March 7th, 2008

The Green Skeleton Bandit

Tuesday night I tried to make my way home after a long and exceptionally tiring day of work, only to find access to my street blocked by police. I drove up to the road block (which was a cop motorcycle parked sideways in the street), and was greeted by a cop who was seriously pissed off that I'd dared to do so.

"I live on that street and I'd really like to go home," I explained to him.

"What address?" he snapped.

I told him. I even described the building.

This guy's eyes kept shifting around, as if he expected some bad guy to creep up on him at any moment. "Sorry, ma'am, but I can't let you through - we've got armed and dangerous men running around!"

That was when I realized this cop was actually scared. "Just, ah, find a Starbuck's, have some coffee for a while," he advised me.

I turned around and drove back to work. From there, I could see the police helicopters circling the block. I figured it'd be okay to go home when they finally flew off. Which happened four hours later. Great. I pulled a twelve-hour shift at work, when I really needed that night at home to catch up on things.

Then yesterday this article appeared: Marshal kills Green Skeleton Bandit

So (as bizarre as it is) let's ignore the part of this that says a guy dressed in a skeleton costume was shot to death trying to rob an auto parts store, and focus on the reason for the manhunt: Police say "he may have been working with a getaway driver who might have eluded a police cordon".

Does this smell rotten in Denmark, or is it just me? You're trying to tell me these guys blocked an entire neighborhood for FOUR HOURS without even knowing whether there really was a second man? That they scared their own cops into believing that an action movie-ish crew of bad guys were roaming the streets, when in reality there may have been no one?

I hope it's just that we're not getting the whole story here.

Jack Haringa in Hell

(Kill Jack Haringa in Your Blog Day)

Jack leaned back in the expensive leather chair, glanced around the luxuriously appointed office, crossed his legs, and took another sip of his dirty martini. "Not bad," he said, eyeing the cocktail critically.

The luscious blond in the black sheathe nodded. "We do know how to do some things right here on the West Coast." She hitched a shoulder toward him in a display of body language that needed no grammatical correction.

Jack decided to play along, and returned her flirtatious gesture. "Like what else?"

She gazed at him for several seconds with half-lidded eyes and a teasing smile. "Finish that drink and I'll tell you."

Jack took another sip and suddenly thought: My God - she looks like Sue Richards from The Fantastic Four.

"Do I remind you of anyone, Jack?" She gave her short blond hair a provocative toss. "Say, maybe, Sue Richards from The Fantastic Four?"

Jack felt a brief chill race through him - is she psychic? - followed by a jolt of pure desire. Oh no, Jack - you're a married man, with a young son. And okay, so some day the young son would think it was really cool that you went to bed with Sue Richards, but it's still not worth it.

Trying to hide his discomfort, Jack downed the last of the martini and slammed the glass down. "Suppose you tell me why you flew me all the way to L.A.."

The blond relaxed into a more business-like position. "Fine. I represent a conglomerate of all the major Hollywood studios. We're very impressed with how you've turned around grammar in horror literature, and we'd like you to do the same thing for our films."

Jack was glad he'd finished the drink, because otherwise he would have sprayed it all over her expensive dress. "You're kidding."

"Of course I am." She laughed...

...and suddenly the world started to spin around Jack. He leaned forward, and realized his knees had just hit the hardwood floor of the elegant office.

The blond leapt to her feet gleefully. "Oh, what's the matter, Jack, can't handle your liquor?"

The was... "Poisoned..." was all Jack could get out.

"Oh, yes it was. It was a dirty martini, except that sour taste wasn't from olive juice, Jack - it was your own bile. And now you're choking on it."

Jack's face hit the cool wood. "Wha..."

"Don't I look at all familiar to you? No, I suppose I wouldn't, because you've never bothered to actually open any of those paranormal romances you so love to disparage, have you?!" She was positively spitting in her fury now. "My sisters and I created a spell to distill your bile, and now it's killing you. How does that taste, Jack?!"

Jack sucked in his last breath, and with it exhaled, "I...still...hate...your...stupid...books."

Then Jack died.

The blond nudged him with the toe of her gleaming black leather pumps, then smiled. "You see, Jack? Love really does conquer all."