| Toyota
Plant in Japan Can't Handle Big American Poop
May 12, 2008
A close friend of mine who occasionaly works at
a Toyota factory in Japan sent me this photo from the factory restroom.
Apparently when the Americans visit, the toilets mysteriously clogs
up.
Psychic Parking
May 12, 2008
Another photo I snapped on Blanding BLVD in Jacksonville,
FL.
Stupid Library Sign
March 14, 2008
I snapped this brilliant sign at the Jacksonville
Main library last weekend.
I DON'T RANT THAT MUCH
March 4, 2008
Looking at the dates on these rants it's apparent
I don't rant that much. What do I have to say about that? Nothing really.
Me and Michael Richards
December 6, 2006
Hey everybody, it’s time to forgive Michael
Richards. Yes, I saw the video. Yes, he flipped out. Yes, he said some
ugly things. But guess what folks, people say things they don’t mean
all the time when they let anger take them over. Michael Richards grabbed
the one obvious physical characteristic he knew of his hecklers and
tried to use it to hurt them. It worked. Then, in a similar vain, the
hecklers came back with “cracker” and “white boy.” Now those people
paid to see Michael Richards, so I have a feeling they don’t really
hate white people-- at least not all of them. And I don’t think Michael
Richards hates black people except for maybe those hecklers. Five minutes
ago I called my girlfriend a bitch just because I was mad at her for
sitting around the house all day crying and I was tired of hearing it.
Yes, I said something nasty to hurt her, but it doesn’t mean I believe
my girlfriend is really a bitch and I certainly don’t believe all womankind
to be bitches. Yesterday my girlfriend called me a “cocksucker” and
a “prick.” She didn’t use that type of language because she hates men
or even “cocksuckers.” No, she’s just miffed because she found out I’ve
been screwing her little sister. She’ll get over it and I’m smart enough
not to take her angry words to heart. Just a couple of days ago some
guy cut me off on the road and I screamed “fuckhead” at the guy. Do
I have a problem with people with fuckable heads? Hell no! I love fuckheads!
Then about a week ago there was this guy I was beating the hell out
of because he owed me ten dollars. So while he was begging for mercy
like a little baby I called him a pussy, which is very ironic because
I love pussies. After all, my girlfriend’s sister’s is really awesome!
I called a guy “retard” once, but it turned out that he was really mentally
ill so I guess there was no harm done with that one. Then there was
a time when I called a guy a “wop” except I didn’t really know what
that meant. I should have called him a kraut. Then there was the time
when I was bartering with a towel head over some illegal ammunition
I was selling him and I said to him that he was really trying to Jew
me down. He got all mad and called me an infidel and he told me he was
going to kill me and my family. Now do I think that my Arab friend hates
infidels? Of course not! That would be crazy! It all boils down to one
thing: Most any name you call somebody in anger is going to going to
be offensive to some group of people. Perhaps we shouldn’t worry so
much if we have a racism problem in this country. Perhaps we should
worry more that we have an anger problem.
NEW REVIEW
March 26, 2006
I'm not entirely sure, but I believe Nunchuka' Muthafuka'
didn't like my CD. If you can't believe somebody who calls himself
Nunchuka' Muthafuka', who can you believe?
Troy Lukkarila - Unsafe Structure -
CD
(Luka
Lips) What the hell is this mutha'
fukin' piece o'shit? It sounds like some stinky hippy reject from the
Manson family spewing out crap about beatin' the shit out of a woman
and killin' her in front of a kid and that's just the first song. This
guy should stop putting out shitty horn-filled hippy-trippy garbage
and spend the money on a case of soap and flea powder. This boy sounds
like he needs his ass kicked by his mama.
-- Nunchuka' Muthafuka' (2006)
STILL CRAZY AFTER ALL THESE YEARS
January 6, 2006
I’d like to meet my old lover in the street sometime.
No, not that one, the other one! Talk about some old times. Have ourselves
some beer. Find out if she’s still crazy after all these years. And
I’m not talking a sweet Paul Simon crazy, whose lyrics I’m kind of ripping
off here. No, I’m not talking the spontaneous jump in untested water
with all your clothes on kind of crazy. I ain’t talking crazy where
you go eat at a dirty looking sushi restaurant that was sited by the
board of health because the chefs don’t wash their hands. I don’t mean
that crazy where you say “Ah, look how cute she is with her funny hat.”
