Mood:  special

The following was inspired by a news item shown this evening by CBS Evening News.  Frodo expresses his gratitude for the opportunity to share some of this story.

Lieutenant William Brennan, of New Jersey, lost both his legs and slipped into an apparently irreversible coma while serving his country.  For months on end the young man's steel-blue eyes seemed to penetrate nothingness, and only artifical support guaranteed respiration.  In all candor, the medical staff at Walter Reed as well as the Lieutenant's Mom & Dad were concluding that his life had truly ended when that bomb exploded beneath him.  That did not mean that anybody was ready to give up, but the inevitable decision seemed, truly, inevitable.

Since the Lieutenant served in the 101st Airborne, it was only logical that commanding officers, past and present, came by frequently to express their support.  One of these, a certain David Petraeus, arrived in full uniform, with four stars on each of his shoulders.  Despite the glitter, and the encouraging words spoken at the bedside, Petraeus prepared to leave that evening feeling that he would not again see his comrade-in-arms. 

As Petraeus stepped away, something, perhaps deep in his own memory, made him stop and turn around.  He walked back to Brennan's bedside and loudly vocalized an old Cherokee Indian word, "Currahee."  Almost immediately, there was movement, as the young soldier began to thrash about.  He was responding.  It didn't take long for medical personnel and the Lieutenant's family to gather about his bed, as his body awoke from its' long nightmare.

Last week, almost a year later, Lieutenant William Brennan, 101st Airborne Division, US Army, was honored by his installation in the New Jersey State Hall of Fame.  General David Petraeus introduced the soldier to the throng, as he made his own way, on his artificial legs, to the podium.  At the urging of the General, the entire throng welcomed him with a long, and loud, "Currahee."

For the uninitiated, the 101st Airborne trains in Georgia, and a mountaintop, named Currahee, sits amid the obstacle courses and training facilities.  Running to the top of Currahee, and back, perhaps repeatedly, is drill-punishment for all those who serve in the 101st Airborne.  It is a word that each of them know, for it is the verbal bind between them, not unlike the "Semper Fi" of their brother Marines.

It was "Currahee" that stirred the unconscious of Lieutenant Brennan, and only one of his "Band of Brothers" would ever sense what it might mean to his comrade.

In the Cherokee language, "Currahee" means "To stand alone."

Frodo suddenly feels the need to step out under a star-filled sky, alone, and to count a few blessings.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  surprised

Edward James Olmos played a SCOTUS nominee, Hispanic no less.  Jimmy Smits played a one-term minority Congressman who runs for POTUS.  Alan Alda, the major opponent for the POTUS position, accepts the invitation to serve as Secretary of State in the new administration.  Allison Janney, Rob Lowe, Bradley Whitford, John Spencer all appear as characters who bear resemblances to Rahm Emanuel and Joe Biden, among others in the world as we now know it, dear reader.  The confluence of a fictional West Wing, and the adventures of a cheeseburger-eating community organizer raised in Hawaii bring new consideration to Frodo's belief that it is life, not art, which is the imitator.  

Several episodic creations of the fiction dealt with events surrounding the kidnapping of one of President Josiah Bartlett's daughters.  Several others dealt with an attempted assassination.  Unauthorized disclosure of state secrets brought the wrath of the President down on one of his most loyal staffers.  Frodo also readily recalls problems with the Vice President, trips into the heartland to confront the issue of ethanol as an alternative energy source, and a guy named Toby who arranged a military funeral for a homeless ex-Marine.  Admittedly, not all fiction, as these instances illustrate, results in factual life events on our small, blue planet, but it is extremely difficult to ignore circumstances which do follow upon the dreams.

