come and knock on my door

As I stepped out of the shower this morning, the dogs were going crazy. There was an older white dude at the door. Since I was in a towel and did not know the guy, I didn’t answer. Life in the big city. He eventually left, got in his SUV and drove off. I thought maybe the Republicans are so desperate for support that they’re going door-to-door. Ends up, this guy was delivering a package UPS was supposed to leave on my porch yesterday. Guess they left it at the wrong house (his). Now I wish I’d answered the door so I could tell him thanks. But really, how many people answer the door before 8 in the morning to a stranger? Unless they have a bunch of balloons with them. I’d open the door then, assuming it’s the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Prize Patrol (PCPP). Even though I’ve never entered that contest, I deserve to win. I’d have to change out of the towel and put some lipstick on first, though.

Actually, those commercials where they show up at the person’s door have to be staged. Too many people have dogs, yet I’ve never seen a rat dog or big dog going crazy on the PCPP. It’s usually just startled middle class, middle America families wearing their “I Support the Troops” tee shirts and Mary Kay makeup. Not at my house. My dogs would be trying to jump through the screen door to eat Ed McMahon and then rip up that big cardboard check. And I’d be wearing a “Fuck tha Police” tee shirt. Cause that’s how I roll.

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