No, I’m talking CRAZY! I’m talking boiling the pet rabbit on the stove
crazy. I’m talking crazy where people get shot. I’m talking about the
crazy where she ought to be baker acted because she’s a danger to herself
and the people around her. I mean restraining order crazy. I’m talking
knife wielding fucked up bitch crazy! I mean even worse than mom!
If I were to meet again by some chance I can
imagine how it might go: I’d ask her how she’s been and she’d respond
by flailing her arms and yelling something like “DHCYEIAJDFGBHNK!” just
like she used to. Then she’d wipe her own feces in her hair and drool.
Then I’d say, “You know, I have to be honest here. I really don’t know
what I used to see in you.”
MIKE RENO MADE ME VOMIT
December 7, 2005
I don’t know why we, as humans, prefer to subject ourselves to daily
torture. You see, this morning I was at my dentist. He’s a good dentist,
but he’s cheap because he doesn’t use Novocain and his instruments are
rather dated and a bit rusty. He’s pretty quick because he doesn’t waste
time wearing gloves or washing his hands. Anyway, he’s pulling a few
of my teeth and I’m crying and screaming, “You’re killing me! How can
you torture me like this?”
He says in his German accent, “Vhat a little baby you are, I am only
pulling a few of za teeths!”
I yell back the best I can with a pair of pliers in my mouth, “It’s
not the tooth pulling, it’s the music!” Blasting from the office speakers
is one of the worst songs to come out of the 80’s. Mike “Loverboy” Reno
and Ann “I Was Quite a Heifer There for a While” Wilson cry out:
Whoa-oa
ALMOST PARADISE
We're knocking on heaven's door
ALMOST PARADISE
How could we ask for more?
I swear that I can see forever
in-your-eyes
PAR-A-DISE
My dentists laughs, points to his lobes and says, “Dat iz vhy I vhere
deez earplugz.”
“Have mercy!” I plead.
He says, “You be quiet now or I play ze entire Footloose zoundtrack!”
Then Mike Reno’s screams the chorus again which does something permanently
detrimental to my inner ear causing me dizziness and nausea. I vomit,
and because my head is strapped down, I almost drown.
What kind of sick, inhumane people would produce a song like this? What
kind of society would make a hit out of that crap and distribute it
through public airwaves? What happened to basic human decency? Is Pinhead
in control of Clear Channel? Fortunately, I’m bleeding so profusely
from my tooth sockets that I pass out due to blood loss. Next time I
visit my dentist I’ll make sure to wear my earplugs.
Skinny Guy
October 30, 2005
In the entrance of the local grocery there is a big scale. Not a fish
scale or a music scale, but a weight scale. I guess it’s so people can
weigh themselves and know how much food they need to buy. Golly,
I’m skinny today. I guess I better fatten myself up with lots of fatty
food. Or Gee whiz, I didn’t know I was such a lard ass until
I stepped on this grocery scale. I better purchase over-priced heath
food. So my girlfriend and I are leaving the store and there’s this
skinny guy standing on the scale. My girlfriend glances over at what
the needle is reading then turns and whispers loudly to me, “My god!
That guy weighs less than I do!”
I say, “Yeah. What do you want me to do about it?”
She says, “I want you to kick his ass!”
So next thing you know, she’s gone home and I’m standing outside the
Publix waiting on this skinny son of a bitch to exit so I can kick his
ass. Fall is here and I’m chilly and my patience is short—I mean how
much food does a little fucker who weighs less than my girlfriend have
to buy? It can’t take long!
Finally! He emerges with his cart full of health food. He appears to
be a vegetarian. Anyway, I start pummeling him. He’s pretty easy to
take. He’s crying and trying to give me money and I’m like, “I don’t
want your fucking money! What do I look like, a thief?”
He’s practically squealing, “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
“Because my girlfriend has a borderline eating disorder and you’re skinnier
than her!”
One hit on his glass jaw leaves skinny boy unconscious on the ground.
It’s at this point I think it would be funny to stuff a hotdog (bun
and all) into his gaping mouth, but alas, failure to plan ahead is a
personal weakness of mine. So I leave with a slight feeling that the
job’s not complete, but I tell my girlfriend about it all and she’s
satisfied, so I guess that’s what’s important. She’s a good woman. Really.
An abomination of nature created by years of inbreeding:
The Chihuahua
April 11, 2005
I grew up in the hills of Tennessee. When I was a kid the popular dog
for the “redneck in denial” was the chow. I say “redneck in denial”
because these rednecks were ignorant of the fact that they were rednecks.
You see, the common “self-aware” redneck is proud of his/her hickdom.
