A Very Bad Call

One thing you must know about me: if there is ever ANY unsavoury character on ANY mode of public transporatation, I will sit next to them and most likely enter into some form of conversation or exchange. It never fails.

So it was no suprise that upon boarding the bus back home from buying my new monthly bus pass (whoop!) I somehow LOCKED EYES with an old man in the second seat and was drawn to him, as if my some tractor beam.

So I sat down, all was well until I smelled something rotten- literally. I thought I might have broken my streak and stepped in dog shit... so I checked my shoes, NOPE, clean as a whistle... what could it be? OH, just the JEANS of my seat-mate. Yup, smears of shit. On the jeans, just above the knees, as if a la Scrooge McDuck with gold dubloons, he had been digging into huge TUBS OF SHIT... and then suddenly realized- HOLD ON, this is SHIT- and wiped his hand on his pants.

Luckily I woke up to find it was just a dream and I was surrounded by Dutch physicians!



Hello fellas, like what you see? Boo yah!

Just kidding, it was all too real. But I am past that now. Ready to take on what life deals out:



The answer is... Greek meatballs.

Ah, I hate Sundays. I am so lethargic. Thank god in times of turmoil I can turn to fond memories of years past.

MMMMM HMM. Crockett Und Tubbbbbz. Cool, collected, oozing down Beachfront Ave.,most likely consuming ENORMOUS quantities of coke on set... IRONIC, n'est-ce pas? The original odd couple- rough vs. smooth, hot dog with THE WORKS vs. fresh fruit salad, playing it by the books vs. mad balls-out gun-slinging maverick who GETS RESULTS... but there's a sinister side to this duo.

Tubs?



Oh my dear, sweet lord. These fleshy friends have gone too far. Erecting a HOT TUB in their living room? What kind of free-wheeling, onion-scented carnival is this? Imgine the funk floating around in that little petri dish.

If you call and I am not in, it's because I'm out digging a mass grave. Toodles!