Why I Admire Joan Crawford

Boy. Must. Die!

I decided to go to Subway for lunch today, even though I ate there yesterday and the last time I ate at Subway regularly, I gained almost 30 pounds. Jared, you lie through your fat fucking teeth.  Anyway, my personal sandwich artist just got done putting the final touches on my sandwich when I noticed that my wallet did not contain my debit card.  We’ve all had this happen, haven’t we?  You realize your card is missing, and you mentally picture some crackheads using it to buy big screen TV’s, which they then pawn and use the resulting cash to buy crack and hookers with.  And the worst part is that it’s your money and you don’t get the TV, the crack, or the hookers.  Bullshit.

So of course the next step is to mentally run down when you used the card last, which led me to call my favorite local establishment, a Chicago-themed gyros joint run by a small Greek family.  They were very nice and apologetic when I called and explained I must have left my card there, which made my ensuing behavior all the more shameful.  When they told me that they didn’t have my debit card, I stopped just short of accusing them of using it to purchase aforementioned TV’s, crack, and hookers.  “Can you check again?” I asked, which is the equivalent of saying, “You’re fucking retarded.  Can you try again, only this time use your eyes and brain?”  To make things worse, I then drove over there on my way to the bank because I actually expected to get different results if I was there being a dick in person.  No dice.

Finally, I just gave up and went to the bank to cancel my card and get a temporary replacement.  After I had sat in the Customer Aging area for 40 minutes, the following exchange occurred:

Pleasant Bank Employee:  How may I help you today, sir?

Me:  I lost my debit card and need to get a replacement.

Pleasant Bank Employee:  Certainly, sir.  I can help you with that.  Can I please see your driver’s license?

At this point, anyone who has taken Basic Comedy 101 can tell you that one of two things will happen.  Either the debit card will fall out of my wallet, or my driver’s license will be missing as well.  For me, on this day, it was the latter.

Me:  What the fuck?  What the goddamn fuck?  Holy fucking shit, where the fuck could…  I’M GONNA KILL THEM!

If you’re wondering who I am referring to when I said “them”, then you don’t have kids.  How I envy you.  I then raced over to my kids’ day care to perform a very delicate interrogation.

Me:  Ok, now, Daddy is going to ask you a very serious question, and it is very important that you tell the truth, ok?

My 5 year old son:  Ok.

My son. Not pictured: Me, coroner’s van.

That seems like a promising sign, but bear in mind that he insisted he was telling the truth this very morning when he said he didn’t know what happened to the donuts when the donut box was on the floor, the donuts were gone, he had donut crumbs on his hands and mouth, and I only noticed the donuts missing in the first place because he said, “Boy, those donuts were yummy!”

Me:  Were you playing with Daddy’s wallet before Daddy woke up this morning?

My 5 year old son:  No.


Of course I didn’t actually say that.  I just thought it.  Because if I had said that, he’d have burst into tears and the only thing I’d be able to get out of him for an hour would be little pathetic five year old sobs.  And these sobs are so cute and adorable that they have the power to instantly sway the opinion of random passersby:

Me:  You killed the dog, the cat, and several neighbors with my chainsaw?  WHAT THE HELL YOU LITTLE PUNK?

5 year old child:  Waaaaaaaaahhhh!  Waaaaaaaah!!!

Passing stranger:  Hey, pal, leave that little kid alone!  If you want to pick on someone your own size, I’m right here, asshole!

So instead I very gently prodded him into telling the truth, promising all the while that he would not be in any trouble whatsoever.  Of course he’s probably wondering why he’s grounded to his closet for a month now because he had, in fact, removed my debit card and license from my wallet and tearfully admitted doing so.

Thank God it’s Friday.  I’m going out to buy some beer with my debit card, and I hope they card me, too.  Assuming my 2 year old hasn’t got a hold of my wallet, I’m ready for them.