Hey, That’s My C(r)ab!

Hey, That’s My Cab!

HEY, THAT’S MY CAB! I’ve been waiting on this line for 45 minutes. You can’t just swoop in and take this cab. I need this cab. It’s been quite a difficult day for me and I’m 25 minutes late for an appointment. You’re what? Your mother is ill? Dear God, sir, by all means, get into the cab. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your dear mother. Please send her my best, would you? Here’s $20. Buy some flowers on the way up to her and say they’re from me. Good day to you, sir.

O.K., I just let that cab go. This one is mine, sir. I have been waiting here for some time. Please, I am late for my brunch date with Melinda and she is a sassy woman. She will be cheeky throughout the entire meal and I’m not sure that I can handle it in my current state. Excuse me? Your wife has dropped LSD and is claiming to be the daughter of Jesus? My goodness, please get into this cab and rush to her aid. Send along my best wishes for her recovery. Here’s $20. Pick up some black coffee and a cool washcloth for her on the way. Tell her that they are from me. Good luck, my dear man.

All right, that was two in a row. I simply must get to my brunch with Melinda. She will not be pleased at my tardiness. The last time I was this late, she made me get down on all fours and bark like an animal. I cannot give another cab up. I must get in and go. Please, do not make me contact the authorities. I beg your pardon? Your grandmother is threatening suicide and has placed a bicycle with no seat at her intended spot of contact with the ground? Good lord! Please, allow me to open the door for you. Get there at once and please do send my warmest personal regards. Here’s $20. Purchase a favorite of hers, perhaps some red rope licorice and say that it’s from me. Godspeed, good sir.

All right, I must be off now. Melinda cannot be happy with my lateness. I just hope that she is still there. It took months for me to get back in her good graces when I missed our last brunch appointment, especially after I recovered from the concussion. Ah, another yellow taxi. Wonderful. I’m off. Pardon me, good sir, but this is my taxi. I must be off. What’s that? Your children have been abducted by spacemen and you must get to your spaceship at once to try to retrieve them? My goodness, please by all means go. One can never underestimate the importance of family. When you get to that far off place, please send your children my best. Here’s $20. Pick up some of those Pokémon trading cards. I understand that those are popular among the youngsters. Good luck to you.

At last, my taxi has arrived. Melinda. Dear sweet Melinda, I hope that you have waited for me and are not carrying any firearms. I’ll be with you shortly. No, sir, I’m sorry. Why are you stumbling at me? You’ve been shot and need this cab? Honestly, sir. What do you take me for? An idiot? I will not be duped out of this cab. Wait for your turn on the line. The nerve of some people. Driver, I’ll need to be taken to the Pierre at once. My dear Melinda awaits.

Hey, that’s My Crab!

Hey, that’s my crab! That one, right there, I recognize it. There, right there. You don’t see it? The tiny little insects nesting in your pubic region? Right, phthirus pubis, or “pube lice.” That’s it. That one right there, the apparent ringleader, that’s the one. It was mine. Now it’s yours, sure, but it was mine. You must have caught them from me during our intimate physical contact, or perhaps from my bedding, towels, or undergarments during any of the action before or after we engaged in intimate physical contact.

Are you itchy? You might be itchy. Mine are itchy like the worst itchiness you can dream of. Be careful scratching, because if you scratch too hard, you’ll break the skin and become prone to infection.

No, no, you stay back, honey. I don’t want to catch it back from you. I’m itchy and sore enough as is from this monkey bite. Do you think this looks infected? I’m not sure. I should see a doctor.

What? On my mouth? No, no that’s just shaving cream. Oh, wait … yes, that’s rabies foam. I was attacked by some raccoons last week. I was simply throwing out my old ears of corn when a swarm of raccoons appeared, as if from nowhere, and descended upon me. They scratched and tore at my shins. Surely one of them was rabid.

O.K., O.K., O.K. I’m lying. I’m not rabid or crab-ridden or bitten by monkeys. I just do not want to have sex tonight. I’m tired.