Keys Disease Latest...
This is an expansion of that first section. It's weird how it just sort of writes itself....
Mr. Krantz wiped the drool from his “nice white tank top” and proceeded to think. “If I’m still here SHE must still be here too”, he thought. You see in all the years that they’d been married Mr. Krantz had never been able to hide from Mrs. Krantz. Oh he’d never really tried, but it was his opinion, based on the many times that he’d been lost in department stores, not being able to find her, and the converse of her ability to magically appear just when he’d found something interesting to look at, that Mrs. Krantz always knew where he was and would collect him when it was time to go. It never failed that if he found a particularly useful power tool or a new drill bit with multipurpose functions and features including a nifty finger grip for easy removal from the chuck or a National Geographic with a particularly attractive young native on the cover, Whamo! She’d appear, collect him, and they’d leave. She had not appeared. She had not collected him... Therefore she was still here...
This is where I come into the picture. I’m a private investigator. My name is Magnum. No really it’s not, but I love to tell people that. Really, my name is Charlie, and these are my Angels...
Just kidding. You people watch too much damn TV...
I swear, if you put it on that little box and package it the right way, nearly every person in the world will get your message. Everything is “new” or “improved” or “bigger” or “fresher”. How can it be that EVERYTHING advertised can be described that way? How can it be that people actually care about so-called “reality” shows when “reality” for them is just passing by like so many commercials between the programming? I saw it on TV so it must be real… Today’s media is an all pervasive invasion of the senses that really does alter people’s consciousness. For God’s sake, people, go outside…
But enough of that for now. Or, should I say, “back to our regularly scheduled programming”?
I was at that Burdine’s to find the real shoplifters. I’d spotted Mr. Krantz at some point and knew immediately his plight. All department stores had men in his shoes every day. He felt put upon, but in a way he was happy in his controlless existence there in the lady’s department. He had no responsibilities. He had nowhere to be. He had nothing pressing on him. He was a free man… sort of…
I found him wandering the “young miss” section. I’d seen his little charade with the blouse in the business apparel section earlier too. I thought him odd but harmless and entertaining. The strange gait that he’d adopted after pretending to steal that blouse was pure comedy. He looked like a duck with a hemmorhoid problem. Quack… Itch… It was all there. I saw the look on his face when he’d overheard those two young teen girls discussing something. His face contorted in a manner suggesting he’d just landed in a foreign country and quickly needed to learn the phrase “where is the bathroom?”. He couldn’t translate “teenese”. He’d given up and slunk back to his preferred habitat, that of “the man chair”.
I was there to find the real shoplifters but I was busy watching Mr. Krantz. I’d been trying to find the real thieves for a week by then and had been fairly well unsuccessful. Oh sure, I’d caught a few small timers. They were the sort you see all the time, middle class teenagers with a little cleptophoric habit, the lower socioeconomic class “the world owes me” types, and even one richer than God political type with a serious crossdressing/dangerous places complex… But, I’d not found the ring. I was missing something and I couldn’t figure out what it was. How were these people getting in and out this store, and not just this store, a whole chain of stores, several chains of stores… with massive amounts of merchandise undetected? There was something or someone that a whole lot of people were missing, not just me. These stores had their own security that was usually at least adequate. They’d started losing so much to shoplifting though that they went with a few wild cards, people like me. They brought us in knowing that we had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Sure, they paid our expenses and a nominal fee, but the real money was in actually busting the ring. They gave me a week to do what they and all their collective manpower hadn’t been able to do in a year or more. If I actually scored with this I might be able to pay off my debt AND have a little extra to fix up my place. I needed this score and some how Burdine’s knew it. That sort of information wasn’t all that hard to procure in this line of work. People talk. Even friends let things slip… Like the fact that my debt wasn’t exactly owed to a bank…
So, there I was, living on a boat that I’d collected as payment. Don’t ask, that’s another story… a Pensacola story… I’d driven the boat down to Homestead or a little area right outside of there. It’s beautiful really, but I wasn’t there for a vacation. I was there on a mission that was economically important to the department store, economically important to society in general, and God Damn economically important to me. It was all about the money, baby, and I didn’t have time to stop and smell the palm trees.
