A Remarkably Guilt-Free Confession.

 

Some of the ones I haven't mentioned yet seem quite content to go on ignoring the fact that I've been stealing from them for years. I like to concentrate on the pieces with a baked-in sugary stain. Even the petals, when there are any, make it easy to pretend to be engaged in a minuscule repair operation. Once the covers come down, I'm the kind of guy that people count on with all their might. What they might not know, though, is that I continue to think things through without coming to a premature conclusion. That way, when they approach me during a filtration recess, I can honestly come to their defense even if their casual attire draws attention to our shrinking opportunities for an honest attempt at a snazzy friendship.

The pilfered items, now sitting blamelessly in a storage facility which has seen better days, are estimated to have a combined value of $631.27. I know that because I went on the show using a fake name and that's what the guy said. But, it's important to admit, he only saw pictures, therefore had no idea what they looked like either from the back or on the inside. Because, you know they're hollow, right? I mean, you must have read about it, right? So, the guy on the show puts me up in a motor lodge on RT 35 which is near the studio. Then he brings in this broad who looks just like Helma Venser from that flick that won the award last year. He tells me to ask her if she'd like go with me to this burgundy warehouse affair on a strictly platonic basis. This is when I start to ask myself if I'm good for the payments. It turns out that, well, no, this is only a come-and-go type of application.

So, I round up my crew and we head for the waterfront. My first-in-league, who goes by Denny Applegate (not his real name) is in the lead car. I follow up on foot, lugging my three-speed and pulling a cart holding what few jugs we've got left. In the tan pickup bringing up the rear, there's a defunct copy machine and a three-by-five inch painting of Orson Bean's racehorse 'Jonny Wad'. This is all a ruse to persuade one of our 'friendly' guards to let us through so we can 'go swimming' (HA!), if you catch my drift. After dinner, my wife and I went out for drinks with a neighbor from down the block. Turns out he knew my Dad before the house burned down. I found that a little odd because he didn't strike me as the type of guy who'd ever say a thing like that. So, I had to, quite literally, 'walk back' some statements I'd made over the course of several rash moments. Some of us think it might be a good idea to ask around to see if anyone wants their money back. I've never doubted if for one moment, is all I'm trying to say.

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