We Meet Mr. Army Pants, Who, By the Way, Is No Gentleman

[Brad Rose]

We were eatin’ our breakfast and I couldn’t help but watch Ms. Pancakes as she flitted around from table to table, asking people if everything was OK, if they wanted more coffee, and such.  She floated around like a red-headed hummin’ bird movin’ in slow motion to a Frank Sinatra song.

 

Buddy was pourin’  the syrup on his French toast and I was wonderin’ if my Florida orange juice really was from Florida, when this kinda short,  bald guy, dressed in camouflage army pants, barges into the restaurant, runs up to Ms. Pancakes, and starts yellin’ at her, like she had shot his dog, or worse, run off with his best friend.  It was mean yellin’ too,  with lots of cussin’, which I won’t bother to tell you about in detail, just in case there are any ladies readin’ this.

 

Everybody was lookin’ at Ms. Pancakes, like she was guilty of 1^st degree dogslaughter AND cheatin’ and she looked real afraid and started cryin, and the guy wouldn’t let up—he just kept yelling at her, an accusin’ her of the worst stuff and sayin’ some really uncomplimentary things a gentlemen should never say to a lady.

 

It was so bad, Ms. Pancakes dropped her coffee pot on the floor, and it exploded—pop-- like a 100 watt light bulb thrown against a cinder block wall.

[Teresa]

Love the interaction with the readers and the sudden big action.  You know when to step in and shake us up.  LOVE this series.

[Gita]

There is no second or third degree dogslaughter, I just thought I'd say. You kill someone's dog dead, you've done it ALL. Least ways around these parts.

This is a hoot.

[Mike Handley]

I love it.

[Sandra Davies]

Oh.   I thought our two heroes were going to get up and ... but perhaps that's the NEXT episode.

But yes, 'short' ...

[Robert Crisman]

Short, bald, dressed in camouflage... Sorta says it, don't it?