L. Neil Smith's
Number 260, February 22, 2004

Better late than never

A long line of BS
by E.J. Totty

Exclusive to TLE

It's taken me a long time to get to this point.

No, it's not the same e-mail I send several hours ago. But, yes, this involves a grave, yet honest admission of facts, about 'things' I've been doing for a 'very long' time.

My conscience has so oppressed me, that I feel absolutely compelled to speak out about my crime.

My shame has finally overcome me, and I cannot restrain myself any longer.

If I don't speak out now, I might not keep my sanity.

You see? Behind the scenes—over the last several decades actually— even while I was employed by Uncle Sugar in the USN, I was engaged in a, well, heinous activity about which I am going to expose.

Let me say, here and now, that those of you with a weak—or weakened—constitution (you know just who you are), should hurriedly brush past this letter, and just forget you—ever—saw this, because in the end you will hate yourself for ever having read about the horrible, horrible truth about myself, of which I am about to reveal.

No, I'm not about to lower me breeks*, or raise me kilt, although I suppose there may be some interest in that matter, we just ain't going there, okay?

Suffice to say that my legs do come together and make a nice ass of themselves**.

At least I think so.

Many a good man and woman have been 'sent up the river' for what I have been able to do quite openly, and apparently without any sort of 'detection' by the FEDS!

It gets better—or worse!

Read on.

Imagine this: A drunken old Scot (is there any other kind?!!) gets away with a most terrible crime, all the while doing it right under the nose of the most omnipotent government ever to exist on the face of good ol' Earth! And here I'd thot England was bad!!!

Give me a Smith&Wesson 686S .357cal pistol, and I'll proceed to show the jackboots who the 'meek' are!

They will inherit the 'earth'—all six (or so) feet of it. Perhaps less. Maybe none at all!

But, that's beside the point, I think...

By now, you're probably asking yourself: "What the hell is this idiot going on about?"

Well, you know? I can't just come right out and admit to the crime, as that would spoil everything, and no, you ain't just a-gonna scan all the way to the bottom to see what my crime is either! [evil grin]

'They' dinnea call us "Scots" fer nothing, ya aer noo, laddie boy?

Well now, I was doing my laundry this eve, and I usually 'fish' my pockets for things I desire to keep, like the 60 pack (or what's left) of extra large condoms, my handy dandy pocket knife, a 16oz can of MACE, four magazines for my trusty 1911 (you do know what that is, right?), a 10oz can of pepper spray, two large brass balls measuring 4" inches in diameter, a 12 inch night stick—which I usually have stuffed down the near-front of my left thigh (it's kinda impressive actually), a six pack of Highland ale, along with some assorted pocket money.

Hie', look, laddie, I cannea be we' oot me ale, aye?

A Scot without Highland ale is like a day without any kind of 'shine'—period.

Remember that.

Remember that for the rest of your miserable life!!!

It might save your life.

Now, ya know? I play the Great Highland Bagpipes, and a real man (read: True Scot&#reg;) needs all those things just to keep in shape. 'Know what I mean?'

When you finally learn to push air through four pipes at the same time, and not only maintain the notes, but maintain BPM accurately— without a variation in note frequency, you can say that you're okay. Beyond that, you need to practice forever just to get better! The more you practice, the bigger your chest gets. A big chest makes you top-heavy.

I have a big chest: 52inches, with a 33 inch waist.

I'm only 5'10". And I'm male.

So forget any stupid ideas, okay?!!

Those two brass balls tend to help me keep in balance, not unlike a big ship—which needs 'ballast.'

Pun intended!

I also tend to pass lots of gas, what with the Highland ale, the chicken chili, boiled eggs, and assorted other things I've acquired a taste for over the years (damned Mexicans!). Hence the need for the large can of MACE.

Look: If you're gonna make other people miserable, go whole hog! When I 'pass a good one,' why I just pull out the can of MACE and let all hell break loose!

Just thinking 'bout that, brings tears to my eyes!!

Oh yes it does!

So, I took the two brass balls and tossed them onto the bed, along with the assorted other 'things' mentioned, except that I didn't 'fish' good enough, and neglected to find the 'pocket money.'

Well, imagine my "shock and awe"—not to even mention my surprise—when lo and behold, at the bottom of the washer tub, lay evidence of my 'crime.'

Yes, once again I had committed a most grievous assault against my own (no, wait: It's not mine!!!) government's edict concerning the passage of money from one form into another.

Well, I peered carefully at the 'cleaned' remains of my 'crime' and a feeling of, well, hilarity—came over me!

Yes, once again I had inadvertently been involved with 'Money Laundering!!!!'

The shame! The disgust! The disrepute, the ultimate dishonor!

Yeah, right. [grin]

Once again my money is fresh, without the taint of drugs, and I can laugh out loud that the federal bastards haven't discovered my acts!!!

And just think: If I put it into the dryer—with softener, it comes out so soft that it feels like my girl friend's arse.


Forget I said that!!!!

Now, I wonder if this isn't some form of subconscious act that I 'seek to commit' in total disobedience to 'the law.'

I might be in need of psychiatric help here, to assist me in understanding just why I am involved in the willful act of 'laundering money.'

But, as I consider that, the psychiatrist would be helped by my devious mentality!

Remember: To be compliant is to be without will.

To possess will, is to be totally without redemption in the face of a force that has no reason to exist, except to enforce complete submission. Otherwise, why the force?

There is but one possibility in this universe: Either it is the immovable object, or the irresistible force.

Logically speaking, the two cannot possibly exist simultaneously.

Your choice: Resist, or submit.

Heaven help that I should become an addict to the matter, because, well, just for the fun of it, I decided to use my steam iron and 'press' my paper bills with starch such that they almost cracked when folded!

I conducted that last act while still stationed aboard USS Enterprise. The clerk at the Ship's Store looked at the bills I had passed to him, with great suspicion—and trepidation, as I gingerly passed them to him in exchange for some product or other. The bloody things were so flat you could have cut bread with them!!

I suppose I could have been accused of having a 'money press.'

* "Breeks" means 'trousers' in old Scots Gael. It's a form of the word 'breeches.'
** Purloined from a Cheech & Chong movie.


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