Left Of Sean

@DateFail…

ME:

{Calling KAREN} Hey, I’m here. Are you ready?

KAREN:

Who is this?

ME:

Sean!  We have a date tonight?

KAREN:

Oh, I’m sorry. My cat had a stressful day.  Can I take a raincheck?

ME:

Ok, have a nice life.

KAREN:

Don’t be like that.  I really want to go out with you.  I want to spend July 4th with you under the fireworks.  A nice bottle of wine and just enjoying the show.

ME:

Ok, I’ll see you then.

July 4th: 5:00pm

ME:

Are you ready?

KAREN:

I’m so sorry, my boss wants us to have a little toast after work.  I have to wait for that.  I promise, I’ll be there in 45 minutes.

July 4th: 6:15pm

ME:

{Voicemail} Hey, it’s 6:15pm.  We really need to get going if we’re going to get a good spot.

July 4th: 7:00pm

ME:

{ text message}  Ok, I’m going to go ahead and leave.  I have included the directions. Call me when you get here.

July 4th: 8:00pm

ME:

{text message} I decided to drink the wine I brought and I ate all the cheese.  I’m feeling sick and might throw up.

July 4th: 9:30pm

ME:

{text message} bitch!

July 4th: 9:36pm

ME:

{text message} Ok, fuck you then. When I get home from the hospital I’m going to defriend you. I hate you and your stupid cat.

July 5th: 3:42am

{knocking at my door}

KAREN:

{text message} Hey, where are you?

ME:

I’m sitting in my house recovering from food poisoning.

KAREN:

Didn’t you hear me knocking? I’m outside.  Let me in.

ME:

I saw you through the peephole.

KAREN:

I’ve been meaning to call you.  What a fucked up night. I think I’m tripping on acid.

ME:

You totally blew me off!

KAREN:

No, no.  I met these totally amazing people and things got a little out of hand.  I want to apologize. Will you let me in?  The walls are melting and I think I peed my pants.

ME:

Sure, leave me a message and let me know when you want to come in.

KAREN:

I’m here. Just let me in.

ME:

Cool.  Keep me posted.

KAREN:

Let me in!

ME:

{beeeeeeeeeep} You have reached  a number that has been disconnected or is out of service. If you feel……

KAREN:

Fuck you.

For several weeks now I’ve had that title sitting in my notebook.  I liked the title but I just couldn’t figure out how I wanted to start the entry.  To be honest, I really don’t want to rob a bank.  I mean, hell yeah, I could sure use the money.  But I have no desire to get ass raped by a bunch of Bubba’s in prison for the next 20 years.

I don’t think I would be a very good criminal.  I’m not really cut out for the sneaky stuff or actually handling a weapon of any sort.  I would probably have to use a rubber gun.  And when everyone started screaming I would get pissed and scream back that the gun was rubber and they needed to stop being wimps.

That’s when the 90 year old security guard would attack me the only way he knows how: hit me in the balls with his night stick.  I’d go down and that would be the end of my criminal career – me whimpering in pain…missing a testicle.

If I used a real gun, I would just shoot myself in the foot or leg or something.  Then I’d be known as Plaxico, The Prison Bitch.  (If you don’t understand that joke, click here.)

A knife seems really silly.  No one really takes a knife seriously unless you’re a ninja or something.  I guess I could dress up like a ninja but no one would really buy that act because of my fat gut.  Other than Chris Farley, have you ever seen a fat ninja?

A get-a-way car would be the next problem.  I drive a Lexus.  How many bank robbers have you ever seen in a Lexus? 

“He was last seen driving north on May Avenue in a silver…you’re kidding me?  Hey Bob, look at this.  He’s in a Lexus.  Now how the hell are we going to racially profile all the Lexus SUVs in the city?”

It doesn’t help that my wife drives a Volvo either.  My parents drive two Mercedes and a Porsche; the inlaws are in a Lexus and Cadillac.  I’d have to steal a get-a-way car and I have no freakin’ idea how to do that.  I once had trouble breaking out a window in my OWN car because I locked the keys inside!

Bank robbers are always seen getting away in a 1983 Buick with too many bumper stickers and a missing hubcap on the driver’s side.

Let’s suppose I do get away with it.  Where would I hide?  I’m not a criminal so I don’t have a safe house.  I don’t know other people who are criminals either.  I’m pretty sure most of my friends and family would not let a fugitive into their houses.  Wouldn’t that be a nightmare!  Listening to your mother tell you she was disappointed in you…  Maybe prison would be better than hiding out with your parents.

The real way to rob a bank is to do the inside job.  I don’t have a degree in finance so I’m pretty sure I’d have to start at the bottom.  That would mean getting a job as a teller.  Again, prison might be better.

The worst part of it all is that you couldn’t brag to any of your friends about it.

ME:  That’s right.  I walked in there with my plastic gun and a butter knife, acting like I was all fucked up on Meth and demanded that they fill a trashbag full of money.  On my way out the door I grabbed this really hot blond girl and planted a kiss on her lips before I yelled Banzai Suckers! and fled the scene.

Friends:  Dude, that’s incredible.  Did you get her number?……

Strangers approaching:  FBI, you’re under arrest.

All my friends would see me cry and that would just be embarrassing.  You would have to live with the secret the rest of your life to avoid prison.

No, I think I’ll just continue to live my humble little life in middle-class mediocrity.  Besides, I figure I’m already getting ass raped by the IRS, the Feds, the State, the car repair shop, AT&T, Cox Cable, the people who gave me student loans, Starbucks, and any number of other entities.  The only difference is that the pain is in my wallet, not my butt!

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