troof be toad

i left monday night to do a job for lexington medical. lexington, kentucky is the horse capital of the world. with a population of just under a half-million, lexington boasts over a dozen colleges and universities, and blue laws that keep liquor from being sold on sundays.
but that's not the lexington i visited. lexington, south carolina has a population of about ten thousand, hosts a horse show every April, is near a university, and has blue laws to ensure liquor is not consumed on sundays.
luckily i used a map. i'd hate to get those two lexingtons mixed up.
i left atlanta and stopped for gas. the credit card swipe at the pump asked for my zip code. i punched it in, waited a few moments, and read these words on the quartz crystal screen: PLEASE SEE ATTENDANT.
i walked in, handed him my credit card and by the time i had walked out saw that someone had tried to steal my car. it has been stolen once already. it has thick skin.
after an hour, an atlanta cop showed up. he seemed annoyed that i even reported the attempted theft.
"what's your deductible?"
i don't know. are you trying to talk me out of making a report?
i began morphing into my alter-ego: the furrow-browed asshole. this charmer comes out any time someone in a uniform acts like a talking uniform.
on top of that, it happened in my neighborhood. as a thirty-year-old fart, i'd appreciate something being done about kids (or adults) who think stealing a car is a flippant leisure activity.
the next day in south carolina, i went to maurice's bbq (thank you, horgan). it was clean. very clean. it had a fireplace. and powder-blue kountry-kitchen kurtains. and these books. one of them is by the now-dead proprietor. it's entitled defending my heritage. a mom and her son ordered the big pig. they only use a "superior white meat" platter with a yellow sauce. and it is DEE-licious.
the commercial shoot was at a very large house on the 6th hole of a golf course. the man who owned it used to be in the FBI.
i did the refrigerator bit. it's kind of a signature of my mine. standing still with zero expression. aka 'the coma' or 'the michael caine'.
if you'd like to hire me, please add one liter of gin to three hours of driving and call the police.