It's Nothing really

[anonymous]

Earlier this evening I had settled in for the night. National Public Radio was playing their weekly broadcast of Rwandan folk songs and the TV was tuned to "Lock-up Extended Stay" with the sound muted. I was lying on the couch with my laptop and was in the middle of perusing a heart warming exchange of posts between Adak, henry quirk, and tw over in the Politics Forum when suddenly my phone rang. I was tempted not to answer, figuring it was a pre-recorded message from the Republican Party asking me to add my name to the other signatories on my state’s secession petition. However some inner voice (or maybe it was just bad Karma) prompted me to reach over and grab the phone.

To my great surprise, it was Lola Bunny on the other end of the line.

“What’s up, Lola?” I asked.

“Well, I have this problem,” she said. It’s probably Nothing, really, but I’d still like someone to come over to my place and look at what’s going on. I don’t know if I should do anything about it or not, and if I tell you over the phone, you’ll never believe me. You gotta see this for yourself.”

With some difficulty I pulled my attention away from the broadcast image of a man covered with tattoos silently enduring what appeared to be a beating by three correctional officers – all female.

“Why are you calling ME about this?” I whined.

Lola couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out her voice as she explained, “Well, I already tried all the cool people in the Cellar like Foot and Clodfobble and Griff and Big V and Infinite Monkey and Ibby and orthodoc and gravdigr and JBKlyde and…”

“Ok, Ok,” I interrupted her. “I get the picture”

“And no one was answering their phone, so you’re the only one left and you HAVE to come over and see this,” Lola finished.

On the TV a line of young black prisoners lay on the floor bound together with some kind of white tape. They didn’t look pleased.

I sighed and told Lola that I was on the way. She was still thanking me profusely as I hung up the phone.

Thanks to the wonders of cyber travel, it didn’t take me long at all to arrive at Lola’s place. She was waiting right at the door. Silently she led me through her house and out the door that opened to her backyard. Which was completely taken up by a huge Olympic sized swimming pool filled with turquoise colored water. The sole occupant of the pool was Richard Parker who was doing lazy laps back and forth and showing no sign that he intended to get out any time soon.


“I didn’t know you had a pool, Lola,” I said brightly. “And such a big one, too. You can go swimming whenever you like. How cool is that?”

“Not very,” Lola replied crossly. I DON’T have a pool. Or at least I didn’t until I got home from work tonight. I almost fell into it when I went out to the backyard to empty the trash in the dumpster that USED to be back here.”

I watched Richard Parker for a while. “Was HE in there too when you got home?”

Lola nodded silently. I imagined her and Richard Parker practicing their synchronized swim moves together and a shudder ran down my spine. Where the heck was monster when you needed her?

“Have you tried convincing him to leave?” I asked.

Lola glared at me. “YOU try convincing him to leave!”

Good point.

I had a sudden moment of inspiration.

“Sarge! This is a job for Sarge! All Sarge would need to do is look at him, and Richard Parker would climb out of that pool and slink back off to where ever he came from. And if he didn’t – well, let’s just say that I hear that Sarge has a pretty mean aim with an AK47!”

Lola shook her head. “Sarge is the first one I thought of. He’s not answering his phone, either.”

Curses! Foiled again!

So, I’m sitting at Lola’s computer and posting this in Nothingland. After all, it’s Nothing really.