>Ours…and The Don’s Gas Crisis
>The Don of The Italian Retail Service visited me at work the other day and sat me down at a pation furniture display.
“Don Diabeto, something is troubling me”, he said in a somber tone.
“What is it sir? Do you need me to crack a patio umbrella over some poor soul’s shins?”
“No, Don Diabeto. We may need to castrate somebody though. You see I went to get gas today. I gave the attendant a Lincoln. He proceeded to pull a cup out and fart into it. He then handed me the cup and went on his merry way.” The Don was obviously tense and angered.
“This is the price we pay for giving others freedom, liberty, and democracy“, I retorted.
Just then, I faintly heard the polyphonic version of The Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones”. It was Daniel Rothstein, of The Daniel Rothstein Blues Revolution and my best man for my upcoming wedding.
“Jimbo, I dreamt about that guy you blogged about, the crazy one that said he would castrate Bush.”
I listened on.
“I was just watching him. Suddenly Bush appeared and he was writhing in pain, clutching himself. The guy told him, ‘Now you are just a Bush.'”
I considered telling The Don this humorous story, but thought it might rub him wrong at this point and proceed to fart in a cup and rub it in my face. I told Daniel goodbye.
“Who is worth disrespecting me and interrupting our conversation?”, he demanded of me.
“Oh, that was Baby Face Pinoy. He says he’s stranded in Jesusland without any gas.”
I saw the steam burst from my boss’s ears. “I’LL GIVE THAT FILIPINO SOME GAS.”
The Don stormed off, and I fell asleep under a gazebo indoors, dreaming of gnomes and Butt Paste.