Please Read This Blog In A Responsible Manner

I found this on the side of a tequila bottle. Sadly, it was nearly empty by the time I could focus my eyes to read it.

I saw a news story the other day regarding some legal maneuvering over a nasty accident in New Jersey.  Someone had driven into someone else while texting and hurt them badly.  Certainly this type of foolishness is happening with increased frequency and is not to be tolerated.  Common sense and civility dictates that someone who is operating a motor vehicle should not be reading or typing while doing so.  It’s a well known fact that a large percentage of people can’t even drive safely while doing nothing else whatsoever.

What struck me about the news story was not that the driver was at fault – that was fairly clear.  The amazing part was that the lawyers for the prosecution were trying to spread the liability to the person with whom the driver was exchanging the texts!

As it happened, the court decided that the person at the other end of the texting chat was not liable for injuries.  Once in a while, the legal system proves itself not to be totally insane, but the damage in my mind was already done.

I started thinking about my writing.  I recently reached a modest milestone in blog hits and my mind couldn’t help but drift into the dark place of “what if’s”.  While my blog has supplied me with a creative outlet, I don’t think it’s worth losing my house over.  For the sake of the legal covering-of-my-ass, please observe the following guidelines while reading my posts:

• Do not operate heavy machinery while reading.  This includes, but is not limited to: jumbo jets, dump trucks, jet boats, nuclear power plants and cruise ships.

• Do not operate light machinery while reading. This includes, but is not limited to: snow blowers, weed whackers, Mini Coopers, butane lighters and electric pencil sharpeners.

• Do not make important life decisions based on anything I’ve written.

• In the event of a water landing, do not attempt to use my blog posts as floatation devices.  Though they are often light in character, the blogs do not float.

• Do not try to amuse others by attempting to re-tell one of my hilarious blogs, my wit is sharp and if mishandled, may result in nasty puncture wounds.  Give them the link and let them read it themselves.

• In the event that laughter lasts more than four hours, seek medical attention.

• Do not incinerate – high heat may cause blogs to explode.

• If reading my blogs on a smart phone, do not attempt to walk, drive or pretend to be paying attention at an office meeting.

• If reading my blogs in bed, please do not attempt to use your sex swing at the same time, and refrain from smoking until after the blog is completed.

• Do not pass on the right or drive on the shoulder under any circumstances, irrespective of whether you read my blog or not – it just pisses me off.

• It is permissible to drink alcohol while reading my blog, as it tends to improve the humor, but let’s try to be a little more mature and skip the keg stands and jello shots.

• Reading blogs while bungee jumping has caused seizures in laboratory animals

• Keep hands and feet away from moving blog parts – seriously, are you that stupid?

No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog

The author is in no way responsible for the time you’ve wasted reading this drivel – he bears no blame for the important things you failed to accomplish by choosing to sit on your fat ass reading when there were other, more significant things to do.

Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law, but please leave me and my little blog out of it.

Willie Prader, Private Eye – Deadly Sin Series – A Glutton For Punishment

Willie Prader had a bad feeling about this one.  Like maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew.

The leggy blonde named Crystal had sauntered through the door and into his life just a week before.  For someone who made his living being observant, he should have learned by now – trouble was always blonde, and it always sauntered.

The job was simple.  She was convinced that her husband was cheating.  Willie’d been a private dick since Moses was a pup, but still had to wonder what kind of guy cheats on a bombshell like this dame.  She had the face of a starlet, and he couldn’t help but notice how her legs got together and made an ass of themselves.

Prader parked his battered Lincoln at the White Castle across the highway from the Palace Diner and waited.  The guy drove a ’68 Fleetwood, so he’d be hard to miss.  When Mr. Light finally pulled up at the Palace, Prader was amazed to find out just how hard to miss he actually was.  The guy got out of the Caddy and the chassis elevated like one the Impalas the kids drive out in L.A.  Only this car didn’t have complicated hydraulics, it heaved up because the guy who got out of it had to tip the scales at five bills or more.  He leaned down and checked his massive face in the little mirror on the door, then shifted his bulk toward the diner entrance.

Prader chuckled to himself.  He never would’ve guessed that a doll like Crystal would be married to a guy who looked like he was built when meat was cheap.  He leaned back on the Lincoln, lit a Lucky and watched across the lanes of blacktop as the round man somehow crammed himself into a booth.  The waitress was hovering at his table, spending too much time for someone who should be hustling up and down the aisle slinging hash for tips.   She laughed and smiled at him,  touching his arm as he shifted his attention between her and the glossy menu.

Willie decided to get a closer look at this little romance.  He jogged across the highway and stood in the shadows just outside the neon glow of the flickering sign.  He considered his surroundings, making sure he wouldn’t be too conspicuous.  He looked back up to the window and saw the booth was empty.  For a minute, he thought maybe he was looking at the wrong booth.  Just then, he felt the massive ham-hand grip his arm like a vise.  He was pretty sure the pain in his ribs was the business end of a Colt, maybe a Baretta.  The man-mountain pushed him toward the diner door and the barrel of the handgun kept him moving.

Light stared at him across the booth with tired eyes.  The waitress looked at Prader with just a hint of dull surprise after putting three platters down in front of the big man.  She smiled briefly at Light as she left.

“My wife sent you snooping” Light declared.  “She knows I’m cheating,” he continued, “but look at this plate of sausage and eggs with hash browns.  Do you have any idea how many points that meal is?  Sorry pal, but I can’t lose Crystal because of what you or some team of cardiologists tell her.”

Prader swore at himself as he lay bound and gagged in the trunk of the Caddy, probably on his way to a landfill.  If he got out of this alive, he’d need to listen closer to clients, especially the blonde ones.