Frodo embarked upon his quest to destroy the Ring because of what had been written by Lord Tolkien.  The creation, if that is indeed a proper term, was based upon a work that many felt was descriptive of Hitler's rise to power.  Lord Tolkien disputed that opinion, and Frodo subsequently interpreted what he had read to correspond neatly with the "books" of the Bible, and the disciples, and the return of the king, et al.  Aaron Sorkin's characters, and those who followed in real life, are just as vivid.  Perhaps it was this drama which inspired some to work so hard to bring change to our own Middle Earth.  In any event, Frodo is very, very grateful that, at least for one shining moment, Camelot. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:14 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  rushed

Frodo is used to a Sunday newspaper that takes all day to read, and lets him feel like he has a window to subject matter not necessarily a part of everyday conversation.  He enjoys learning about his computer, the birds in his backyard, new books, faraway destinations, the opinions of people who've actually been somewhere or done something, and why a 50-to-one shot wins the Derby.  It is Frodo's lament that the economics dictate a dimunition in the quality as well as the quantity of that offering these days, but nowhere does the lemming-like style of media management get more sickening than when the wind blows a little harder from the west.

All three major networks will interrupt the Sunday Evening News for the local weather simultaneously.  For the past month or so, it seems to occur every Sunday evening, and Frodo flips the channel only to be confronted by the exact same "doppler radar" presented either by the same guy who has done so since Thomas Edison lit him up, or by the newest resident of Atlanta who happens to have at least a 44-inch bust.  It goes without saying that CNN, MSNBC, and Faux are on auto-pilot and running re-runs of insipid interviews of dull people by interviewers trained at a school found only on matchbook covers.  Why, pray tell, asks Frodo, don't the three local national affiliates simply pool their resources and alternate "breaking news" about weather systems blowing in from Alabama that are making pretzels out of manufactured housing?

This evening, the storms started a little early.  One network was showing a basketball play-off game.  Another network was airing a play-off hockey match.  The other guys were showing a bunch of other guys playing golf.  Strange it was, thought Frodo, that none of the national media affiliates thought it important to do much more than run those ridiculously unintelligible "runners" across the bottom of the screens in order to warn all residents of Gunther County, Alabama, that hail may fall somewhere until about 10:15.  Such was the process until we reached the magic hour of national news.

What, exactly, is doppler radar?  Frodo notes a similarity with the X-ray machines they used to have in shoe stores that identified the mystery of ill-fitting Florsheims and concomitantly radiated a shrinking potential upon Frodo's genitalia. 

Frodo is looking to the West.  There are thunderclouds approaching, and that probaably means that Frodo's satellite TV system is about to report that it is searching for a signal.

The signal will probably be from doppler radar.

Andy Rooney, eat your heart out. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:32 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  down

Fred Tokars.

There is much that can be said about this former barrister and traffic court judge from suburban Atlanta, Cobb County specifically, who is today serving a life sentence without parole.  The facts proved that Tokars paid petty drug dealers to hide in waiting for his wife and to take her life.  The two small boys were still in their seat belts as their mother was bludgeoned to death, and they watched.  It was a horrific crime, and the entire city was mesmerized as the facts came flying actross the screen, even in the opening moments of the investigation.  The stricken husband, standing at the top of the driveway, being comforted by friends, neighbors, associates.  How could something this terrible happen here, in Republican Nirvana?

Frodo smelled a rat.

While he watched on his black-and-white, Frodo recognized two people in that driveway, wrapping their arms around the seemingly distraught widower.  Frodo knew who both of them were, husband-and-wife, although he had only met  one of them.  The gentleman had sought Frodo's assistance several months before, and spent almost an hour in Frodo's office, explaining his situation.  Frodo had originally thought the guy was pulling his leg, and was unimpressed.  Once Frodo realized the guy was totally serious, he was even more unimpressed.  How, dear reader, can one take a guy seriously when he tells you that his first name is "Love?"

Love's wife was political and thereby subject to frequent on camera interviews on nearly any domestic issue.  After meeting her husband, Frodo was convinced that the depth of their relationship must be entirely physical.  She was, of course, the other presence with arms wrapped around Fred Tokars.

Frodo started to question her judgment as the facts of the case unfolded.

In the years that have passed, her "Love" affair evidently soured, for that presence is no longer evident, at least on camera.  As mentioned above, it must have be equally humiliating for her to now look back at the photographs, of her, comforting a murderer, who had been her associate, her friend.  It is amazing that a political career could survive two such "gaffes" in judgment, but the Chief Justice of the Georgia Supreme Court, the first African-American, much less African-American female, to ever hold this post is the subject of this discussion.

