For anyone who has wasted their time reading my posts here on DOOT knows that most of my recent stuff is satire. If you can’t tell which of my posts are honest accounts versus which are satire, you probably shouldn’t be visiting this site in the first place. Nor should you be allowed to own sharp objects, vote or have children.
But in the spirit of people warning me(numerous times) to post a “spew alert” before I share my brand of humor, I thought it might be necessary to inform readers when I’m actually telling them something real.
This is real.
I stop by the grocery store after work today to buy wet cat food, kitty litter, Walla Walla onions, green beans, potatoes and some calamari.
That’s what the recipe said I needed. See, that part there is satire, the rest is real.
So I’m at the checkout and every employee is either looking outside the front window or peeking outside the door into the parking lot. One of them comes back in walking alongside a woman who looks to be in her mid-sixties, approaches to within 2 feet of where I’m standing and gets on the intercom and requests that the person who owns a black Honda Accord come to the front of the store.
I calmly replied, “I’m already here.”
The woman immediately apologized and informed me that she just backed into my car, damaging my fender.
“I do have insurance so we can take care of this once you’re done paying for your groceries.”, she said.
She looked me straight in the eye and spoke with a demeanor that told me she was good people.
I asked her if anyone was hurt.
She said, “No, I wasn’t going very fast.”
I told her I wasn’t overly concerned because my car has over 250,000 miles on it. Not really worth getting insurance companies involved.
She insisted that I inspect the damage before making any decisions.
So I grab my groceries and open the door for her to exit. We walk out and she points out the “damage.”
I have some white paint scrapes on my bumper, not my fender. No dents, no nothing. I bend down, wipe off the paint scrape with my sleeve and stand up to face her.
I said, “I’ll tell ya what, if you give me a hug, we’ll call it good.”
She hugged me like I was one of her own Grandkids and said Thank You.
I told her to have a nice weekend and we parted ways.
In the eyes of the gun-grabbers, I should have shot her in the face, killed the other occupants of her car, slaughtered all the witnesses in the store, walked across the street and shot up the elementary school and then launched into a vitriolic triad about homosexuals and “dark people” while looking for government agents to snipe off.
But I printed out this recipe for battered calamari at work today and it sounded especially yummy.
The moral of the story is something the antis will never fathom. We are armed and walking amongst you every day. You pass us on the sidewalk. You sit next to us at the theater. You order appetizers while we’re ordering mains. You read our bumper stickers at the stop light.
And if your lucky, you might even back into our vehicles and get a big ol’ fat bear hug which puts a smile on your face and gives you a good story to tell when you get home, safe and sound.
This is real.