They are easily identifiable. These rednecks proudly display their rebel
flag on the back of their truck with the oversized wheels. They own
rottweilers or pit bulls. But the “redneck in denial” is another breed
of redneck who believes that the surrounding people don’t recognize
them as the lowlife rednecks they are. These rednecks believe they’re
being suave by purchasing an “exotic” dog like the chow. Now, years
later, chows and mutt decedents litter the south so the rednecks in
denial have moved on. The new “exotic” animal of choice by these dimwits
is the dreadful and partially-retarded Chihuahua. The south is becoming
infested with these terrors.
My current redneck neighbors weren’t happy with simply owning one of
these wretched creatures. No, they breed the little shits, which, in
my opinion, is pretty much equivalent to breeding cockroaches. They
have 15 or more of the so-called dogs and any noise sets them off barking.
I once sneezed in my own house and it set them off barking. One of them,
especially, sounds like it’s being killed when it barks. In fact I wouldn’t
really call it a bark—it’s more like the wraiths from the Lord of the
Rings movie. And they’re so stupid that even though they see me every
day in my own friggin’ yard they still bark at me. Why? Why? Why would
anybody keep such an awful creature in their house?
Hear it for yourself! Check out the actual sounds of these horrible
animals recorded from my bedroom. (Sorry about the buzz)
Chihuahuas.mp3
Then one day the shit hit the fan when the bitch that the rednecks keep
impregnating died while giving birth. Now even a fairly simple mind
would conclude that she died because she’s given birth too many times
and there were some complications this time. Nope, not redneck woman.
Instead, she decided her dog died because I poisoned it. “You poisoned
my dawg! Yer lucky we don’t have an autopsy done and have you sent to
jail!”
So I’m throwing in the towel. The neighbors hate me. I hate the neighbors
and I especially hate those little four-legged fucks! I’m moving into
a new house where there are supposedly less rednecks in the hood.
Yesterday I was in the yard of my house to be when my future neighbor
approached me barefoot and shirtless. He said, “Gawddamn the luck! I
just bought this new pit bull pup and I’ll be damned if he didn’t get
a damned fishing hook stuck I his lip! Damn! If that ain’t bad luck!”
“Where did he find a fishing hook?” I asked.
“Well I took him fishing with me.”
“Yeah, that sucks,” I said. But I meant for me, not him.
DONO
February 22, 2005
Ladies and gentlemen, I present my friend Donnie "Dono" Madgett
performing live!
SIGNS
December 5, 2004
I just returned from touring London, Paris and Dublin. I suppose
there's much to be said about my trip... maybe later. Will you get
off my back already? Anyway, I took a photo of a sign in each
city.
|
|
DUBLIN I
snapped this one next to the bathroom sink in the famed
Guinness Storehouse where Guinness beer is made. The
big question: Is this the same water that's used in
the beer? |
|
 |
LONDON I
guess this is what an "unauthorized person" looks like in
London. I guess if your a swinger, disco dancer, you're
out of luck. Taken in
London's Transport museum.
|
|
 |
PARIS
This sign has no explanation. I
figure it has three possible meanings:
1. No holding children's hands.
2. No kidnapping children.
3. No loving midgets.
|
Not much of a rant I guess. Life is just silly.
The
Neighbors Hate My Baby!
October 18, 2004
My neighbors have littered their yard with tacky Halloween decorations.
They have a giant blow-up ghost. They have a giant blow-up Frankenstein
monster. They have a witch who has tragically killed herself by apparently
ramming into a tree at a very high velocity. I guess night flying has
its disadvantages.
This year I thought I'd get into the spirit, join the fun and decorate
the yard a little bit. So I go to the flea market to find some treasures.
A guy sells me a realistic looking baby doll for a mere buck. What a
deal!
I go home, douse my little baby in fake blood and hang her by the neck
from the tree in the front yard. Next thing you know, the neighbors
are complaining saying my Halloween decoration is tasteless and goes
over the line.
I just don't understand what everybody has against my poor little naked,
bleeding baby. She never hurt anybody! She doesn't deserve this kind
of discrimination! Meanwhile, the neighbors, who are apparently experts
on where the "tasteful" line is drawn, proudly display their
stupid witch in the yard. Well I have news for them-- witches have a
history of cooking and eating children! I also happen to know that the
Frankenstein monster has killed at least one child by throwing her in
a pond and drowning her. But NOBODY has EVER been killed by a deranged
bloody baby! NEVER! So she really doesn't deserve this kind of treatment.
