5 June 2005
135
R. Linda:
You are still giving me flack on that O'Malley joke picture. This from the woman who decorates her house with blood and guts for Halloween. Geez. Yeah, I said it again.
ANYWAY, you would have thought I had learned me lesson from all the Weasil fiascos I have been subjected to online and off, or more accurately from being a butt of his jokes. Apparently, I hadn't. I let Mr. W talk me into a trip to Boston about a week back.
I got an email from the lad telling me he was going to Boston to see U2 in concert. He happened to have an extra ticket, would I like to go? Well, begorrah me, I should think it would be a wonderful opportunity, as I have never seen me native brethren play live. Tonya was all for an evening with the girls, and so I said yes I would love to go since I didn't relish being home by meself (in truth if I was home, Ton would certainly find some fix-it project for yours truly and no, I wasn't going to be had on that).
Weas was picking up his friend Kurt (yes, of measles outbreak fame), because Kurt's car was in the repair shop, so since he was coming this way, he said he'd as well pick me arse up too. Now when Mr. W arrived he was driving a rather sporty vehicle he was. It was a bright red Mustang with duel exhaust and racing wheels. The thing looked like it was in motion even when it was stopped. I did have a premonition that any police person would pull the likes of this car over as soon as look at it. And I turned out to be correct.
In the car with Mr. W was one Tyler Lynch. A fine Irish lad from the old country and handsome too. I was sitting in the backseat looking at the two lads, one blond, the other raven-haired and thinking to meself, ladykillers in a red fast car. What the hell was I doing with THEM? There was me, lanky, older, married, boring, and wasn't I the foil though?
Well, thank the good Lord for Kurt, a meaty weightlifter type who isn't easy on the eyes. So there we were, beautiful people up front, not so beautiful hidden in the back, sleek red motor speeding along to Taxachusetts, I mean Massachusetts. One uncomfortable thing about that car was it wasn't built for meaty types like Kurt, who could hardly fit and for anyone over 6 feet tall because me knees were up around me earlobes.
Before we could hit the highway, Kurt had to have an iced coffee because he was hot. That was all Mr. W had to hear because coffee equates with doughnuts which equals Dunkin' Donuts and so off we went to the doughnut place. Kurt has a gargantuan appetite and he ordered up three dozen of the doughnuts, that's three boxes. Mr. W drove on not to the sound of the excellent stereo system, but to munching and sipping sounds. At one point Weasil pulled over to the side of the road, took the last box of doughnuts of which (including Kurt's), there were six to start with, and locked it in the trunk of the car. Why? Because the smell of them was making our stuffed stomachs nauseous. Once the deed was done we drove onward all sugared up toward the highway, full and happy.
The road we were on turned into the route we wanted by the "safety complex" (a neat two words for a deluxe police station, I'll have you know. Actually not to get off the subject, but New England has names for places just to confuse the non-natives, like a transfer station for the town dump, and a general store which includes a post office. You see the problem? You don't know where anything is because they don't call it by what it is). Just as we were about to make the turn for the highway, the light began to change to yellow and what did Weas do? Well of course, he guns the sporty vehicle through it and as he began to accelerate I saw out of the corner of me eye, a police vehicle just waiting for something like that. Well begorrah me, I didn't get to say, "Warning Will Robinson there is a minion of the law behind you," because the siren was on and we found ourselves on the dirt shoulder, blinking lights behind us, "safety complex" across the street (for easy transport to incarceration).
The officer was a woman and she walked up to us and looked inside. Now, I neglected to tell you we were all wearing Metallica t-shirts. It was a concert joke with the three and so I had to don one too. She took one look at the tees and ordered us all out of the car. We are lined up single fire like criminals and she says, "I see a lot of your kind on the road. Drink and drug night is it? I've ticked six so far, all drunk or drugged behind the wheel, all thinking running yellow or red lights is okay."
Well, the only drink we had was iced coffee and Mr. W spoke up and said so. She didn't like that, nor did she believe it. She sniffs us as she passes down the file of us, and of course, we smell of coffee. As this is going on another police car pulls up. I was mortified to be in the presence of these twenty-somethings, the only one who had a responsible job and a wife at home. I be thinking I'd be in all the local papers over this, and all I did was say yes to a concert, a cup of iced coffee and quite a few jelly doughnuts.
