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Okay. At some point, you're just bragging ... |
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"So how is the deportation from Saudi Arabia going?"
"Meh," I reply, staring at my cold fries with mild disinterest. "Hey, aren't you dead?"
Mister Insanity, still wolfing down food with a predatory fierceness, shrugs. "This blog has killed me numerous times."
I ponder this as he breathlessly slurps at his beer between bites.
"I wouldn't stand for that. That sucks," I offer sympathetically. "Someone should be punished."
He nods in agreement, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "So you read an
article saying three guys got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too irresistible to women. And, thinking you could use the publicity, defected to Saudi Arabia to get deported?"
"What's with the sarcastic tone?" I ask, "This is probably the best idea I've ever had. It's just taking a little longer than I initially planned."
"Maybe they don't find you irresistible enough to deport."
"Hah," I guffaw. "No, that's not it. I think they want to keep me to learn how to be a better country from me complaining about them."
"It sure worked for America," Mister Insanity notes.
"Yes," I agree. "I can be their Gandalf."
"Pardon?"
"I can teach them nonviolent resistance and stuff."
"You mean Gandhi," he corrects. "Mahatma Gandhi."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Thank God," I says. "This beard itches like
crazy."
"You realize I'm going to have to run all things LOBOnian while you're gone."
"But I'm standing right here," I point out.
"You have the emotional capacity of a five year old, you're wildly incompetent, and every heartbeat you have only increases the threat you will end the entire human race."
I blink. "I'm standing right here, you know," I remind him.
"And you're lucky I haven't called Immigration," he reminds me.
"Touché."
"So what's your plan?"
"I finally logged into my fantasy baseball team, you know, to reaffirm my patriotic American affiliation. I'm trying to pretend 'America's favorite pastime' is interesting." Smugly, I add "-I haven't watched any soccer at
all."
"You don't like baseball?"
"I only played one game," I admit. "It was when I was an impressionable lad of maybe twenty-six years old. I went up to bat, and the coach told me to 'line drive between second and third base.' Knowing I would be lucky to hit the ball at all, I asked him for a map of where between second and third base is. He chuckled and said how much he like my spirit, and said 'go for it.'"
"So what happened?"
"I cracked that ball with everything I had," I says. "But while we were all taking off our sunglasses and searching for the ball in the sky, the ball rolled to a stop in front of the pitcher."
"That's rough," Mister Insanity admits.
"He had me 'out' at first base before I even got to my telescope."
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