I'm sorry poor little bleeding baby. I'm sorry the neighbors hate you,
but I'll always love you.
Back from Central America
September 20, 2004
I have a dead laptop computer. In other words, I have a $1,400
door stop on my hands. But I'm not going to rant on that now.
No, I'm not going to go into how unhappy I am with this piece if crap
computer and the maker. And I'm am most definitely not to
bore you, dumb reader, with the list of hardware problems I've encountered
from the beginning with this computer and how it has basically fallen
apart in little over a year. I am not even going to mention the
brand name of this computer, except that the initials are HP.
I recently returned from Costa Rica. I kept a log that you might
find entertaining. It's certainly more interesting than hearing
about my computer problems.
Here it is in Word
format: Costa Rica.doc
W.W.Gay
June 23, 2004
On the roads of Jacksonville, Florida I often notice
large blue trucks that belong to a certain building contracting company
named W.W. Gay. The out of the ordinary feature these trucks have in
common is they sport bumper stickers that read, "If 10% is enough for
God then it should be enough for the IRS."
First off, my question to Mr. Gay and company is why does God needs
10% of your money anyway? Is God short of cash? Does God have bad credit
and can't get a loan? Didn't He manage to create an entire universe
before money was even invented? I tend to believe God is smart enough
to figure out a way to make money. He should write another book and
this time make sure He gets it copyrighted and collects royalties. The
G-man is pretty well known and I'm sure the book would be a bestseller.
Hell, if God plays his cards right, he could score a huge advance before
he types the first "thou" or "shalt."
Now I know there are a few Mormons out there saying right now, "But
God did write another book!" My response to them is this: No He didn't,
and I don't care about the opinion of people whose religion makes them
wear special underwear. That's why I could never become a Mormon- because
my SpongeBob boxers rock! Oh, and another thing I want to say to any
Mormon who happens to be reading this so I'm not dismissed as total
jerk: Every Mormon I ever met was really nice and a very hard worker.
It's true. But you people are crazy, nonetheless.
Oh, I'm digressing… Troy gets an F! W.W. Gay's bumper sticker is what
I'm addressing here. The bumper stickers are dumb! Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!
Most people get this concept without it being explained, but for the
benefit of Mr. Gay and company, here goes:
God and the government are two completely different entities that provide
two completely different functions. God created the universe and puts
people like Celine Dion in hell after they die. The government is just
a bunch of jerks who we kind of elect to represent us and pass laws.
The bumper sticker is like saying I bought a twelve pack of Schlitz
for $5.95 so I should be able to fix my car for $5.95. You see?
They ain't the same, schmuck! Whatever you think you owe God is irrelevant.
Now I think you should give all your employees a nice 10% raise for
subjecting them to the humiliation of driving around town with that
idiotic bumper sticker. It's what Jesus would do.
The Grocery Store
April 21, 2004
So I go to the grocery
store today to pick up some extra large condoms. I'm walking to the
ten items or less line and this asshole darts in front of me. Yep, he
practically sprints to beat me while I was merely three steps from the
checkout line. But unfortunately for him I've always considered myself
an expert at passive defense. So I played it cool for a minute while
we're waiting in line then I discreetly wiped a booger on his shirt.
In the past, I've always successfully pulled off this little maneuver
without getting caught. At the most, I've had to do is say "excuse me"
to any victim who happened to notice their personal space was invaded.
But this guy turns and looks angrily at me and asks, "Did you just wipe
a booger on me?"
I look at him like the whole concept is
crazy. "Of course I didn't wipe a booger on you!"
He looks at the prize on his shirt, "You
bastard! You did wipe a booger on me!"
And I'm like, "Look, I didn't wipe a booger
on your shirt! That's disgusting!"
He looks at the other guy behind me and
asks him, "Did this guy just wipe a booger on me?"
And that guy says, "Yes. Yes he most certainly
did wipe a booger on you."
So now I know I'm busted, "OK! OK! I WIPED
A BOOGER ON YOU! BIG DEAL! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO? CALL THE BOOGER POLICE?"
And at that moment, he placed his finger
on the side of his nose and with the accuracy of Robin Hood, blew out
a mucus ball from a nostril that hit me square in the chest.
All I could say was, "Touché, my friend.
Touché!"
