I've Been Profiled!

So, in an effort to keep the library-fine-incident from occurring again, I took at stack back to the library.
The librarian checked them back and looked up at me very, very strangely. I asked her why, and she looked nervous and asked what I did for a living. When I told her I was in law enforcement, she looked visibly relieved.
Apparently, according to the books I checked out, they figured I was either a cop who liked eating and the odd spot of lit theory, or a homicidal english teacher who ate his victims. I don't see why people found that funny - I see what some people do; no WAY am I eating them!

Problem Solved

Hah.
Munch called me from the pet store. He's buying a real rabbit to chase the imaginary one he keeps seeing. I guess I don't have to re-home that rabbit after all.
Uh, oops.
I better break into his place and make sure that's the right kind of rabbit. I don't want to contribute to pet overpopulation, or give Munch an *actual* heart attack. Well, ok, the heart attack might be funny...but no. I'll be responsible. It's less fun, but more humane.

A Note of Warning

If John Munch ever, ever tells you he knows how to deal with a heat wave, punch him very,very hard before he can speak.
I used up all my vacation days, I think, because he had the bright idea that we should pose as each other's MOM and phone each other in sick. Not only that, the stupid bastard phoned me in dead.
In theory, hitting the sale at the liquor store and buying three ice tubs - one for my feet, one for his feet, and one for the booze was a great idea. In practice? Ice shots, bad. Listening to Munch's theory that the faster we got drunk, the faster we'd forget about how hot it was, even worse.

Hot

Oh, god, it's far too hot to think, to breathe, to be alive. I can't stand the heat, and I can't get out of the kitchen, so to speak.
I can only drink so many margaritas...maybe I should try to break my personal record.
This is why the updates have been slow. It is also why I've been sleeping in the breakroom - MCS has better a/c than I do.
Oh, and Munch think that the heat is boiling his brain, and he's hallucinating about seeing rabbits.

Yeah....I oughtta clear that up for him, and I will. Soon. As soon as it stops amusing me, that is.

Poetry Day!

Bourbon Snitches

Last night
the booze monkeys
crept into my room
reaching for my bottle
I spilt the last swallow
right on my pillow
damn those monkeys
now I have to leave the house

weeping in my socks and shoes
I dressed and headed for the store
grabbed a pint and forty
walking home the booze monkeys called
“What now?”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes”
“Okay, better see who’s at the bar.”
“You’re right.”

Scotty and Joe were there
and the barkeep
I affectionately call “Double Pour”
I knew I was in trouble
or heaven

six friends and eight shots later
I mumbled “Thanks.”
then stumbled home
the booze monkeys
were still up waiting

I cracked the bottle
and opened the beer
as we began our primal ritual
soon the beer was gone
and the bottle was empty

the monkeys had passed out
I set my alarm and scribbled a note
“Dear Booze Monkeys,
thanks for a wonderful time.
Please don’t forget
to call in sick.”

as I laid my head
on my gin soaked pillow
I felt something underneath
the pillow hid a small bottle
of bourbon
“God bless you monkeys”
I thought to myself
as I cracked the bottle
I sure am glad
those monkeys
know how to use the phone

—Peter Flye

7/11

I called in today.
They asked why, and I patiently explained, "It's a religious observance."
"...it is?"
"Yes. I'll be in tomorrow. Catch you later, and enjoy the paperwork."
I mean, really. Who doesn't know that you celebrate the rites of summer on 7/11 with a humongeos slurpee?
If you know the clerk well enough ($20-50 usually fosters a fine acquaintance) you can have vodka added directly to the mix. Pick the right clerk, and they will hang an "out-of-order" sign on the machine, and ensure you all-day fruity alcohol goodness.
So, I am spending the day on my roof with slurpee, wading pool and bikini-clad lab tech.
I tell you, life is good.

A Note

*ahem* Mike Logan is not avaliable at the moment, as he is shouting nonsense about "scurvy dogs" and "Yo, ho." I have attempted several times to tell him this behavior does not suit his age or his gray hairs, and was only called a "filthy lubber" for my trouble.
I think the six empty bottles of rum may have something to do with this. Someone should tell him that *real* pirates don't just use it for mixed drinks.
Thank you, Mr. Depp, from the bottom of my heart. I've always wanted to babysit a five-year-old who's actually 50 and who feels the need to keep telling me over and over again about the time he met Keith Richards and how he's still owed $20 by said aged rock star. If you come to New York I personally guarantee you all the parking and jaywalking tickets you can handle.
Hang on a second - MIKE - SHUT UP! It's a MOVIE based on a theme park ride!!! It's NOT a valid lifestyle choice and it wasn't funny the FIRST hundred times you said it!
Sigh.
I'd go back to my place, but there's this...smell, and I keep seeing things dash around out of the corner of my eye. I think maybe the building has a carbon monoxide problem, and I'm hallucinating or something, so I'm crashing at Logan's. Hmmm. Maybe I'll check his answering machine for him...I'm sure he won't mind. Heheheh.

Back to the Grind

Ok. At work with hangover. Check messages, annoyed message from girlfriend. Was unaware we had agreed to that status - not opposed, just surprised.
Meanwhile, the rabbit is still at Munch's. Luckily, we split the services of a cleaning lady, so I just told her that he was doing an experiment, and that she should feed him and clean up after him. Once we established that I meant the bunny, not Munch, she understood - "Same deal as the squirrels?" she said, and I assured her it was.
Rabbits are weird - it charged my foot, like it was gonna take me on. I outweigh it by...well, neveryoumind. It's a lot, that's all. It's been chewing on stuff, too. I wonder how long before he notices?
Carolyn tried to call, but I had my phone off...which means I may have missed the chance to say goodbye to Axe. I hope not.