” I’ll take ‘ potpourri’ for a thousand, Alex…”

Answer: Four really good coffee cups, a cherished old gray felt planter’s hat with a bullet hole in it, a Sony Car Discman, a 36. cal. Remington revolver, several umbrellas, a Craftsman ratchet set, a small Hawaiian pizza, a sleeve of CD-Rs, a Teletubbie ( LaLa ), a Toro electric hedge trimmer, and a Blue’s Clue’s pad with erasable magic marker.

Question: Things that have rolled off the top of R.Coyne’s car and ended up in the road?…

It’s tough being me sometimes. On a good day, I’m sharp, precise, well-organized, witty, funny, boyishly charming….on a bad day, I’ll wander from one room to another, only to wonder why I left the room I was just in; and hoping that if I just wait a few seconds, the neurons will finally fire and I’ll know why I’m there.

It seems, however, that I’m waiting longer than ever these days… I’ve even taken to patiently looking around for something else I might attend to in the new location, seeing as how I’ve already gone to the trouble of going there. And there’s always a chance that the new thing actually could be the same as the original thing, whatever the hell that was.

And if I’m at all in a hurry ( always…) I’m liable to leave anything smaller than a pony on the roof of the car as I drive off in my haste. I put the item there while I unlock the car door, very time-efficiently get in, and off I go; only to notice said item flying away from the vehicle in the rear-view a few minutes later. ( Not entirely true; I have actually lost things that are larger than a pony; a 12×12 ft. wall tent, for instance, with ropes, stakes, poles, and all. Forgot to put the damned bungee cords on.)

Most of the items were recovered, some none the worse for it. The revolver was holstered and unloaded, the Discman skipped a lot anyway, about half of the ratchet set… the food items are a complete loss, of course; the five-second rule just doesn’t work in these cases. Alas, pineapple chunks that have flown into the breakdown lane cannot be retrieved. They just don’t make pizza boxes like they used to.

I sadly remember once glancing in the rear view as my then -two-year old niece Olivia was fretting in her carseat; she had only three of her precious Tubbies clutched to her bosom, and at that very moment I watched LaLa fly off the roof and into the grill of a UPS truck behind us. Olivia never knew the truth, and LaLa recovered nicely in the wash; and if I can someday manage to just slide past St. Peter with my part Catholic/ part Baptist E-Z Pass ( available at the DMV! ) then all might yet be forgiven.

” Hey, hold on there…You! Yes you, in the oddly stylish infantry jacket…you’re the guy! The Tubbies guy! Get back here! And stop crying! This is Heaven, for God’s sake! Haven’t you read anything? Where are you from, Rhode Island? …Oh, well that explains it…and BTW, we also saw you pick up the pizza…five seconds, my sainted ass…and not to mention lying… right in the middle of one of your own stupid blog posts. Just step off to the side there and wait for the shuttle bus. We’ll have to open up your case file…yes, your mom and dad are here…no…they’re not picking up right now. They’ve had quite enough of your crap, thank you. A lifetimes’ worth, actually, and enough is enough. We say that a lot up here. You’ll probably be hearing that all day… now stop sniveling and get on the damned bus. Yes…that is why it says ” Damned Bus.” And that is an ex of yours driving it…Wow. Your case file has been partitioned. Son of a bitch…Dude, you are totally …like…screwed. But you didn’t hear that from me…

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