The E. Coli Buffet
February 25, 2004
My monthly assholes anonymous meeting is held at one of those popular buffet restaurants. You know the place--it epitomizes the whole attitude and over indulgence of America. Their motto should be "It's a bunch of crap, but damn, ain't there a lot of it?" It's funny, because there is not one item on the vast buffet that stands on its own. In fact, if there comes a time when I order a dish in a typical restaurant and they put crap in front of me that's anything like what's on that buffet, I'll tell them to keep it. But hey, the buffet is "all you care to eat" so we go to town. People want to get their money's worth so they create great towers of Babel upon their plates and ingest them until it hurts- oh the sweet pain of overeating!
Outside the great buffet is a whole row of handicap parking spaces filled with giant SUV's sporting handicap tags. But the same people who drive these vehicles navigate the buffet like Olympic ballet champs. Those jerkoffs aren't handicapped at all! They just have the tag because they're fat and they're fat because they hang out at the "all you care to eat" buffets and they're so fucking lazy that they can't even walk an extra 25 feet to their SUV and they believe they deserve special parking rights for this! But I guess I should cut them some slack, their time on earth will be severely shortened. There has been more than one occasion where I witnessed the ambulance arrive and remove a large pile of fat from the premises. In fact, one time I was standing in a ridiculously long "admission" line with a bunch of other strangers when a guy in front of me collapsed grasping his heart. Somebody called 911, but other than that we pretty much went about our business and ignored the guy. The line adjusted around him and I remember thinking, "Alright! Now I will get to the buffet faster!"
The biggest problem I have with the buffet is not with the food, but with the patrons. Frankly, I just don't like average Joe Slob getting anywhere close to anything I eat. I like the fact that these days in most restaurants, the cook staff wear plastic gloves. And even though they touch things with the gloves and contaminate them, I still can be pretty sure they weren't wearing them while they were wiping their ass. Just today, I was in the bathroom at the buffet, and a guy came out of the stall and didn't wash his hands. Probably the same guy who just drops the thongs in the middle of the salad when he's done with them.
There was another instance a few years back when I saw a kid puke next to the buffet. About ten minutes later a staff member emerged with a damp mop and spread the puke around a bit. I was pretty disgusted, but the puke didn't stop people from braving the slippery yet chunky floor to get to the lukewarm, mediocre tasting food. Hey, it's all you can eat!
So what happened with that stupid thief? A follow-up
January 17, 2004
 Hello,
Woody!
A herd of people (ok, two guys) has demanded a follow-up to the story below (not right below, the one before that! Jeez!) where I bravely caught a big, stupid, jerk thief with my web cam. "Did they ever arrest that asshat?" they ask.
So this is what happened… settle down, will you?
After his vacation, our friendly officer kept his word and he eventually obtained an arrest warrant for our thief.
Our dumb thief's name is {drum roll}… Woodrow McGuire, Jr.
He has a previous arrest record. I guess he can't shake that sticky from his fingers.
We received a letter from Assistant States Attorney, Jeremy J. Ches, with the following information:
State V. Woodrow McGuire, Jr
This is to advise you that the prosecution in the above-referenced case has been completed. Below is the pertinent data for your information.
Charge: Petit Theft
Disposition: Adjudicated Guilty
Date: December 14, 2003
Sentence: $250.00 court costs, 60 days jurisdiction reserved for restitution, 2 days County jail
And no, we didn't get any of our stuff back!
Happy New Year!
Watch the movie (DumbThief.AVI) 999kb
Hey you assholes!
December 13, 2003
This time of year I'm like the rest of the mindless drones walking around crowded marts doing my best to figure out what stupid gifts I'm going to give my stupid friends and family. Whatever I get them, they'll hate it. And I too will give a class-A performance when I recklessly tear open that carefully wrapped present to reveal my new… my new… what the hell is that? Oh, a dream catcher you say? Well isn't that super? I will pretend to treasure it forever- or at least as long as the friendship lasts. I have a special place for it in the garage next to my healing stones.
While I was roaming the isles of consumer hell, it occurred to me that our system of manners is skewed. I repeatedly found myself saying "excuse me" to the brainiacs who cleverly block isles by strategically placing their cart and their fat ass in such a manner that even water couldn't pass. There seems to be a large percentage of people here in the U.S. who have no conception that their body has mass and takes up space and that another body cannot occupy that space at the same time. So I'm constantly finding myself saying "excuse me" and they look at me like I've just inconvenienced them and move out of the way at the speed of legless cattle. These are the same group of people I'm always be stuck behind when I'm trying to get off an airplane. The moment they are beyond the safety of the rope paths they stop dead and look around like they are suddenly surprised to find themselves in an airport. They're like "Golly Mabel, this ain't our house at all! What we gonna do now?" It doesn't matter that they have a hundred people behind them ready to chew off their own leg if it would get them out of that cramped capsule any faster.
