What's Shakin'?
My mother-in-law, or as I like to call her by her given Indian name, “Shakes-A-Can-Of-Pennies-To-Discipline-Her-Dog,” was recently accosted in broad daylight while walking her pup. She lives in a neighborhood that is gentrifying. Not gentrified. Gentrifying. In other words, right next door to the yuppie gay couple who has spent tens of thousands of dollars to completely restore their 200-year-old Victorian home is a drug addict in an outhouse who would kill them both for ten dollars.
It’s a place where the Neighborhood Watch Program is both a necessary safety precaution and an amazing form of entertainment.
It’s a place where whether or not the Historical Society will allow you to patch your siding with non-original materials is the immediate concern following the discovery of a bullet hole in the side of your house.
It’s a place where a drive-by gang murder attracts an equal number of drive-by revenge seekers and drive-by real-estate speculators.
It’s a bizarre, nonsensical stew of airport strippers and paint strippers, heroin junkies and antique junkies, lead glass windows and lead flying through your glass windows.
You get the idea.
For some reason, Shakes-A-Can loves this neighborhood. Maybe it is because she is a very religious person and believes in helping people in need. I mean if you love candy, work in a candy store, right?
Of course, that was until last Saturday morning. As Shakes-A-Can was nearing her home with her new puppy, she passed by a fragrant, unkempt man and, as is her way, politely said hello. The man promptly turned around and began to follow her. Over the next few hundred feet, Shakes heard and felt his presence approaching behind her and, as the fear and adrenaline in her body rose to an unbearable level, she turned to confront her pursuer and instinctively screamed.
The man had his junk out and was waving it at her.
Shakes screamed again and her eyes tore around the street for any sign of help. Catching a man sitting on his porch across the street, she yelled for him to do something. The response came, “No hablo anglais.”
Apparently to this latin douchebag, a crazy street urchin with his cock out chasing a middle-aged woman down the street is an impenetrable linguistics problem. For all he knows, she could be yelling for him to come take pictures for her internet porn site, “Dog Walking Grandmas With Public Rape Fantasies.”
I’d like to punch this fucking asshole in the balls until he pukes up the lint from between his filthy toenails.
Anyway, Shakes-A-Can quickly grabbed up her puppy and ran home, arriving badly shaken but unscathed.
This is the extent of the story as Nerdy told it to me after speaking to her mother immediately after the incident. I, of course, had a lot of questions. Unfortunately, to my amazement and disappointment, Nerdy had not thought to ask her mother these seemingly obvious questions.
First, what was the size of the creep’s unit, and was it flaccid or erect? Other than sheer curiosity, this is a critical question is assessing the immediacy of the danger. Small and flaccid, you’ve got time to consider the options and let out a chuckle or two before jogging off. Big and hard, though, and you better run for your fucking life!
Second, was the way he was wagging it friendly or scolding? If it was friendly, maybe the guy is just a street performer, an aspiring puppeteer who simply lacked the funding for a proper marionette. If it was scolding, then the threat is more severe, especially if the scolding seems to be coming from the penis itself.
Third, what was he saying as he flailed his flounder? “You’ve been asking for it,” in a deep, guttural murmur is a far different animal altogether than one who mumbles, “Elvis started the Iraq war to gain control of the world’s Skittle supply.”
The list of questions just goes on from there, but Nerdy didn’t even think to gather the basic facts. I mean, there’s a great story here, and all she seemed to be concerned with was her mother’s welfare. That’s kind of selfish, if you ask me.
Finally, Shakes-A-Can is a person who believes in signs and thinks that everything happens for a reason. Everything. Unlike nearly every conversation we have had, this is one that I’m really going to enjoy.
