Thursday, June 3, 2004
SQUID SEES STUPID PEOPLE… Squid loves the Monterey County Sheriff’s Department ’s press releases. They are always guaranteed to brighten up Squid’s darkest days, and should be considered a must-read for entertainment value alone. Should Sheriff Mike Kanalakis ever tire of begging the County Supes for more money to support his under-funded force, Squid thinks that maybe—just maybe—he should consider a new career in comic-writing instead. Case in point: A recent major incident-felony crime press release, detailing a vehicle burglary that happened in PG. Squid will now take a step back, and let the synopsis speak for itself. “[Victim ] discovered his vehicle had been burglarized. The suspect’s cell phone was found inside.” [Squid’s note: The suspect is one Mr. Sean Conners, who apparently works as an electrician. Should you choose to hire this guy, be sure to lock up the silver.] Back to the sheriff’s press release: “[Conners] called his cell phone and made arrangement to trade the stolen property for his cell phone. When he arrived, he admitted to committing the burglary. He was arrested.”
AND STEAMY STEAKHOUSE TAKEOUT… Heads up, Cowpokes. Or should Squid say, bottoms up? The karaoke over at Dakota Jake’s in Salinas is hot, hot, hot. Squid was busy unsticking a piece of juicy prime rib out of Squid’s teeth while Squid’s mini mollusks propelled ahead to the hoopdy ride. That manic laughter was coming from the little squirts was not a concern. Squid rolled an eye and urged them to keep it down. When the laughter turned into pointing and bulged eyes, Squid got concerned. Snuggled up right next to the hoopdy, so close the squirts couldn’t open the doors, was a big ol’ white Pontiac. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the big ol’ white item inside: a bare bum. Squid tried a few ahem s, figuring the hyper humpers in the backseat with the windows down and mere inches away from pointing little fingers was bound to get the picture. No luck. They were too wrapped up in the— ahem —take-out.
Squid was perplexed. Should Squid pass them a cigarette, whip out a pad of paper and let the little giblets take notes, an obvious and easy way out of a pesky sex-ed talk? Or should Squid gloss right over it and pretend Squid didn’t know what the bouncing bare bums were all about? Squid chose the latter and demanded the squidlettes go around to the other side to get in, then offered a sugar fix to anyone who would sit silently.
The immediate silence got Squid to thinking: Squid’s certainly had Squid’s fair share of backseat bop. But Squid can’t ever remember doing it in the front row of a busy lot just after sundown with the windows down. Then again, Squid’s never done karaoke at Dakotas. Maybe the couple was onto something. Squid’s gonna get practicing. Ahem. Me me me me me me me.