Of course, that’s where mine usually resides, correct?
To hear some people tell it, it is. But, that’s not actually what we are here to talk about, of course…
The other day I wrote a blog about the USDA being out to get me. I still think they are. I’ve noticed way too many John Deere green trucks in the neighborhood as of late. On top of that, just the other day I found wheat chaff under one of our windows and the distinct odor of fertilizer was still hanging in the air. Of course, the fact that the FFA (Future Farmers of America) keeps calling and hanging up doesn’t help either.
But, again, not exactly what we are here to discuss… Actually, it was a comment on that particular blog that sparked this particular blog. Still with me? Good.
You see, a friend of mine – we’ll call her DeathStar, because that’s pretty much what we call her all the time anyway – pointed out that if one were to be pragmatic about it, the fact that someone from the USDA is searching me out just might be something as innocuous as an old family friend or acquaintance now working for said covert governmental organization.
Well, that’s not how my mind works. I mean, I can be pragmatic when necessary, but if it’s not, then why?
Let me give you an example. Several years ago there was a commercial for some cell phone service running on the toob. I know, I know, there are plenty of those. Unfortunately, I can’t actually remember which company this was, suffice it to say, it was in a black and white noir sort of fashion. At one point during the commercial there is this guy running across a street in slow motion as the announcer extolls the virtues of this particular service and the features it will be introducing very soon. The camera pans down and to the left, showing us a spot of color in the otherwise black and white frame – that color being a solitary, red, high-heeled pump lying in the gutter.
Upon seeing this I turned to the evil redhead, what with her being just as pragmatic as DeathStar. Besides, DeathStar wasn’t here… But, I didn’t just turn to her. I actually proceeded to ask, “What does that mean to you?”
“That shoe in the gutter,” I explained.
Without missing a beat she replied, “Oh, that. Well, I take it to mean some woman was having a great time partying and lost one of her shoes.”
“Really?” I asked.
E K, being E K, instantly took on a stern tone. “You’re doubting me?”
“No, your worship.”
“Okay,” she pressed. “What does it mean to you?”
I shrugged. “Well, actually it raises a lot of questions for me.”
“Is she still alive? Approximately when was she abducted? Were there any witnesses? Is it possible that there is any DNA evidence besides her own? Has she been reported missing yet? Are there any traffic cameras nearby? Didn’t anyone hear her scream? Was she alone? If she was with someone were they abducted too, or were they complicit? When will…”
“Okay, okay, lackey,” E K said, cutting me off.
“Well…” I grumbled. “You asked.”
“And believe me, I’m already regretting it.”
So, there you go… I guess maybe my mind really is in the gutter. Why? Because that commercial was on TV something like five years ago, and I still want to know what’s up with that shoe and why there hasn’t been an investigation launched to find out what happened to that poor woman.
More to come…