Dear Amritsar,
Children. Ammirite?
I got a visit from the cops the other day. They thought I might have had something to do with the Capitol fight for freedom just because I was there. And, I was hitting a cop with a “Don’t tread on me” flag. I thought it was ironic; they did not see the humour. And I was looking through papers that had been left in the Senate chamber when the politicians fled (oh, don’t say you aren’t curious about what Eric Swallowacatsbell writes when he thinks nobody is looking! You aren’t? Yeah, neither were the cops. Am I the only person in the world with an imagination?) The cops thought what I had done was a crime. You say potato, I say pardon. Oh.
How did they identify me? My six year-old son Kyle was in kindergarten, usually a low risk activity, for me if not for him. Far as I can tell, the teacher was surfing the TV looking for Spongeburp Sloppydroopypants when she caught a news report about the Stop the Stole rally. Before she could change the channel, the fruit of my looms piped up: “That’s my daddy!”
Misses Gilgamesh, his teacher, froze the frame. Did you know they could do that with TVs these days? Isn’t that something? She looked at it closely, and I guess she must have recognized the beer cap with bunny ears that I was wearing (my wife, Katerina, and I got a matching set when we were married – mine were in the shop for a leaky tube, so I borrowed hers), because I was soon answering questions at the local precinct.
That will teach me to go to parent-teacher meetings!
I was let out on bail three days later. By that time Katerina and Kyle (you think that would make a good cop show title? I don’t know…sounds more like a 19th century romance novel title – just my luck!) had disappeared. I’m expecting the divorce papers any day now.
I gotta admit, I didn’t think the little bastard had it in him to turn his old man in. It would make me proud, if I wasn’t looking at serious jail time. Like, double digits jail time. Ouch! The little bastard.
So, obviously, he’s out of my will. That leaves me on the horns of a dilemma, though. Double ouch with cayenne pepper sprinkles! Should I try to track him and his mother down so I can tell him now, or should I let him find out when they’re reading my will?
Michael Flintaintinnocint
Hey, Babe,
I think you may have lost track of what is important, here.
One should never go where one has not been formally invited – that’s terrible manners! Just as you did not appreciate members of the local constabulary showing up at your house without an invitation, you should not have shown up at the People’s House without one.
And, while it is traditional to bring a gift when you are entering somebody else’s house, a pipe bomb does not say, “Thank you for letting me share your space.” It says, “Don’t put out the good China, because I will just chew it up and spit it out because that’s how much of a rebel I am!”
Were you one of those dreadful little people who soiled the carpets while you were in the Capitol? If you were, were you raised in a barn‽ Honestly, we make people clean up after the messes of their pets – you would think they would learn to clean up after their own messes as well! Don’t smirk at me and make a joke out of leaving unexpected gifts, young man! You’re not that clever and I’m not that forgiving! (Nor, I imagine, is the Capitol janitorial staff!)
As for talk about writing your son out of your will, it may be somewhat premature for that. After all, he is only six years old. He still has a whole life of disappointing you ahead of him!
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist at questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: Capitol tours are for putting into photo albums that you can bore your grandchildren with. They are not for planning routes to the offices of Congresspeople during an insurrection!