Addendum

I had a lingering, nagging feeling that we had another Howie Haw in our midst. At any rate, he validated my sign-off motto. After sifting through the verbiage, one revealing statement stood out. That made me run to the phone and called the National Guard. They took the info I gave them over the phone and said they would get back to me and told me to sit tight, barricade the door and all other points of entry. They asked me if I have any means of protection other than my mind. I said, patience and a pocket knife. Don't you cook? Don't you play baseball? Don't you ever change a car tire?, they asked. Ah, I see what you mean, I sighed.

An hour later, they called and told me that they were sending four agents over. They would talke me to a safe house so I needed to pack quickly. I said, what's going on? We'll tell you, national security.

How interesting, I said to myself. Blood was racing through my body. My heart was on overdrive. As I was putting my stuff in a suitcase, the phone rang.

-Hello, Wissai, can we talk again? It was him! In his sweet, fake friendly voice.
-Hi, Michael. Sorry. You caught me at a very bad time. I was on my way out to get Pesto Bismol. I keep puking all over myself since we last talked. Sorry. I've got to go.

I hung up the phone. Tell him lies. Tell him sweet little lies to my heart's desire.

I resumed packing. After I was through, I took a dump. Just as I was about to take a quick shower, the bell rang. Damn, the agents were efficient, I thought. I quickly put on my pants and was pulling down a T-shirt over me while striding to the door. I stupidly didn't look through the peephole.

-Hi, Wissai. How's your stomach?