"Go ahead and call the cops."
A tough looking young woman dressed in male attire and sporting a crew cut entered the premises as I sipped my coffee in a Kansas City coffee house and bar. She sat down next to me, ordered a glass of water, and was promptly served.
"The root of all evil is right here, in the Heart of America!" she proclaimed for the benefit of everyone as she glared fiercely at me, the only man in the room. She was obviously disturbed, depressed and angry. Her demeanor indicated that she was trying to be what she hated the most - a man.
"Oh, no," I said, "I do not want to pull up that awful, evil root."
"Prostitutes are being murdered by a policeman, and I know who he is. I had to swim the Missouri River to get away from him," she claimed, and then launched an acrimonious monologue on prostitution as she glared at me.
"Hey, I don''t want to hurt prostitutes," I said. "My first love was a prostitute, a stripper who worked for the mob in Cal City. I loved that gal and I wanted to marry her, but she refused because she had a girlfriend."
That was a big mistake. I had spoken the truth, but she thought I was making light of her plea when others laughed at my remark. Her feelings had obviously been hurt. She got up and sat down across the room for awhile. She got up again, came over and and sat back down next to me after she overheard me tell the waitress I had attended military school as a boy.
"Rumsfeld has anal intercourse with his men at night," she loudly declared.
"How did you know about that?"
"Sociologists know all about it, about the homosexuals in the military."
"Are you aware of the fifty-five gallon drums of petroleum jelly?" I asked.
At that she proceeded with a series of personal insults and threatened to beat me up. I told her that I knew what I would do if she were really a man.
"Don''t you threaten me, you mother (expletives deleted)," she shouted. "I''m gonna call the cops!"
I, in turn, thinking that the cops might want to know which officer was responsible for the murder of the prostitutes, said,
"Go ahead and call the cops."
The owner of the coffee shop appeared on the scene and accused me of provoking the poor woman. She then exchanged sweet nothings with her, put her arm around her and guided her to the bar and bought her a drink.
Note: The murder cases were solved some time later. The killer was not a cop, but a mild mannered, happilly married man well liked in his neighborhood.
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Lynn Richardson
Good read, brought back some scarry memorys here it did and now its 4am my time and you want me to try and nod off? Not bloody likely! rofl
Hugs
Tina