Friday, November 18, 2005
It's Karma, Not Lassie
How's this for wicked irony? My brother Wayners is "living the life" about now. You know, the one where you don't have to show up for work? So he calls me as I'm sitting down to lunch with The Golf God The Jello Shot Prince to inform me that he's relaxing at home, having a beer. He obviously thought I was in some recovered stolen vehicle in a salvage yard somewhere, covered in grime.
Of course, I was required to inform him that we were having a 73 degree patio lunch at at this joint.
As my man Earl would say, "Karma. You gotta love it!"
And while we're on the subject of Karma.....When I arrived at The Tilted Kilt, their lot was completely packed. I ended up parking at a Home Depot across Warner, then cheating death by dashing back across the road amidst midday traffic on my bum leg - the one I could use to easily qualify for a handicap placard, but refuse to do so. So Jello Shot Prince and I are sitting there chatting when this Bentley pulls up - a farging Bentley, I tell you - with its handicap placard flying, and parks in the handicap spot right outside the door. Out jump two very young and able-bodied occupants, and they stroll right in. I wanted to set the Karmic wheels in motion by chucking my extra-large glass ofbeer iced tea right on to the hood. But that just wouldn't be right, now would it? Better if I had a couple of these little fellers to drop behind both the back tires.
Back in my cop days, we used to put these jewels behind the tires of stolen vehicles we found on the street. Then we'd just watch the car till the assholes came back for it. That way, we could let them get in the car and then nail 'em with no fear of them driving off and engaging us in the inevitable high-speed pursuit.
But in the end, I decided to heed once again the eloquent words of Earl Hickey. You can't call Karma to come and help you: It's Karma, not Lassie. I'll let it run its course. It'll happen. Just like it did to this arch-defender of truth, justice, and the American way.
|
Of course, I was required to inform him that we were having a 73 degree patio lunch at at this joint.
As my man Earl would say, "Karma. You gotta love it!"
And while we're on the subject of Karma.....When I arrived at The Tilted Kilt, their lot was completely packed. I ended up parking at a Home Depot across Warner, then cheating death by dashing back across the road amidst midday traffic on my bum leg - the one I could use to easily qualify for a handicap placard, but refuse to do so. So Jello Shot Prince and I are sitting there chatting when this Bentley pulls up - a farging Bentley, I tell you - with its handicap placard flying, and parks in the handicap spot right outside the door. Out jump two very young and able-bodied occupants, and they stroll right in. I wanted to set the Karmic wheels in motion by chucking my extra-large glass of
Back in my cop days, we used to put these jewels behind the tires of stolen vehicles we found on the street. Then we'd just watch the car till the assholes came back for it. That way, we could let them get in the car and then nail 'em with no fear of them driving off and engaging us in the inevitable high-speed pursuit.
But in the end, I decided to heed once again the eloquent words of Earl Hickey. You can't call Karma to come and help you: It's Karma, not Lassie. I'll let it run its course. It'll happen. Just like it did to this arch-defender of truth, justice, and the American way.
