Okay, confession time. I need to get this off my chest as it’s weighing me down, making it hard to breathe. That might be the smokes too, but who knows? Most likely the guilt I guess. The thing I want to tell you is that I’m a thief. I have been employed as such most of my life, whether I was gainfully employed at a real ‘job’ or not. Even when I’m walking home with a paycheck, earned legitimately in my pocket, I am likely to smash the padlock off a bicycle and wheel myself the rest of the way rather than hoof it. Stealing just comes naturally to me and I feel it has been something I’ve excelled at. I took the small amount of natural thieving talent that I had and reworked it into a real profession. Snatch the purse from an old woman on a bus, snag the backpack from some visiting tourist while he’s asking directions, these things seem to be simple tricks on the surface but they are anything but. You know any old women? See how tight they are with their money and you know they don’t take their hands off their purse too easy. A great trick I learned to handle that is after I squeeze in next to them on a seat I let one go, you know, blow a big juicy fart that just reeks up the whole place. People get embarrassed when that happens, including the ones that didn’t do it and they just keep their eyes away, whether to laugh or cover their noses. When those old crotches cover their mouth with a hankie that’s when I snag that old pleather handbag, neat as you please. I don’t do this type of thing because I’m a lowlife or a cretin as you might think. It’s just what I do. It’s my ‘natural talent,’ if you will. You don’t blame a ball player for being good at catching pop flies do you? I didn’t think so. But you walk out to the driveway and see your 1992 Honda Civic has gone missing and you curse me like I used your child’s soft pink face for a snot rag. I am not a bad man, I simply have a mustache and a penchant for taking things that didn’t start out belonging to me. Actually, I’m a pretty fun guy when you get to know me, just don’t leave your wallet sitting out on your coffee table when I come over. That might just be too much for a guy like me to withstand.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I'm The Guy Who Stole Your Car, Wallet, Backpack, Purse, Bike, Gold Chains, Etc...
Okay, confession time. I need to get this off my chest as it’s weighing me down, making it hard to breathe. That might be the smokes too, but who knows? Most likely the guilt I guess. The thing I want to tell you is that I’m a thief. I have been employed as such most of my life, whether I was gainfully employed at a real ‘job’ or not. Even when I’m walking home with a paycheck, earned legitimately in my pocket, I am likely to smash the padlock off a bicycle and wheel myself the rest of the way rather than hoof it. Stealing just comes naturally to me and I feel it has been something I’ve excelled at. I took the small amount of natural thieving talent that I had and reworked it into a real profession. Snatch the purse from an old woman on a bus, snag the backpack from some visiting tourist while he’s asking directions, these things seem to be simple tricks on the surface but they are anything but. You know any old women? See how tight they are with their money and you know they don’t take their hands off their purse too easy. A great trick I learned to handle that is after I squeeze in next to them on a seat I let one go, you know, blow a big juicy fart that just reeks up the whole place. People get embarrassed when that happens, including the ones that didn’t do it and they just keep their eyes away, whether to laugh or cover their noses. When those old crotches cover their mouth with a hankie that’s when I snag that old pleather handbag, neat as you please. I don’t do this type of thing because I’m a lowlife or a cretin as you might think. It’s just what I do. It’s my ‘natural talent,’ if you will. You don’t blame a ball player for being good at catching pop flies do you? I didn’t think so. But you walk out to the driveway and see your 1992 Honda Civic has gone missing and you curse me like I used your child’s soft pink face for a snot rag. I am not a bad man, I simply have a mustache and a penchant for taking things that didn’t start out belonging to me. Actually, I’m a pretty fun guy when you get to know me, just don’t leave your wallet sitting out on your coffee table when I come over. That might just be too much for a guy like me to withstand.
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