Another Sunday. After a productive morning of clothes washing I went and got stromboli and staged a massive Italian (pronounced eye-talian, you know) pigout at my lawyer's house. An afternoon of basic guy stuff. His girlfriend had gone off to visit her grandma down in Lakeland so we had it to ourselves.... just us and his herd of dogs. Then she called to say that someone had stolen his car. She had gone in the house down there and when she looked out, the Chevy musclecar was long gone. I'll say this for the guy... he didn't actually break out in tears, but you could see that he might get misty. Anyhow, he spent about two hours on the phone talking to cops and insurance guys. Naturally, he had just gotten the thing back from the paint shop from a spruce up. I think that was what pissed him off more than anything. Jeez. I suppose that it could have been worse. She could have been carjacked and we could be enduring one of those yellow babe alerts right now. The cops say that they'll probably find the remains in a day or so. Mike can't have a simple transportation buggy like the rest of us proles. He has to have a big block Impala... king of the bow ties... with the fancy spaceship radio and the ghetto rims that keep spinning when the car is sitting still. His girl just wanted to show off to her grannie. Sigh. Merry Christmas.