My Brush with Teeth

It was a tad bit more than just a “semi-forced” post to be perfectly honest. It was a full on, 100% forced post in that there was this guy standing behind me with a small caliber semi-automatic pistol aimed directly at the back of my head. The growing bald spot was playing the part of bull’s eye for my trigger-happy assailant. He told me to just give him an excuse. I told him I didn’t believe in excuses, just reasons. Excuses seem to pass on the blame while a reason just explains the why.

“Why for example,” I asked him, “are you in my home with a small caliber semi-automatic pistol aimed at my head?”

“I have read you blog,” he began, “and noticed you have not said anything about the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame taking place tonight. Some pop culture fan you are. I decided that the situation needed immediate rectification. So here I am.”

“In my bedroom?”

“That is where your computer is. Now please start typing what I tell you.”

“Why don’t you just type it yourself?”

“Then who’s gonna hold the gun on you? Please, I am a professional.”

“So? You know what you what to say and I don’t. It just makes sense for you to do the typing. I’ll tell you what; I’ll hold the gun on myself.”

“It won’t feel the same.”

"We could try it."

"Have you ever been a hostage before?"

"Nope, this is my first time."

"Then please just leave it to me."

“I could hold the gun on you as you type,” I offered. I really wanted to be helpful by this point for some reason.

“Naw,” he said scratching his chin with the barrel of his gun, “I think we would be better off just sticking to the original plan…”

"Fine," I sighed.

“I hold the gun on you, you type what I tell you then I shoot you.”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh nothing, just thinking out loud. Now then, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame…”

I had to think fast. I mean he may be one of the best in his field, but he was certainly no rock critic. How many words can this guy really think of in a given sitting? I had two maybe three paragraphs at the most to come up with something, anything to distract him. I thought of making some spaghetti or some other form of pasta, but then decided playing up to the hitman cliché might just make him angrier.

My fingers were typing every word he uttered as my mind raced through every option I had open to me. Considering that I had no options open to me, it really did not take me all that long to run through them. It was at that moment the hellion of my house entered my bedroom.

I knew Oreo was only playing and Oreo knew he was only playing and I am sure the coroner will see Oreo was only playing, but the poor hitman will have to be told in his next life. I really need to clip those claws one day I think, but that is the reason behind the previous lame post. Next will be some other bullshit excuse for this lame post. I mean reason for this post. I don’t believe in excuses.