Her name is Leah Ward Sears.  Her name is mentioned on nearly every news cast, noting her potential consideration for the position of Associate Justice, Supreme Court of the United States, replacing the Honorable David Souter.

Republicans, like elephants, never forget.  Frodo is willing to bet that the former Congressman from that district, Newt Gingrich, has already e-mailed Sean Hannity.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:50 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  vegas lucky

Ernie Banks, the Hall-of-Fame Shortstop who played for the Chicago Cubs, loved baseball, almost as much as Frodo.  After playing a doubleheader in steamy Wrigley Field one Saturday afternoon, Banks walked over to the radio announcer on the sidelines and said "Let's play three."  Frodo would have joined him, and would have played his heart out, for free.  It was, and is, to Frodo, a game. 

Michael Vick, who attended Virginia Polytechnic Institute on a full football scholarship, and later signed a multi-million dollar contract with the National Football League Atlanta Falcons, will soon be out of jail.  While performing his "job," Mr. Vick needed some personal amusement.  A few out-of-wedlock children didn't seem to satisfy "Number 7," so America's hero turned to dog-fighting.  Frodo doesn't need to go far with this shameful behavior by any creature recently removed from knuckle-dragging ambulatory progress.

To their credit, the Atlanta Falcons have made it abundantly clear, and to the chagrin of many of their fans, that Vick will not rejoin the Falccons once he is released from the hoosegow.  Frodo pops a Gelusil every time he thinks about the fact that this brain-dead penis will get lots of money from some team, somewhere, who cares only about winning games, and not about the kind of world we leave for those who follow.  Frodo did, however, crack a smile from ear-to-ear when he read about the "offer" Vick received from the Arena Football franchise, the "Albany Firebirds."

Now, Frodo has never been to Albany.  In all likelihood, he will never get to visit what he is sure is a lovely community.  Natty Bumppo and Rogers' Rangers are the only connection Frodo has ever made with a part of the world that only knows two seasons (Winter that is, and the Fourth of July).   Frodo does have total and complete admiration for the owners of the home-town franchise who offered Vick a one-year standard contract of $200 a week, plus $50 for every winning game.  The offer is, of course, contingent upon the fact that Michael Vick first contribute $100,000 to a local humane society.

Go Firebirds, beat. . .whoever!

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:20 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  incredulous

The Men of Gondor recently took a tour of the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.  Initially, Frodo was surprised that tours are even available, since he had never met anyone who had ever participated in one, and he was even more surprised to learn that there is a small museum, open to the public, including a gift shop.  It struck Frodo as a sign of our time that all of these public facilities are on the other side of a security check which is far more ornate than any airport this side of Kabul.  The tour was, in truth, kind of "lame," in that it mostly consisted of topical views of the campus, passages through conference facilities, and a whirlwind passage through the museum.  There were no glass-enclosed viewing areas of brilliant people mixing the contents of vial and beaker, and the tour guide was unable to tell Frodo if the "haz-mat suits" are destroyed or are somehow disinfected and used again. 

Frodo had recently completed Ken Follett's tour through the Middle Ages, and was very mindful of the impact of the Black Death, the greatest plague known to Man or Hobbit.  Topically, the current outbreak of the "Swine Flu" as a pandemic, has given even greater credence to the lessons learned, or ignored, by those susceptible to an ill-defined virus.  It seems that the "Church" had almost as many ill-educated demagogues in the 14th Century as it does today.  Perhaps, thinks Frodo, a little criticsm of those whose words are taken literally by millions is appropriate at this point.

During the time of the Black Death, the political influence of the clergy extended over the medical decisions made by practitioners and researchers.  Such things as simple breathing masks were often forbidden, simply because no precedent existed in the texts viewed as blessed.  In fact, many accepted treatments, such as bloodletting, were more damaging to the patient than if nothing at all had been done.  It can be truthfully argued that these insular thought patterns contributed immensely to the death toll throughout Western Europe.

In our experience, the current Pope, whom we shall call "Benny," has argued, as previously discussed, that such simple things as condoms serve little purpose simply because their use may conflict with the dogma of those respecting literal translations of anything.  Benny's influence, sadly, has been picked up by the curent leader of the African National Congress, who, in response to criticism of his multiple bastardizations, argued that he did not require a condom because he always showered completely after sex.  Ignorance, it appears, spreads even more virulently than do the organisms responsible for our lamentation, past and present.

