moths

The fatman complained that i ain't never held no job. So i got a job.

The fatman walks into the Tailor Shoppe carrying 2 XX- large shirts. He places both shirts on the front desk and clears his throat.

I, wearing my green vest, bi focals, and no pants, greet him with a cold stare.

Fatman: Oscar?

Me: You told me to get a job, remember?

He shakes his head and chuckles.

Fatman: These shirts need repair.

I take a look at the shirts.

Me: You got mofs.

Fatman: Moths?

Me: Yeah! That's what i said, ain't it!

Fatman: Moths are gonna eat a hole in the same place every time on both shirts?

Me: Fatman; who is the Fatman and who has seen Silence of the Lambs 17 times?

Fatman: Just fix the goddamned shirt!

Me: It will be expensive.

I pull an abacus out from under the counter and stroke my chin. The Fatman impatiently taps his shoe.

Me: Hmmm....I'd say....(low whistle) 34 cents...

Fatman: I'm sure i can handle that. Have it ready in 72 hours. And furball? I'd better not find out you were dressed like a ninja and slashing my shirts with a sword.

He walks out. The Fatman is stupid. My ninja costume shrank and I have not yet found a proper replacement.

THAT NIGHT

I attend a Tom Jones concert with my lady-friend Becky.

Tom Jones swaggers on stage, spotlight illuminating his rugged Welsh features. He begins to hum the first notes of "What's new Pussycat?"
and Becky turns to me and stuff a handful of silky undergarments into my paw.

Becky: You were a star pitcher for the Yankees, O. Throw these on stage! Throw them at Tom Jones!

Crickey! She handed me 3 different pairs of drawers!

Becky: One is from grandma, one is from mom, and the leopard skin pair belong to me!

Oi! Doesn't she understand I taught Tom Jones everything he knows! Tom Jones should be throwing these drawers at me!

So, without hesitating, I pitch the 3 generations of under draws at Tom Jones.

Then, after he segues into "She's A Lady", Becky faints.

Great googly moogly, Becky! Don't you understand? I wrote that song!

No matter. My bodyguard is kind enough to carry her into my limo.

DAWN

I, dressed in my finest samurai warrior garb, use my blade o' sharpness to slice into the Fatman's wardrobe. His clothes disgust me. Who shops for this clown? Ronnie Milsap?

BAM! The closet door crashes open!
The Fatman has me cornered! He is angry!

Fatman: Aha! I knew it!

I point the blade o' sharpness at him.

Fatman: You were double dealing! Cutting my clothes so that I would take them to the Tailor Shoppe to get them repaired! And this bullshit -

He yanks the blade o' sharpness from me

Fatman: - isn't even bona fide steel. This is aluminum. And you call yourself a warrior.

I head butt him in the nuts. He collapses.

Me: You still owe me 34 cents.

O -out.