There’s a guy I know who lives in a shady part of town. The other night, he woke up to the sound of some little shithead breaking into his car. He looked out his window, verified that it was indeed his car that was being violated, quickly got dressed and ran outside to confront the criminal.

The car burglar saw my acquaintance coming and ran across the street and jumped into the passenger seat of a getaway car. This acquaintance of mine–who fears no one–opened the passenger door and began pummeling the car burglar with both of his fists. The kid definitely got a good beating.

While the car burglar was being punched, he yelled out to the driver, “Come on, mom! Hurry up and drive!” The car burglar’s mother, in fear for her criminal son’s safety, punched the gas and sped off.

Tags: burglar · parenting

It seems that you can’t go anywhere without some type of advertisement being pushed at you. When you take a piss at the bar, they make sure there’s an ad right in front of your face. You leave the bar and catch a cab home. There’s an ad on top of the cab. Or maybe you feel like riding the bus. The bus and the bus stop are both big freaking advertisements.

Perhaps the bar is not your thing. So you go to the movies. You pay ten (or more) bucks, but they still subject you to commercials. You pay an outrageous sum of money for popcorn and drinks, and ads are plastered all over the packaging.

Me, I figured I’d go work on my farmer’s tan at the beach. Besides all the trash cans with movie posters plastered on them, I figure I’ll have a relatively ad-free day. But that was not the case. Now they have low-flying plane advertisements to obstruct your view of the beautiful blue skies.

When will they stop the insanity?

Tags: advertising · beach

When I took up a part-time job as a nightclub bouncer, I never thought I’d be looking down at a dead man at the end of my shift. But there he was on the sidewalk–belly up and full of bullet holes.

The gunman fled into the urban jungle. The living scattered like rats. Some stood their ground with misplaced bravado. A few were frozen in fear.

Among the frozen was a beautiful redhead. She was a Saturday night regular. As I made my way back into the club to pour myself a drink, she grabbed my arm and walked by my side. I could feel her shaking. “Could you walk me to my car?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“After I get myself a drink,” I replied nonchalantly, pretending that it wasn’t the first time I’d seen a man who had been turned into Swiss cheese. “Maybe you should have one, too. It’ll stop those shakes.”

A couple of rounds and a joke or two later, we headed back out the door. The redhead took my left arm with both of hers. She must have thought I was something more than the two-bit meatheaded bouncer that I was. That was okay with me.

We walked past the cops, who were busy doing what cops do at the scene of a homicide. As the coroner put the corpse on a gurney and covered it with a white sheet, I could feel the redhead’s grip on my arm getting tighter. “What if the killer comes after me?” she asked.

“He doesn’t have a reason to,” I told her, as if I were an expert on the criminal mind.

She wasn’t convinced. Or maybe she just wanted some more reassurance. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

When we arrived at her car, she wrapped her arms around my neck and held me tight. “Thank you,” she whispered into my ear. She kissed me on my cheek and lingered there for a moment before proceeding to the driver’s side door and opening it.

As the redhead slid into the driver’s seat, she paused for a moment. She stepped back out of the car and faced me. Fear was replaced by cheerful bounciness. “Can I have a VIP pass for next weekend?” she asked. I pulled one out of my jacket pocket.

The redhead skipped towards me like a little kid, took the pass and slid it into her bra. She gave me another hug and a kiss before getting into her car and driving away. I headed back into the club–back to being the two-bit, meatheaded bouncer that I was.

Tags: death · murder · nightclub

By all accounts, he was an amiable fellow. According to the neighbors, he was always there to lend a hand when needed, and was generally well liked. They were all shocked to learn that he hung himself in the garage.

His rent was paid up until the end of the month, which gave the landlord plenty of time to figure out what to do with all of his belongings. But being the practical person that she is, the landlord thought to herself, If I can get that place cleaned out and rented out next week, I’ll get some good unexpected income.

The landlord’s only question to the detective was, “When can I get rid of all his junk?” After all, she didn’t have any time to waste.

Tags: death · police · suicide

It would really suck to die with your pants down. It would be one thing if your pants had been completely removed from your body. But if they were down around your ankles it would be like, as the idiom goes, you got caught with your pants down.

Wearing “tighty whiteys” would most definitely compound the humiliation. As would drawers with “pretty” colors. I could talk about guys who die wearing women’s panties, but I don’t want to digress, because usually those guys are not wearing pants at the time of expiration.

Maybe this is why cool underwear is so freaking expensive. It’s like insurance for if you ever get caught with your pants down. Especially if you happen to expire at some inopportune moment.

Tags: death · underwear