Those who believe, such as the dedicated scientists and researchers of the CDC, that disease is something more than the "will of God," are often defined as "secularists."  Indeed, the label is extended by the presently limp philosophers of the Church to all of those who reject the literal instructions of the modern-day bloodletters.  It is helpful to Frodo that, once again, the Church has helped Frodo to define himself.  Again however, it is a reflection of the negative, as opposed to the potential influence that religion can have in one's life.

Frodo gives thanks everyday that there are people like those who serve all of humankind.  He also can't help but hope that Benny develops some sort of rash on his butt that keeps him from sitting too long on the throne.  Until that time, Frodo will continue to wear the button he picked up at the CDC gift shoppe, the one with a charicature of a polio cell with a diagonal red line slash across indicating its' total elimination, by the combined efforts of God and Man.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:36 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  accident prone

Frodo has been doing his absolute best to help stimulate the economy.  Despite the cost involved, Sam and Frodo have taken advantage of the competitive factors in labor and supplies in order to have major changes made to their home in the Shire.  99% of the project proceeded famously, leaving only the concluding tasks to be presented for Sam's approval.  It is not often that anyone realizes that Sam is equally adept whether outfitted in a flak jacket or in the wrestling garb of a Sumo warrior.  Pity, dear reader, he who presents himself as PJ.

Note also that this presentation commenced several days ago, and it was rudely interrupted by one of the more fearsome hail storms to ever present itself in Frodo's environs.  Frodo and Sam, in recognition of a ceremony which took place 39 years ago, against a betting line that did not exceed 39 days, subsequently retreated to Lake Lovey in order to re-charge their collective batteries, and to take note of the new goslings trailing behind the Canadians who have found the charms therein to their liking.  These newborns seem to make all cares disappear.

Sam was unable to connect with the Home Shopping Network, and she brought this to Frodo's attention.  Frodo worked backwards from the PC itself and found that the DSL line was severed where the workmen had been the day before.  Frodo alerted the telephonic megalith and they immediately dispatched a highly-paid technician.  He confirmed Frodo's diagnosis. 

The workmen involved were an international group of specialists outfitted in chutes and ladders.  Upon their first day at work, Frodo was struck by their similarity to the Seven Dwarves, seemingly athroat with a version of "Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho" as they fell down in worship of Sam and the vocational gift presented to them by the Hobbits.  Later, upon the discovery of the severed DSL line, it was disconcerting to note an absolute inability of anyone to admit a working knowledge of anything akin to "mea culpa."  It was at this point that the Yankee Overseer, and marketing genius, PJ, arrived and attempted to bring order to the cacophony before him.  His first mistake was to argue with Sam.

Since Sam had been wise enough to withhold all payment, including for supplies, it was soon concluded that it was unlikely that either Sam or Frodo had been involved in the damaged DSL.  An agreement was grudgingly accepted by the severely-chastized PJ.  Things definitely went downhill from that point however, when Sam took advantage of PJ's presence in order to review all of the prior day's labours.  What they found, although not the most serious of miscues, was coupled with PJ's repetition of the biggest mistake on the same day.

Sam's beloved Florida Room had been used to support ladders utilized by the Seven Dwarves to scale the rooftop.  Unfortunately, in six separate instances the ladders had initially come to rest upon the bare screens, and tearing ranged from the size of a marble, to the size of a softball.  PJ, reflecting a critical judgmental error, speculated that the damage may not have been caused by his workers.  Squirrels, in nearby dogwood trees, may have parachuted onto the screens in search of exotic entries into the Shire itself.  This was too much for Sam to bear, and the mien appeared as if it were cast from one of the Witches, pot astir, in Macbeth.  PJ was now in full receipt of a spell which ensured double trouble.

PJ's activity of the next several hours encompassed every conceivable conciliatory act dictated to him by the kindly Plantation Owner with whom Sam had struck the original agreement for services rendered.  PJ, at least Frodo assumes, had been threatened with testicular surgery by the voice at the other end of the cellphone.  Tone aside, the message was clear, and received.