Backup is there and we go through the where are you going, what is your business in this town, have you been drinking and so on and so forth. The other officer said he would like to search the vehicle for alcoholic bevvies, and worse, drugs. We had nothing to hide as Mr. W told him to be his guest (another smarty-arse phrase that the woman patrol person did not appreciate), and finally when nothing was found but empty doughnut boxes and coffee cups, Weasil was asked to open the trunk.
Now we four knew what was in the boot (trunk) and oh my, it was hard not to start snickering. Especially when Weasil opened the boot with a flourish. There right in the middle of the inside sat the box of jelly doughnuts. Without skipping a beat, Weasil says, "Doughnut?"
If the woman police person didn't like him before, she was starting to hate him now. I was thinking to meself he should keep his fecking mouth shut before we all wind up in the nick (jail). Begorrah me, but they had to let us go. The male officer left the woman officer to lecture us to drive carefully and not run any yellow lights.
We got back in the car before she got in hers and Weasil peeled out of there kicking up dirt, which I be sure hit her person. I threw me hands over me face thinking the siren was sure to kick on again and we'd be pulled over. Well, we made it in record time up the hill towards the highway and there was a sign that read 55 mph, Weasil could see her in his rearview coming up fast, so he slowed the Mustang down to 45 mph. Sure enough, the lights go on, and she pulls us over again, and this time she comes up to the window with a ticket book.
We knew she didn't like the doughnuts being in the trunk and being offered one, and the dirt flying in her face didn't endear us to her either. She informed Weasil that he was under the speed limit and wrote him a ticket for it. Oh me heart be still and worse me laughter stay put. She followed us to the next town, us going 1 mile under the limit just to be safe.
As we get to the town line and are about twenty yards over, Mr. W stops, rolls down his window as she comes to a complete stop on the town line and he shouts to her, "Are you sure you don't want a doughnut?" Then he laughs and pulls off. I don't know that she didn't call in the next town to tell them a smart arse in a red Mustang was speeding through it, but we somehow made it to the concert unscathed.
I should add that after the concert we went for a drink and Weas was playing this "Brrrinnggg Game" at the pub. You have to answer a question and the question goes round the group and the one who answers wrong has to buy a round. So the question was name a historical figure with one name and a title. I said, Alexander the Great, Ty said Attila the Hun, and poor brainless Kurt said, Conan the Barbarian. As it happened, I think Kurt paid for four rounds since he came up short on the intellect.
I heard that the court date was as interesting as the drive to the concert. Seems Mr. Weasil took himself to court to contest the ticket. He would wouldn't he? I'd have paid it and be done with it, but no, not the Weasil. The officer was not able to make the hearing, too bad because I be sure it would have had a different outcome.
They called Weas's case and the judge looked at the ticket and said, "Mr. Weasil you were driving ten miles under the speed limit in a vehicle that was in running order, not keeping with the flow of traffic, is this correct?"
"Yes, your honour, I was," responded our hero.
"What is this?" The judge shrugs.
"I dunno."
"Are you contesting the citation?"
"Yup, I am."
"Well?"
"It was because I was being nice."
"Nice? What do you mean?"
"I offered her a doughnut, a whole box of em'. I had an extra box and she took offense. I was being polite, I'd had me fill and well, I thought she might like them. Wasn't a bribe, was an offer made in friendship. Later she got mad 'cause I guess she wanted those doughnuts, and so TICKET." Then he mumbled "Try to do a good deed and ya gits a ticket. I was driving carefully and SLOWLY not to spill me coffee."
"What?"
A shrug from Weasil.
"This is the first time I ever got someone in my court for driving slow and getting in trouble over a box of doughnuts. Go home Mr. Weasil, enjoy your doughnuts." And the gavel came down and that was it. No fine, no jail time, no doughnuts, no nothing. Just a shite-eating grin from the Weasil.
