WTFO?!

Dale got a new scanner. So what does he do? He scans his class picture from first grade and sends it to me without so much as a hi or how are ya. What gives? How has our friendship been reduced to such informality? I believe he’s using the scanner as a show of his mastery of the world around him. He pulled a similar stunt when he learned to write his name. Suddenly, there were “Dale”s on walls, on refrigerators, on dressers and on chairs. We had no choice but to duct tape his thumbs to his forehead and confiscate his Big Chief crayon. Believe me Dale, it hurt us more than it hurt you.

But enough about our dear amigo, Dale. He’s not near as bad as the media (namely me) makes him out to be. In fact, he’s been storing my junk now for a couple years in exchange only for protection from the Russian mob that he’s convinced is after him.

“Dale,” I said to him. “You’re German.The Russians don’t care about Germans. In fact, they were allies in World War II. They’re too worried about the Italians and the Mexicans and the Greeks to worry about Germans, least of all you.” He blinked at me twice. I took it as a good sign.

“You see,” I said as I took him by the shoulder and guided him towards the flower bed, “Just because your neighbor has a dog named Ivan doesn’t make him Russian. It doesn’t even make the dog Russian!” I laughed and slapped him on the back to dispel his ongoing paranoia.”He’s cool, the dog is cool, you’re cool and I’m cool. Hell, we’re all cool!” I handed him the marigold seeds. I showed him how to make holes in the dark, soft soil with his gloved thumb and carefully place three seeds in each. He caught on quick, I had to give him that.

“So just relax by the pretty flowers buddy. See the pretty flowers?”

He stared down at the empty dirt and smiled. “Nunnmerh.” He began to drool again.

I nodded in agreement and casually wiped his chin off like I’ve done a hundred times before. “Yeah man, you said it,” and took a long swig of my lemonade. It was a beautiful, warm spring day. I always enjoyed peaceful evenings like this. Feet kicked up, cool breeze, not too many bugs. The flowers were almost finished being planted. Once Dale got his mind set on something, he didn’t stop until it was done. He was a handy little bugger to have around.

I could see the concentration by the beads of sweat on his brow. He was all business.

“Dale” I said. He was focused.

“Dale,” I said again with a bit more force. Still nothing.

“Dale!” His head snapped up with the speed of a dog ready for a game of fetch.

“Go get me some more lemonade, will ya buddy?” He shuffled away with an off center limp into the house, grunting words deep in his throat only he knew.

Yeah, Dale’s a good friend of mine alright. It’s a damn shame what happened.

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