So, lemme know what you think...
;)
Mr. Krantz wiped the drool from his “nice white tank top” and proceeded to think. “If I’m still here SHE must still be here too”, he thought. You see in all the years that they’d been married Mr. Krantz had never been able to hide from Mrs. Krantz. Oh he’d never really tried, but it was his opinion, based on the many times that he’d been lost in department stores, not being able to find her, and the converse of her ability to magically appear just when he’d found something interesting to look at, that Mrs. Krantz always knew where he was and would collect him when it was time to go. It never failed that if he found a particularly useful power tool or a new drill bit with multipurpose functions and features including a nifty finger grip for easy removal from the chuck or a National Geographic with a particularly attractive young native on the cover, Whamo! She’d appear, collect him, and they’d leave. She had not appeared. She had not collected him... Therefore she was still here...
This is where I come into the picture. I’m a private investigator. My name is Magnum. No really it’s not, but I love to tell people that. Really, my name is Charlie, and these are my Angels...
Just kidding. You people watch too much damn TV...
I swear, if you put it on that little box and package it the right way, nearly every person in the world will get your message. Everything is “new” or “improved” or “bigger” or “fresher”. How can it be that EVERYTHING advertised can be described that way? How can it be that people actually care about so-called “reality” shows when “reality” for them is just passing by like so many commercials between the programming? I saw it on TV so it must be real… Today’s media is an all pervasive invasion of the senses that really does alter people’s consciousness. For God’s sake, people, go outside…
But enough of that for now. Or, should I say, “back to our regularly scheduled programming”?
I was at that Burdine’s to find the real shoplifters. I’d spotted Mr. Krantz at some point and knew immediately his plight. All department stores had men in his shoes every day. He felt put upon, but in a way he was happy in his controlless existence there in the lady’s department. He had no responsibilities. He had nowhere to be. He had nothing pressing on him. He was a free man… sort of…
I found him wandering the “young miss” section. I’d seen his little charade with the blouse in the business apparel section earlier too. I thought him odd but harmless and entertaining. The strange gait that he’d adopted after pretending to steal that blouse was pure comedy. He looked like a duck with a hemmorhoid problem. Quack… Itch… It was all there. I saw the look on his face when he’d overheard those two young teen girls discussing something. His face contorted in a manner suggesting he’d just landed in a foreign country and quickly needed to learn the phrase “where is the bathroom?”. He couldn’t translate “teenese”. He’d given up and slunk back to his preferred habitat, that of “the man chair”.
I was there to find the real shoplifters but I was busy watching Mr. Krantz. I’d been trying to find the real thieves for a week by then and had been fairly well unsuccessful. Oh sure, I’d caught a few small timers. They were the sort you see all the time, middle class teenagers with a little cleptophoric habit, the lower socioeconomic class “the world owes me” types, and even one richer than God political type with a serious crossdressing/dangerous places complex… But, I’d not found the ring. I was missing something and I couldn’t figure out what it was. How were these people getting in and out this store, and not just this store, a whole chain of stores, several chains of stores… with massive amounts of merchandise undetected? There was something or someone that a whole lot of people were missing, not just me. These stores had their own security that was usually at least adequate. They’d started losing so much to shoplifting though that they went with a few wild cards, people like me. They brought us in knowing that we had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Sure, they paid our expenses and a nominal fee, but the real money was in actually busting the ring. They gave me a week to do what they and all their collective manpower hadn’t been able to do in a year or more. If I actually scored with this I might be able to pay off my debt AND have a little extra to fix up my place. I needed this score and some how Burdine’s knew it. That sort of information wasn’t all that hard to procure in this line of work. People talk. Even friends let things slip… Like the fact that my debt wasn’t exactly owed to a bank…
So, there I was, living on a boat that I’d collected as payment. Don’t ask, that’s another story… a Pensacola story… I’d driven the boat down to Homestead or a little area right outside of there. It’s beautiful really, but I wasn’t there for a vacation. I was there on a mission that was economically important to the department store, economically important to society in general, and God Damn economically important to me. It was all about the money, baby, and I didn’t have time to stop and smell the palm trees.
So, lemme know what you think...
;)