On the morrow, after dawn breaks, will come the installation of new screens, and a new shutter, replacing one which had been mysteriously broken, we assume, by a coyote in pursuit of a bunny rabbit who bumped up against the shutter while attempting escape.  Sam will pass judgment, and Frodo will sit silent, while his live-in imitation of Judge Sirica questions each of the Watergate burglars.

The President should be advised that an international incident may be at hand.  The second 100 days appears no less challenging.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:06 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  blue

In 1981 Jimmy Stewart, while a guest on the "Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson," read a poem he had written as a heartfelt goodbye to an old friend.  Twenty-eight years later, one can find "A Dog Named Bo" on YouTube, if there is an insurmountable need to shed a few tears for old times and friends, not forgotten.  Recognizing the fact that another dog, with the same name, now resides in the White House, Frodo found it necessary to remind himself just how important some milestones become, and how quickly time passes.

Frodo doesn't really know what to think about Chinese Water Torture dogs, mainly because he had never even heard the name of the breed until speculation began to mount aout the identity of the newest inhabitant of the Obama household at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  The dog, given as a gift by the Kennedys of Massachusetts Bay Colony, looks a lot like a poodle with a perm, or dare we say, an Afro.  As explained frequently, allergies required that something non-threatening to sinus cavities was a prerequisite for consideration of a Presidential appointment, much less Senate confirmation.  Given all the hoopla, Frodo is confident that the candidate was fully vetted, and all taxes paid.

Excitement, as opposed to good judgment, accompanied the introduction of Bo to the White House Press Corps.  Before Helen Thomas could interject a single biting query, the candidate decided to head in another direction, dragging the athletic Mrs. Obama as if she were a chew toy tethered to a tennis ball.  The "Dog Whisperer" was, in all likelihood, being dialed by the Secret Service for an immediate consultation before the evening news cut to commercial.  What happened next is something that made Frodo think of that poem by Jimmy Stewart.

The President took the leash, and the two of them, man and dog, took off running, together, and they were laughing all the way.  Although one wore leather shoes,  it was an anointment of equals that caused Frodo to realize that this promise kept was a virgin act.  This was Barack Obama's first dog.

Bo will sleep in the bed of little girls.  He will sit patiently by the front door, waiting for the girls to get home from school.  He will play tug and hide-and-go-seek endlessly with them.  He will pursue them all around the White House lawn, and even track in mud if summer showers chase them inside.  All of that will be true, but it will be by the side of the President that he will walk when they are alone.

There is a tie that binds man and dog.  It is something that the President will not expect, but it will happen, as sure as rabbits will arise from the trails at Camp David.  One day, when it is least expected, it will be just the two of them, and words will no longer be necessary.  They will see it in each others' eyes, and they will laugh together just as they did when first they ran upon the White House lawn.

Republicans don't have dogs.  They prefer reptiles.         

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:25 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  cheeky

It has been quite some time since the word "secession" has been bandied about in Middle Earth.  In fact, Thurgood Marshall was probably a member of the Supreme Court when someone like, oh, let's say, the then Governor of Texas decided that the "sovereignty" granted unto the State by the 10th Amendment was threatened by all sorts of undesirable elements.  Frodo understands the political theater taking place in front of him.  After all, Kay Bailey Hutchinson may not be as attractive as Rick Perry, but, in contrast to most Texans, she does appear capable of distinguishing between an adjective and a verb.  The danger is that the issues in a gubernatorial election are again subordinated to the inane and trite proclamations of the unknowing, seeking to lead the incapable.

Frodo, as most know, does not hold anything "Texan" in high regard.  In fact, no regard might better describe the feeling he has as to what is represented by the void between New Mexico and Louisiana.  In keeping with the spirit of the Constitution itself, Frodo has proposed that Texans be limited to but 3/5ths of a vote.  Frodo is sure that a Constitutional scholar such as Governor Perry will recall the precedent.

