S & M Santa
- or -
The Art of the Oil Change
When trying to do it right, is nothing but wrong
This is the truthful account of a conversation that happened yesterday evening, while enjoying a quiet moment of relaxation and introspection, sitting on a bench down by the beach...
Lou (An elderly, friendly, yet somewhat odd looking chap; somewhat akin in general appearance, stature, and smell to an S&M Santa Claus.) approaches the bench: "Hi, do you mind?"
(He points at the empty area on the bench.)
Me: "Nah, man, it's a public bench."
(Lou sits down RIGHT NEXT to me.)
Lou: "My name is Lou."
(He unravels his three shoulder strap bags; heaving each one carefully over his profound white mane; his fuzzy beard bristling gleefully. This should have been a dead giveaway. I guess the ocean’s waves peacefully lapping against the shore put my mind at ease, just a little too much.)
Me: "'Sup, Lou!"
(A moment's pause. Lou breathes in. Lou breathes out.)
Lou: "You got a wife?"
Lou: "I'm lonely."
(I breathe in. I breathe out.)
Me: "I hear that."
Lou (leaning in toward me; the odor of moldy caramel and burnt socks giving my olfactory system a run for its money): "So... When's the last time you had an oil-change?"
Me: ... @.@!!!
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