Sigh. You know if that were me, I'd be serving time, doughnuts and all.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
You are still giving me flack on that O'Malley joke picture. This from the woman who decorates her house with blood and guts for Halloween. Geez. Yeah, I said it again.
ANYWAY, you would have thought I had learned me lesson from all the Weasil fiascos I have been subjected to online and off, or more accurately from being a butt of his jokes. Apparently, I hadn't. I let Mr. W talk me into a trip to Boston about a week back.
I got an email from the lad telling me he was going to Boston to see U2 in concert. He happened to have an extra ticket, would I like to go? Well, begorrah me, I should think it would be a wonderful opportunity, as I have never seen me native brethren play live. Tonya was all for an evening with the girls, and so I said yes I would love to go since I didn't relish being home by meself (in truth if I was home, Ton would certainly find some fix-it project for yours truly and no, I wasn't going to be had on that).
Weas was picking up his friend Kurt (yes, of measles outbreak fame), because Kurt's car was in the repair shop, so since he was coming this way, he said he'd as well pick me arse up too. Now when Mr. W arrived he was driving a rather sporty vehicle he was. It was a bright red Mustang with duel exhaust and racing wheels. The thing looked like it was in motion even when it was stopped. I did have a premonition that any police person would pull the likes of this car over as soon as look at it. And I turned out to be correct.
In the car with Mr. W was one Tyler Lynch. A fine Irish lad from the old country and handsome too. I was sitting in the backseat looking at the two lads, one blond, the other raven-haired and thinking to meself, ladykillers in a red fast car. What the hell was I doing with THEM? There was me, lanky, older, married, boring, and wasn't I the foil though?
Well, thank the good Lord for Kurt, a meaty weightlifter type who isn't easy on the eyes. So there we were, beautiful people up front, not so beautiful hidden in the back, sleek red motor speeding along to Taxachusetts, I mean Massachusetts. One uncomfortable thing about that car was it wasn't built for meaty types like Kurt, who could hardly fit and for anyone over 6 feet tall because me knees were up around me earlobes.
Before we could hit the highway, Kurt had to have an iced coffee because he was hot. That was all Mr. W had to hear because coffee equates with doughnuts which equals Dunkin' Donuts and so off we went to the doughnut place. Kurt has a gargantuan appetite and he ordered up three dozen of the doughnuts, that's three boxes. Mr. W drove on not to the sound of the excellent stereo system, but to munching and sipping sounds. At one point Weasil pulled over to the side of the road, took the last box of doughnuts of which (including Kurt's), there were six to start with, and locked it in the trunk of the car. Why? Because the smell of them was making our stuffed stomachs nauseous. Once the deed was done we drove onward all sugared up toward the highway, full and happy.
The road we were on turned into the route we wanted by the "safety complex" (a neat two words for a deluxe police station, I'll have you know. Actually not to get off the subject, but New England has names for places just to confuse the non-natives, like a transfer station for the town dump, and a general store which includes a post office. You see the problem? You don't know where anything is because they don't call it by what it is). Just as we were about to make the turn for the highway, the light began to change to yellow and what did Weas do? Well of course, he guns the sporty vehicle through it and as he began to accelerate I saw out of the corner of me eye, a police vehicle just waiting for something like that. Well begorrah me, I didn't get to say, "Warning Will Robinson there is a minion of the law behind you," because the siren was on and we found ourselves on the dirt shoulder, blinking lights behind us, "safety complex" across the street (for easy transport to incarceration).
The officer was a woman and she walked up to us and looked inside. Now, I neglected to tell you we were all wearing Metallica t-shirts. It was a concert joke with the three and so I had to don one too. She took one look at the tees and ordered us all out of the car. We are lined up single fire like criminals and she says, "I see a lot of your kind on the road. Drink and drug night is it? I've ticked six so far, all drunk or drugged behind the wheel, all thinking running yellow or red lights is okay."
Well, the only drink we had was iced coffee and Mr. W spoke up and said so. She didn't like that, nor did she believe it. She sniffs us as she passes down the file of us, and of course, we smell of coffee. As this is going on another police car pulls up. I was mortified to be in the presence of these twenty-somethings, the only one who had a responsible job and a wife at home. I be thinking I'd be in all the local papers over this, and all I did was say yes to a concert, a cup of iced coffee and quite a few jelly doughnuts.