Perhaps the "Frodo Proposal" will give added impetus to those who feel that Texas can provide for itself.  President Obama will be glad to assist; in fact, his first action will probably be to call up the Texas National Guard, and to assign the troops to a facility in Ohio.  The plethora of military installations in Texas, the result of continual "earmarking" by the somewhat less than distinguised vote-winners to seats in Congress, will necessarily be re-assigned to Michigan.  Pennsylvania wil offer the world a more receptive format for other federal facilities, including the newly-name "Ed Rendell Space Center" located in Lancaster County.  It is obvious that there are huge politically viable reasons for taking Governor Perry up on his idea.  In fact, there are such benefits to the nation as a whole, that the "Frodo Proposal" should be put forth as a non-negotiable demand.  Either accept the 3/5 vote, or try to avoid letting the door bounce off your butts.

A world without Texas would be like a day conceived in sunshine.   Good idea, Rick.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:59 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  cool

Willie Williams lived somewhere in Memphis, Tennessee; Frodo's job was to find out where.  The last address Frodo had was over a year old, and the current residents swore that no one by that name had ever made their acquaintance.  Frodo walked up-and-down that street, asking everyone who would speak with him if they were acquainted with Mr. Williams.  His last employer of record had severed him many months before.  The Post Office had no change of address.  There were over 100 Willie Williamses listed in the Memphis Telephone Directory, but none answerable to Frodo's quest. Anxious to please, Frodo was coming to the disappointing conclusion that he was going to have to close the assignment as temporarily "Unable to Locate," and to move on.

The dawn brought one of his co-workers by his desk, with a timely query.  "Mr Frodo," he asked, "weren't you looking for a guy named Willie Williams?"

"Why, yes," murmured Frodo, not wishing to broadcast his frustration too  far into his circle of co-workers, "Why do you ask?"

"Did you see this article in this morning's paper?," as he handed Frodo the "State & Local" section of the Memphis Commercial-Appeal.

Frodo noted a story about the brutal murder of a liquor store owner, not very far from the last address of Frodo's quarry.  Frodo dribbled coffee down his chin when he noted that the suspected assailant was named Willie Williams.

Later that day, after discussing the possibilities with his Supervisor, Frodo placed a telephone call to the Sheriff of Shelby County, Tennessee.  Frodo introduced himself and asked if the individual in his custody might have a social security card, or any documentation that could verify his identity.  The Sheriff informed Frodo that the suspect had no such documentation on his personage when arrested.  Frodo was afraid of that, for he was already aware that he would now have to go to the facility where Mr. Williams was being detained, and to interview him, in person, in order to determine if he was the Willie Williams Frodo had been assigned to find.

Frodo's more experienced partner accompanied Frodo to the facility.  Frodo had already been informed that he would be entering the same facility which had housed James Earl Ray during the trial which sent him to prison for life for the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Frodo was first struck by the fact that everything was green.  The walls, the clothing worn by the inmates, the tint to the lighting, and, Frodo recalls, even the leering grin given to him by the Jailer who checked his identification, appeared almost mossy green.

Frodo and his partner were seated at a bar-like structure separated by a very thick glass-like substance.  For several minutes they waited in silence, Frodo nervously reading and re-reading his file notes.  Without warning, the door at the rear wall on the other side of the glass opened and in walked the biggest man Frodo had ever seen in his whole life.  Willie Williams was in handcuffs and shackles, and if he was an inch, he was at least 6'8" tall, and weighed more than 275 pounds, without chains.  Two guards, one at each arm, guided him toward Frodo, and if he could have, Frodo would have, peed, right there.

Frodo looked up at the expressionless man and started to speak.  Unfortunately, his voice rose approximately six octaves and he positively squeaked his query "Sir, are you the Willie Williams who formerly lived at 13407 Vinton Avenue?"

The giant's eyes brightened and he roared in laughter, "No, but while you're here, where the Hell's my refund?"  

Frodo could not exit quickly enough.  He concluded his report later that afternoon, admitting that he had "temporarily" been unable to locate the assigned Willie Williams.  Frodo learned later that the last Willie Williams he had come to know was sentenced to 55 years in prison.

Frodo is somewhat chagrined to admit that, to this day, he has no idea whether or not that gentleman ever got his refund.  If, at the conclusion of his sentence, that Willie Williams comes looking for that junior IRS guy about his long-ago refund, Frodo hopes that he has covered his tracks as well as Mr. Williams' namesake.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:49 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink