Saturday, October 4, 2003

Hitman Needed, Include References and Salary Requirements

"It's just that wasting old ladies isn't nice." - Otto West, A Fish Called Wanda

One of my many bosses at work is planning a nice little mid-fall trip, one of her many, many vacation forays, to a tropical island in the western Antillies. Problem is, her elderly aunt is at Death's door. Well, perhaps walking up Death's front walk, or maybe just admiring Death's farmers porch. She is certainly loitering somewhere in Death's front yard like a meter reader searching for the watermeter, and, wouldn't you know it, Death hasn't trimmed his hedges in ages.

If Auntie were to shuffle off this mortal coil, then, in proper Irish-American fashion, Little Mary Wimpypooh would have to fly home from her tropical vacation and do the whole waking/mourning/drinking/arguing/burying/drinking/arguing thing. Now, if Auntie were to have the common decency to pass three or four days before the flight is scheduled, then Mary could do the proper Irish mourning, and wing off to climes tropical.

But the problem is, Auntie is rallying. Or maybe not. Allegedly in a coma two or three days ago, she was downright perky last night. But there's still enough time until departure for a couple more go-arounds; rallying and failing, rallying and failing. And it's not like we're talking about some middle-aged person for whom their passing would be for their family a tragedy beyond all understanding; this is an ooooold lady who's about to get her reward for a lifetime of 9:00 weekday masses and at least three Mary's on the Halfshell (seriously, there oughta be a law...).

So, in the interest of helping out Little Mary Wimpypooh, I am seeking the services of a gentleman with certain, shall we say, talents. Now, we've taken up a collection here at work, and we've gotten it up to about $8.37, but, really, it's not like I'm asking you to take out the Pope, for goodness sakes. One well-placed trip over a cord could probably do the job. Think of the good you'd be doing; Mary would get to go on her annual pilgrimage to tropical climes where pliant non-english speaking cabana boys await to fufil her every desire (hey -- get that mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about drink orders!! -wink wink-), Auntie would meet her maker and finally learn the truth about what happened on the Grassy Knoll, and, for you, Mr. Professional Assassian of Old Ladies, there may be some work in it for you later -- Motherdear ain't getting any younger. Or, for that matter, is Wifeypooh....

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