The reporter who was threatened by the thug congressman last night evidently decided not to do anything about it. I don't get that. Someone threatens me, I'm gonna act on it. I'm gonna call the cops on him.
I haven't thrown a punch at anyone in years, but someone gets in my face to that extent...I don't know what will happen.
I come by this naturally. Way back when I was a kid, my parents gave me money and sent me out to buy athletic shoes. This was the first time I was allowed to shop by myself. The shoe store manager sold me a crap pair of shoes that didn't fit right. They weren't even the shoes I wanted or had asked for. My dad was furious. He was certain the store manager had dumped a leftover from last year's stock on me. So we went down to the shoe store. My dad stood right behind me, his beefy muscular machinist arms crossed, a war look on his face. I asked for a refund and I told the manager I wanted to buy the shoes I originally wanted. The manager never once looked at me, he was staring over my head at my dad. You know what he said? "Yes, sir. Right away, sir." The shoes I wanted, the ones that supposedly were out of stock in my size. Suddenly they were in stock. We left the store, my dad and I all smiles.
Complain, bitch, moan, make a fuss, get angry, call the cops. Otherwise, might as well be road kill, you'll get run over so much.
R. P. Bird: Professional writer since 1989. Author of the IN THE REALM OF THE GODS
series and the SUZIE crime novels. Crazy, but highly reliable. Can fix