The things ya see when ya don't have a gun

Perhaps the world is better off without me having a concealed carry card

Like that silver Mitsubishi Outlander pullin a U-ie right in front of me, right smack dab in the middle of Main Street this afternoon.

Shit-fer-brains.

Or like the dude in McDonald's on University, moppin the floor with his damn pants hangin below his skinny ass-cheeks.

Ok...I've gotta elaborate on this one.

Because of several important...and I use that term very lightly...meetings at work today, I didn't get a chance to go to lunch til about 2. I knew I had an appointment waaaay the hell out in BFE at 3:30, so I wanted something quick.

I stopped in MickeyD's and ordered a salad and an iced tea.

As I sat there, eating my salad, I noticed this young guy...really tall and really skinny...come walkin around the corner of the counter with a bucket and mop.

He moved with a lassitude that can only be described as...painful. It was like swingin that mop was just way more than he could handle. Poor thing. He surely must suffer from some dreadful, debilitating disease that causes excruciating agony with any small movement.

Uh huh.

As he lethargically swiped at the floor with the dirty mop, I happened to notice that the back of his pants were, indeed, hanging just under his scrawny ass-cheeks, fully exposing his gray boxers.

I mean...c'mon...gray underpants? If you're gonna show yer ass, hadn't ya oughta pick some damn underwear that's a little more colorful?

And on what fucking planet is this supposed to pass for "style"? And just why in the hell do we seem to think this is ok?

They don't look cool. They don't look...whatever the trendy word is now. It's not a fucking political statement of some kind. They just look like a buncha half-wits, walkin around with their pants hangin under their ass.

I'm pretty damn sure if I went walkin around with my pants hangin under my ass cheeks, somebody'd complain about it. Maybe I oughta try that sometime...just to see what would happen.

Anywho, McDonald's wasn't very busy, so I had nothin better to watch.

About every second or third swipe with the mop, he'd give his pants a hike up...and they'd slide right back down, coming to a rest just at that little fold under his pretty much nonexistent butt.

I was mesmerized at the rhythm of it all.

Swipe...swipe...yank. Swipe...swipe...yank. Swipe...swipe...yank.

I mean, it totally defied all the laws of physics. What the hell kept 'em from just sliding right down around his ankles?

Well, there was only one thing I could think of. And I didn't wanna think about that.

What I really wanted to do, was walk up to him and kick him right square in the ass, and in my best Jimmy Cagney...or maybe it was Edward G. Robinson...I don't remember...voice, say, "Pull yer pants up, Spartacus!"