Hey Kids!

I realize it’s been a minute since my last blog entry. But…

Sorry, got hungry writing that last line so had to go make myself a sandwich.  I’m back now though.  Wait….

Forgot the Diet Coke. OKAY!

Funny Story:

My brother (Carne Asada) wakes me up at 10 am this morning with a panicked phone call.  It went like this….

“Burrito!  What are you doing?”
“Ummm [yawn] working on my screenplay.”
“I didn’t know who to call.  I’m at Home Depot in the parking lot and this little Mexican guy is trying to break into someone’s car.  What should I do?”
“Call the police.”
“No, do you think I should go over there and whoop his ass?”
“No, I think you should call the police. What if he has a gun?”
“I have a gun.”
“Of course you do, but I don’t think you should start a shoot out in the Home Depot parking lot, if that’s what you’re asking me.  Especially over someone else’s car.”
“My car got broken into three times since January.”
“Think it was the same guy?”
“Probably not, but someone should teach these [racial slur] a lesson. They always get away!”
“Carne Asada, this sounds awful familiar.  You been following the Trayvon Martin case?”
“I really think you should just call the police. Call 911 and then don’t go after him with a gun. Just stay where you are.”
“But, I don’t want to take my eyes off of him or he might get away.”
“Are you looking at him right now?”
“And you’re talking to me.”
“Good point.”
“Hang up and call the police.”
“Man, I was really hoping you would tell me to whoop his ass. That’s why I called you.”
“You honestly thought my reaction to you telling me you were witnessing a carjacking was to tell you to go over and beat the shit out of the carjacker?”
“You were wrong.  At the very least I’d tell you to inform someone at Home Depot, maybe a security guard or manager, that there was someone breaking into cars in their parking lot.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“But you should probably just call the police.  Hang up the phone and call the police.”

He hangs up the phone.  5 minutes later he calls back.  I answer skeptically.

“Did you call the police?”
“NO!  I sprinted into Home Depot and told the manager and we went out to the parking lot ready to whoop their asses.”
“Their?  I thought it was just one guy.”
“Me too, but he had accomplices.  Lookouts.  They ran away when we came after them.”
“Why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“Because this was way more bad ass!”
“Did you actually whoop their asses?”
“No, I told you, the sneaky little fuckers chickened out and ran away.”
“So they got away.”
“Sneaky fuckers.”
“You know if you’d just called the police they could have arrested them.”
“Probably, but that would have been boring.  I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me to whoop their asses.  Maybe pistol whip one.”
“That sounds like a horrible idea.  I’m really glad you didn’t do that.  I’m actually glad they got away and you didn’t get a chance to do that.”
“I feel like Spiderman or Superman or something.  Like a hero.”
“Because I saved someone’s car from getting broken into. And I have a gun.”
“You know, I’m no comic book connoisseur, but I do like a good summer blockbuster and I’m pretty sure Spiderman and Superman don’t have guns.  You should definitely get a suit, btw.”
“I might do that.”
“You should, you should definitely do that.”

Carne Asada calls me all the time trying to get me to encourage him to make bad decisions.   It’s kind of a riot, except when he doesn’t listen to my discouraging words and actually does make bad decisions.  Like this one.  Which reminds me, if anyone is in the market for a 1976 Ford Pinto with brand new rims or some pet “Emperor” Scorpians.   I can get you a sweet deal.


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