Pass-o-apocalypse is coming
Published: Thursday, May 15th, 2014
“Hey, man this is like, police brutality or something. These aren’t even my pants!”
My old pal, Officer Lumpy was propelling a handcuffed tweaker past me on his way out of the big-box retail store.
Without shifting his lip-lock on his unlit cigar, he pronounced his verdict: “Yer just too dumb to live, aren’tcha? Just bad luck ya stole some other guy’s pants, an’ they already had meth in ‘em! What are tha odds? An’ then ya dropped that baggie on the floor at the checkout while you were trying to get out that stolen credit card? Outlaw life’s hard, ain’t it?”
With that, he quickly stuffed the dirty dude into the back seat of his scruffy, 10-year-old black-and-white. He paused to fire up his stogie and noticed me.
“Hey college boy, long time no see. Where ya been?”
“Dealing with life changes, Lumpy. I quit my job…” Just then, our old buddies Harmful Government Ray and Nervous Ned came out the sliding doors past us, laboring behind two cart-loads of ammunition boxes.
“Ha! I knew it was them guys buyin’ all tha ammo up an’ hoardin’ it! That’s how come I can’t buy no .22 ammo nowadays!”
Ned looked at Lumpy and gulped. Ray stuck his head down into his coat collar and pretended he didn’t see the grizzled old street monster. They turned their carts-o-doom around and scuttled back into the store like oversized rats.
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