By W. R. Jones
Ohhhhh, I’m feeling crushed by guilt this morning. Well, maybe not crushed; it might better be described as a squeezing or a light press. I lied about that Vietnamese girl stealing my Tootsie Rolls.
I gave her a moldy lemon an told her to move on down the road before I set Mango on her. Then I shut out the lights, pulled a blanket over my head and the TV, turned the volume down real low, and started in on those Tootsie Rolls.
Now my normal candy eating approach is to drink a can of Pepsi Max then wad the wrappers into little balls and drop them into the empty can. I hadn’t clearly thought through the logistics of a Costco size bag of candy. I had to drink 17 cans of Pepsi to make little trash containers for all those wrappers.
This meant I had to pee a lot. I had to do this in the dark as any light would attract those little bastards to the door to get my candy. Thus I ended up with mutiple contusions from falling over furniture.
My wife came home unexpectedly early and caught me in the dark. Hell, I’ll admit it, I panicked. I told her that girl stole the candy, and I had the lights out because I was too ashamed to face those special, loving, neighborhood children with nothing to offer.
This brings up a philosophical question – is it a lie when it is fabricated told in self defence? Shouldn’t this be considered a self defence tool? My attorney is going to present it to the jury as an unTRUTH. And, exactly like that. He is going to turn his head to one side and cough out the un, then swing straight on to the panel and blurt out the TRUTH syllable.
The painting itself is another form of lie; the implied lie of which I have a passing familiarity. It implies there were only three pieces of candy when in fact just off canvas was a 30lb bag. I wonder what truths are hidden behind that Sistine Chapel piece?
How did slick Willie get caught this time? The hospital bill came. Apparently a fellow my age is unable to process 17 cans of pepsi and 30lb of Toosie Rolls in a single setting. I sludged up and had to be pumped out. I came home last night to find my wife waving the bill in the air while giving me the piss eye, “WHAT’S THIS!” You know, one can tell by the tone of voice that “THIS” is not a letter informing of a lotto victory.
I’m still so jittery from all that caffeine I can barely keep my hands hovering in the vicinity of this keyboard.
I know I’ve got to get help. I wrote to Dr. Drew to see if he could get me into celebrity rehab but haven’t heard back yet.
I gotta go pee.