Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Sir Dippenschitzen took the limo into the Spiffy Lube today, forcing your beloved CEO to savor a little public transportation. With a song on my lips (I’d overseen a successful hostile takeover today–of a small country) and an aluminum-core bat at my side (in case I wanted to make public transportation much, much more private), I strolled over and waited a good ten minutes at the bus stop.

A very old and very short bus pulled up, and when I got on I saw that I was the only passenger. As soon as I took a front row seat on the Gusbus, the driver turned around, hacked violently into my face, and rasped, “Where do you want to go?”

I began to answer, but the dirty ol’ codger flashed a sly, toothless grin and cut me off.

“I just remembered, sonny, that I don’t really care where you want to go. I’m going to drive wherever the hell I want,” he coughed out.

“Why, you impudent little bastard!” I cried, reaching for my trusty sidearm. “This’ll make you behave.”

“Ha! Too late for you, sonny,” he laughed villainously. “I already had a whole gallon of espresso today. Not only can I–cough, cough–move fast enough to avoid your stupid Cane, but if you piss me off, I’ll just go ahead and piss all over you.”

“Oh,” I said. I knew I was defeated, perhaps only temporarily, but defeated nonetheless. Besides, I was wearing two Armani suits and Armani boxers and Armani socks.

He pointed an old, wrinkly finger at the Skyscraper as we pulled away.

“What happened over there?” he asked. “Didn’t you used to remodel every goddamn day?”

“Yes,” I said, “yes I did.” This is the part where I sigh and the camera zooms all the way into my pupil, setting the stage for a poorly directed flashback.

And this is also when, gentle reader, I point out that this has been a rather long and fictionalized way of promising I’ll update more frequently than, say, every other Sunday.