So what I propose is a change in the rules. No longer do we say "excuse me" to people who are too rude to move out of our way. They obviously aren’t learning. In lieu of verbal communication to these lunkheads, I propose we simply bash into them with our shopping carts. When no shopping cart is available, a good push or a firm kick in the ass will effectively convey the message. At least that's what I'm doing now. Merry friggin' Christmas, moron!
Nice cops, not so nice cops and Lowe's
December 5, 2003
Smile, dumbass! You're on the
Lukalips cam!
Until recently, I was the proud owner of a lawnmower. This lawnmower was nothing fancy. It was beat up and it leaked oil. However,
thanks to a good friend who fixed it for me, it was ready to do the job it was
built to do, that is cut off the heads of unsuspecting blades of grass.
When that same friend of mine and I were transporting my great cutting machine by way of his pickup
truck I came up with the brilliant idea that perhaps I should buy a chain and lock in order to protect my
little turf chopper from the bad people who like to take precious objects that do not belong to them. We parked exactly six spaces from the exit doors of the big brand new Lowe's that was recently built here in Jacksonville Florida.
I made a mistake. I made a mistake to assume that an old, greasy lawnmower tied up in the back of a truck only six parking spaces from the Lowe's exit would be safe from harm during that small amount of time it takes to buy a chain and lock. My precious lawnmower was gone when I returned. Some unethical scum felt he (yes, lets face it, he was a man) was more deserving of my lawnmower than me and that same scoundrel decided to help himself. As I stood holding the bag containing my new lock and chain
looking at the empty space where moments ago I had a lawnmower I heard the irony buzzer ring.
I filed a police report. The officer was friendly and helpful. He was a young man and my guess is that he hasn't been on the force long enough for the thankless job to wear him down to bitterness. He told me that several reports were being filed daily due to the out of control theft at the great new Lowe's. I got a similar story from the head of security as Lowe's. Like the police officer, he was also a very friendly and approachable individual. I told the security manager that since Lowe's sells security cameras, perhaps they should install a few in their parking lot, but I guess the matter is really beyond his control.
So I said to my friend, "Why don't we catch this guy since the police and Lowe's can't seem to get a handle on it?" Another brilliant idea- even better than the idea to buy a lock for the lawnmower!
After a few days passed, we set up a little motion-sensing camera in the back of the truck. We filled a large toolbox with some worthless bricks to use as bait and made our way to the new Lowe's. My friend parked his truck and casually walked into Lowe's while I sat cleverly in my own automobile several rows away keeping a watchful eye using my binoculars. The trap was set.
It was quick. Before my friend was even through the front door of Lowe's a Buick pulled up beside his truck. The driver remained in the car for several minutes. Then he opened his trunk a stood for a few more minutes between the two vehicles doing his best to look nonchalant as he smoked his cigarette. Then he jumped into action. He cut the rope that "secured" the toolbox, threw the box into the Buick's trunk and made off like a bandit with his brand new set of bricks. We had him. I had his license tag number, as well as a beautiful video recording of his witless mug committing the crime.
I went into Lowe's to report the incident to their security department. As briefly as possible I told the Lowe's employee at the customer service desk that I was just robbed and I needed to talk to somebody in charge of security.
"He's off today. We don't have anybody here."
I was surprised. It was about 2:00 p.m. in the middle of the week and there was no security at Lowe's. I had to verify, so I repeated what I was just told, "You don't have one person in security here today?"
"No, he can't work all the time."
The police officer arrived with a scowl on his face. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt- maybe he just naturally looked pissed off, but it was true- the man wasn't happy. We got a lecture. We were told that if either my friend or I had remained with the truck to secure it, this incident wouldn't have happened and he wouldn't "have to waste time writing a report."
I reminded the officer that we just saved future reports from being made because we caught the thief.
The officer and I never did see eye to eye on this issue, perhaps because he never bothered to get out of his patrol car. After he filled out the necessary forms he told us that he was going on vacation starting tomorrow and wouldn't be able to follow up with the case for a week. So our sneaky little thief has another week to rob the unsuspecting customers at the new Lowe's. Beware.
And now for your viewing pleasure, I present my thief video. Note the American flag on the shirt of our perpetrator. He is a patriotic thief! Perhaps he believes he his helping our country by promoting consumerism. After all, I have to buy a new lawnmower thanks to him.
Watch the movie (DumbThief.AVI) 999kb
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