Backup is there and we go through the where are you going, what is your business in this town, have you been drinking and so on and so forth. The other officer said he would like to search the vehicle for alcoholic bevvies, and worse, drugs. We had nothing to hide as Mr. W told him to be his guest (another smarty-arse phrase that the woman patrol person did not appreciate), and finally when nothing was found but empty doughnut boxes and coffee cups, Weasil was asked to open the trunk.
Now we four knew what was in the boot (trunk) and oh my, it was hard not to start snickering. Especially when Weasil opened the boot with a flourish. There right in the middle of the inside sat the box of jelly doughnuts. Without skipping a beat, Weasil says, "Doughnut?"
If the woman police person didn't like him before, she was starting to hate him now. I was thinking to meself he should keep his fecking mouth shut before we all wind up in the nick (jail). Begorrah me, but they had to let us go. The male officer left the woman officer to lecture us to drive carefully and not run any yellow lights.
We got back in the car before she got in hers and Weasil peeled out of there kicking up dirt, which I be sure hit her person. I threw me hands over me face thinking the siren was sure to kick on again and we'd be pulled over. Well, we made it in record time up the hill towards the highway and there was a sign that read 55 mph, Weasil could see her in his rearview coming up fast, so he slowed the Mustang down to 45 mph. Sure enough, the lights go on, and she pulls us over again, and this time she comes up to the window with a ticket book.
We knew she didn't like the doughnuts being in the trunk and being offered one, and the dirt flying in her face didn't endear us to her either. She informed Weasil that he was under the speed limit and wrote him a ticket for it. Oh me heart be still and worse me laughter stay put. She followed us to the next town, us going 1 mile under the limit just to be safe.
As we get to the town line and are about twenty yards over, Mr. W stops, rolls down his window as she comes to a complete stop on the town line and he shouts to her, "Are you sure you don't want a doughnut?" Then he laughs and pulls off. I don't know that she didn't call in the next town to tell them a smart arse in a red Mustang was speeding through it, but we somehow made it to the concert unscathed.
I should add that after the concert we went for a drink and Weas was playing this "Brrrinnggg Game" at the pub. You have to answer a question and the question goes round the group and the one who answers wrong has to buy a round. So the question was name a historical figure with one name and a title. I said, Alexander the Great, Ty said Attila the Hun, and poor brainless Kurt said, Conan the Barbarian. As it happened, I think Kurt paid for four rounds since he came up short on the intellect.
I heard that the court date was as interesting as the drive to the concert. Seems Mr. Weasil took himself to court to contest the ticket. He would wouldn't he? I'd have paid it and be done with it, but no, not the Weasil. The officer was not able to make the hearing, too bad because I be sure it would have had a different outcome.
They called Weas's case and the judge looked at the ticket and said, "Mr. Weasil you were driving ten miles under the speed limit in a vehicle that was in running order, not keeping with the flow of traffic, is this correct?"
"Yes, your honour, I was," responded our hero.
"What is this?" The judge shrugs.
"I dunno."
"Are you contesting the citation?"
"Yup, I am."
"Well?"
"It was because I was being nice."
"Nice? What do you mean?"
"I offered her a doughnut, a whole box of em'. I had an extra box and she took offense. I was being polite, I'd had me fill and well, I thought she might like them. Wasn't a bribe, was an offer made in friendship. Later she got mad 'cause I guess she wanted those doughnuts, and so TICKET." Then he mumbled "Try to do a good deed and ya gits a ticket. I was driving carefully and SLOWLY not to spill me coffee."
"What?"
A shrug from Weasil.
"This is the first time I ever got someone in my court for driving slow and getting in trouble over a box of doughnuts. Go home Mr. Weasil, enjoy your doughnuts." And the gavel came down and that was it. No fine, no jail time, no doughnuts, no nothing. Just a shite-eating grin from the Weasil.
Sigh. You know if that were me, I'd be serving time, doughnuts and all.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment