September 15, 2003

Filthy Lie #4

This is disgusting, disheartening, and wrong. I caught Glenn Reynolds going through my TRASH out back.

No, really, I did. I was suspicious when I heard a familiar bell, and I looked out my back window in my kitchen toward the patio, and there he was! The small child's bike was parked against my fence. Glenn had set the bags of used cat litter (yes, Mom, I edited that for you) aside and was sifting through my garbage, separating the chicken bones from the paper. He had a DOG with him; said pooch was tied to the fence by the bike.

"WHATEVER ARE YOU DOING?!?" shouted I. Glenn looked up at me, miffed. "Why, I'm looking for all of your private information so that I can assume your identity." Shocked, appalled, and mildly frightened, I grabbed a Cutco kitchen knife, stormed out the screen door, and waved the weapon at Reynolds. "Out, and away!" I shouted. "And leave the dog if you know what's good for you." He did not budge. At the top of my lungs, I began to sing Copacabana, by Barry Manilow.

Reynolds screeched and pedalled away, his pockets full of paper. He was afraid of my skill with a chopping knife, perhaps. Doubtful, I think it was the word "Lola." Good thing to know. Oh, and luckily, I shred all of my paper, so my identity is safe.

When Brian arrived home, I told him of the day's drama. He frowned, and, in typical Brianesque fashion, became immediately concerned. "Heather," he said. "They can reconstruct those documents even if they've been shredded." All was quiet for a moment. I mentioned then that all that should be in the garbage for this week are a bunch of cash receipts for the grocery. All was well, except I felt I'd better tell him about the dog...

A week later, after perfecting his plotted science, Brian brought this proposal to me and to the world, after first testing it on himself and our animals. You see, Alliance Members, we can keep our secrets from the evil one.

Let a lesson be learned. Destroy your vital secrets, and use your body (and those of others) as weapons.

Down at the Copa, Copacabaaaaaaaaana...


Posted by hln at September 15, 2003 07:00 PM | Filthy Lies | TrackBack