Wednesday, January 13, 2010


ME:  Oh my God!  What happened, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That damn idiot upstairs left his water running again.  He leaves it on for the cat whenever he goes away.

ME:  Did you call the landlord?

GRAMMY:  What the hell for?  He hasn't shown his face around here in fifty-two years.

ME:  Well, someone has to get up there and shut the water off before the whole ceiling caves in.  I’ll call the Fire Department.

GRAMMY:  Don’t bother.  Typhus is handling it.

ME:  Typhus?  What can he do?

GRAMMY:  He’s a juvenile delinquent, Barbara.  He’s been breaking and entering since he was twelve.

ME:  So you sent him off to commit a crime?

GRAMMY:  He was here, and it’s what he does.

ME:  Grammy, he could go to jail!

GRAMMY:  Jail, schmail.  He’s doing what the damn Fire Department would do, except he's doing it for free and he isn't destroying any property.  If you ask me, he’s doing the city a service by saving our tax dollars.  Now shut up and take this umbrella.

ME:  Why?

GRAMMY:  Typhus is a second story man.  He said it’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to shimmy up the drain pipe.

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