Jim Collins (Oldenburg, Germany) asks:. I'm a-scared Bob, I'M A-SCARED! I think the FBI has been following me and I don't know what to
do!
A: . Well, I'll tell you exactly what you need to do...NUTTIN'.
Don't you know that the FBI follows everyone. Ain't a soul on this here planet that the FBI hasn't followed, listened
in on, or harassed in one way or the other. It's their job. Well unless you was born with one of them thar' genetic
monkey tails or you is some kind of computerized genius or something, then I'm sure they got no more interest in
you than anybody else around these here parts.
In fact, I heard they start checking people out, right from the get-go! That's why, in grade school, them teachers
always had to leave during class. It's not the monthly visitor, it's not a meeting with the principal, it's not
a bladder control problem. No sir'ee, it ain't none of that.
Yup, you sure did guess it alright. It was the FBI. Tryin' to find out who them future trouble-makers might be.
Yup that's what they do all right.
And those flu shots...Oh no. They got nuttin' to do with no flu virus. Them FBI men, in their fancy-to-do-suits,
hypnotize the doctors and make 'em put tiny microscopic transmitters in your blood. This is so them Gub'ment, G-Men,
can track your every move with satellites.
That's why I never let that doctor of mine give me no shot. He asks, but I tell 'em right to his face, "I
rather die from the flu, than have my blood filled with tiny robots!" He shakes his head, like he don't know
what the devil I'm talkin' about. Maybe he don't, on account of hypnosis. But maybe he does...'cause maybe he's
a gub'ment man!
In the army, they put them tiny computer chips in my brain, and then try to control me with them fancy new-fangled
satellites and radars. Try to make me do things, I don't want to do. I know it's a fact, 'on account that I never
started to hear them voices until I left the army. It's them, they make
me do it...
"I TOLD 'EM I'D SHOOT!"
"WHY DIDN'T THEY BELIEVE ME!!!"
Ok, better now. I just put some tin-foil around my head to block that radar-satellite, government-voodoo thinkin'
machine.
Now about my absence. Let me set the story straight. Yes, I was picked up for a DWI. I told the judge I was innocent,
but he didn't believe me. But it's true! I wasn't drinking and driving at all - I swear to it!
I did all my drinking before I
got behind the wheel. But the man says I'm guilty...so I had to pay the price. Lucky for me I just had to do some
community service work and I didn't actually have to go to jail. I'm too pretty to be put in jail, I'd end up with
Mr. Big who's got it in good with the warden!
So, the editor got Dangerous Dave to cover for me. Stephen says I've known him since childhood, and Dave claims
to know me since high school....LIARS!!!
Let me tell you the real story of how Dave and I met.
I was on my way home from an FSU football game. Sure, I admit it. I had a few beers.
A few beers before the game, a few during each quarter, a few after the game, and a few on the way home. But I
wasn't drunk. Well, I got into my car and the next thing I remember is waking up the next morning with my head
on the steering wheel of my car. I lifted my head and looked around. I was parked in someone's backyard.
That was the first time I saw Dangerous Dave. He comes runninn' out of the house in his underwear, a-hootin' and
a holler'in, makin' a big ol' fuss, waving a shotgun around like some kind of crazed killer.
I pissed my pants. I was horrified and could not move. The thought of seein' Dave in his underwear, haunts me to
this very day.
So I go for the car door nice and slow like, so's not to get ol' Uppity-Dangerous Dave all excited. I step out
of my car nice and slow and fall down 10 feet! Some how my car was lodged between some branches just above his
son's tree-house.
"Crash!" I land right into the snow. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but last I figured, I was in Florida...so
the snow was a bit of a surprise. None of this made sense, but I just went with it..."Hows-it goin' goin'
there!" I held my hand out to shake...
Dave looked up, "Holy-Jesus, mother of Christ! How the...? ...HOLY-JESUS, BLESSED MOTHER OF CHRIST-JESUS..."
He looked around, "How the hell did you get that thing..." he squinted as he looked up, "You got
a mailbox in your bumper and a bald front tire."
The next thing I knew, we were laughing over the whole ordeal over a cup of coffee. It was a "Sanka-moment."
That night, I had sex with his daughter, who just graduated from college. Two years later we were married. Oh,
about that snow. Somehow I ended up in Nebraska, I still don't know how...maybe a tornado, I don't know.
As for Dave, his face turns beet red every time I call him "Dad," but I know he thinks of me as a son,
just the same.
And now you know.