Barbarella

I figured I probably won't be posting for the next few days, so I owe it to you to leave you with an uplifting story of taking the law into one's own hands to tide you over for this holiday weekend. It is, after all, a celebration of our forefathers taking the law into their own hands.

Tuesday morning at approximately 5:30 a.m., Gregerson and his ladyfriend Emily were, for some reason, in Greg's bedroom. The circumstances of why they were awake or together in a bedroom at that time, given that they are not wed, is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Gregerson's bedroom is at the back of his building, overlooking the parking spots. Emily's car was parked in one of the aforementioned parking spots. Greg and Emily heard a bit of a raucus outside. They didn't think anything of it until they heard what sounded distinctly like Emily's car window breaking and what sounded very distinctly like Emily's car alarm.

Greg, being the gentleman that he is, looked out the window to see a teenaged rapscallion grab Emily's work bag from her car and take off in the direction of the front of Greg's building. Seeing this, Greg sprinted through his bedroom, down the hall, through his living room, and onto his front balcony to see the street tough turn the corner to head down Diversey. Not sure what to do from his second floor balcony, rather than jump Jimmy Superfly Snuka style onto this kid, Greg yelled, "Hey, jerk!" or something equally as ineffective.

The criminal looked up at Greg, cackled like a hyena, made a crude thrusting motion with his hips toward the bag, and then took off running down Diversey (which is a pretty busy street, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Chicago thoroughfares). Greg shrugged his shoulders, said, "Eh, I tried," and then called 911 from his balcony.

No more than ten seconds later, he sees Emily -- barefoot and wearing only a tank top and shorts -- bust out of his front door and sprint down Diversey in the direction of the doomed man who took her work bag from her car. What she was doing in only a tank top and shorts at Greg's apartment is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Figuring all's well that ends well, Greg went back into his apartment, made himself some bananas foster and watched some Empty Nest reruns that he had DVRd. Then he began to worry about Emily, since she has tender feet and an unhealthy bloodlust.

Greg went downstairs to follow Emily, expecting to see the tattered remains of a foolish thief. Instead, he saw Emily walking gingerly down Diversey toward him, with her work bag slung around her shoulder and no blood in sight. Apparently, our fearless criminal stopped running less than a block from Greg's apartment, once he was out of sight of Greg's eagle eye. Feeling cocksure, our miscreant strutted down Diversey with some stranger's employment-related valuables in his hand. Until he looked back to see white lightning in a tank top heading towards him with a full head of steam, at which point he threw the bag in some bushes and sprinted away with his tail between his legs. Why this dude had a tail is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Anyway, Happy Fourth of July.