seen many times on CSI Jersey City or some other show like it. The walls were marked with lines to determine the suspect’s height. We were instructed to turn different ways by a voice that was behind the one way glass. I presumed the cashier of the 7-11 also sat behind the one way glass.

My faith in our legal system has never been what you call great, but having been witness to five guys who look nothing alike, are not the same height, or even the same race for that matter really destroyed what little belief I had.

The guy to my immediate left had an accent that I couldn’t quite make out. The best I could tell it was some type of Nordic dialect; Finnish, Swedish, Icelandic (if that is even a language?). To my right was an Indian fellow, not Bombay Indian, US of A Great Plains living in a Tepee Indian. He was in full Indian garb, and by the looks of what he was wearing he had to be important in his tribe. Maybe he is the CEO of the hotel and casino, like a Donald J. Trump type. Maybe he is Chief Combover?

I kept waiting for my wife and some friends to walk in from behind the glass to finally tell me I’ve been Punk’d., but that never happened. After the cattle call, I was questioned some more. One of the questions I was asked is whether I would take a lie detector test or not.

I glanced at Dick Small for some guidance. The way he shrugged his shoulders with both palms facing the sky didn’t really help me decide. I assumed the yellow legal pad he was scribbling into had important legal notes that would ultimately result in my vindication. I was disappointed to learn the pad contained only poorly sketched renderings of Homer Simpson and Spiderman. “Before I became a lawyer, I was student at the Philadelphia College of Art” he proudly announced. I then wondered if his parents ever demanded a full refund from either the college or the hospital where he was hatched.

I was aware the test has some built-in fallibility. I’ve read stories of the guilty passing and the innocent failing. I took the lie detector test since I had nothing to hide and if I didn’t take it this may be an assumed admission of guilt. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life. I worried that my nerves would help yield a false reading. “Just relax”, coached Dick Small. “I’m going outside for a smoke, do you want anything?” he asked. “How about a real lawyer” I mumbled to myself.

These were all the same questions I answered before except this time I was all wired up and answering for some geek in a bowtie. After the test I was told by the police I was free to go. They said if they needed anymore information they would contact me. Since I was free to go I made the reasonable assumption that I passed the lie detector test. I didn’t want to press my luck by asking and my legal representation was still outside smoking or drawing.

I went home not knowing what to expect next. A steady stream of friends, relatives, and neighbors stopped by the house to discuss the whole ordeal. By their facial expressions; I could tell they were either shocked that I was accused of such a thing, or shocked that I was a free man given what I had done. Apparently when I told the wife to “DON’T SAY A WORD ABOUT THIS TO ANYONE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES” I wasn’t clear enough.

Turns out the guy robbed a few other convenience stores in the area and was finally caught. I saw the whole thing on the six o’clock news. Incidentally, he didn’t look like me or any of the other fools in the police lineup.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Mistaken Identity (Part II)

“Can you tell us your whereabouts on the night of Friday February 16th at 10:00PM?” one asked. “I looked at my wife and said the 16th of February I don’t remember, why do you ask?” “There was a robbery on the 7-Eleven on Main Street; the video camera caught everything on tape”. “From the tape, we had an artist render a sketch of the perpetrator which we placed all over town” one of the police officers said. “Okay, what does this all have to do with me” I asked. “We’ve had more than one phone saying you the photo looks like you” They showed us a copy of the drawing which look absolutely nothing like me. “Oh my God I didn’t know you still had that coat!” my wife stupidly chimed in. “THAT ISN’T ME” I frantically protested. “Sure, sure it wasn’t you”. “Now can you tell us where you were on the 16th of February at 10PM?” “I took my wife out for a Valentine’s dinner, our reservation at Le Maison was for 9 o’clock, we didn’t finish until close to 11 o’clock and we were no where near Main Street that night” I added for emphasis.. Before I had a chance to further bolster the alibi, the wife informed all that out Valentine’s dinner was actually on Saturday night the 17th, not Friday the 16th as I just so confidently proclaimed.

“We’d like to come to the police station for further questioning; it’s your right to retain a lawyer at this time. IN FACT WE STRONGLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO DO SO.

To this point in my life the only police stations I’ve ever seen were in TV shows or movies. The Hollywood versions were much nicer than the dump I was now parked in. Since this was a case of mistaken identity and his legal skills wouldn’t be put to the test I called the cheapest lawyer I could find in the Yellow Pages. The ad stated “Been hurt in an accident, at work, in public, it’s not your fault. WE WON’T GET PAID UNTIL YOU GET PAID”. “Call Horowitz, Isenberg, Goldstein, and O’Leary at 1-800-NODOLLAR”. This is great I thought, since I’m not getting paid I won’t owe him anything when this get’s all cleared up, it’s a win-win situation for me, legal representation for free.

Hello, my name is Richard Small representing H.I.G. and O as your attorney” Just call me Dick” “Dick Small?” I questioned “I’d never heard any complaints” he chuckled back. Now worried I asked “How long have you been practicing law?” “Just a few months” he answered. I followed up with “How many cases have you handled?” “Including this one”? he asked. “Yes” I said, “Okay that would be one” he stated.

“I wish you would have gotten here before they did the cavity search” I joked. He looked around and said “They have a Dentist in this place? That’s pretty cool” he wasn’t joking. I had the sinking feeling this whole situation was rapidly headed from bad to worse…

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Mistaken Identity (Part I)

Sunday mornings should be peaceful and easy like that Lionel Ritchie song. A glowing sunshine peeking threw a half drawn shades accompanied by a chorus of red cardinals chirping in melodic unison is the way to gently rise from an eight plus hour slumber. No blaring alarm clocks necessary, it’s Sunday morning. Maybe you sleep in, maybe you go to church, and maybe you try to get some from the wife; who coldly rejects you because it’s her time of the month again for the third time this month. A peaceful Sunday morning should never be interrupted by the sound of police officers pounding at the front door.

“Did you hear that?” my wife asked. “Yeah, another cold rejection from you, yes I heard” my blue balls and I answered. “No the pounding on the front door” she said frantically. I said; “It’s probably Mrs. Shackleton needing to borrow milk or something.” Mrs. Shackleton is our eighty-three old neighbor who became a widow the year Reagan was elected president; which was about twenty seven years ago. But, she has arthritis in most of her major extremities so I don’t believe her capable of putting that kind of thumping on a steel door or any other door for that matter. Besides she always uses the doorbell when nagging us. She is proper that way.

Although I do recall a few years back when she opened up a keg of whoop-ass of some neighbor teenagers who made the mistake of smoking weed on her front yard. She hobbled toward the front yard toting an old Louisville Slugger that may actually bear Babe Ruth’s autograph. Either out of amusement of the vision of a decrepit old bag headed toward them carrying lumber, or just the fact that they were totally baked, the stoners cackled together in a half-laugh half-cough. The one stoner was laughing/coughing so hard he fell to the ground; it was at that point that ‘ole Mrs. Shackleton administered the cold-hearted beat down. The irony is that the stoner she beat like a PiƱata was actually Mexican. The more ironic part is that he was legal. Fortunately for him, he was too stoned to feel his femur being smashed.

But, I digress back to the door being pounded by the police…

I would have rather slept for another hour or four, but at my wife’s urging I made my way downstairs to answer the relentless thumping on the door. On the other side of the door stood two police officers and another guy in a suit who was quick to let me know he was FBI. This trio of law enforcers looked as happy to see me as I was to see them. “We’d like to ask you ask you a few questions” the Fed said. This can’t be good, I thought to myself. Before I could answer with some stuff I remembered from Court TV, the wife invited the boys in blue into the house...