by Horace J. Digby

 

It all started with a letter from the government.  You know, the government I mean, ". . . we're here to help you . . ."  That government.  To be exact, the letter was from the Social Security Administration. 

 

My wife, Sharon, read it first, and then came running into my study.  "Horace," she said, "this letter says you will be paid $1,382 a month if you retire at age sixty-two, but if you die today, I get $1,896 each month."  Sharon was breathless. 

 

"Great news honey," I said, trying hard to disguise my alarm.  "It's nice to know they are looking out for us." 

 

But I was concerned.  First of all, why would the Social Security Administration be willing to pay a bounty of $514 a month to get me out of the way?  And second, was that a blunt instrument I saw in Sharon's hand? 

 

The blunt instrument turned out to be a pair of house slippers.  But the letter still had me worried.  I've never given the government any trouble—at least not until now.  So why was Social Security coming after me?  I thought we were friends.  They always got a part of my pay check, and one day, when I retire, I figured they would give me a little something in return.  Sure, it would probably only be a note explaining that they spent my money, but that's no reason to put a price on my head. 

 

I'm the kind of guy who complies with government regulations, and not that they're right, either.  Some people worry about Iran getting the bomb.  I'm much more worried about the Republicans already having the bomb.  And as long as they have it, I'll cooperate with any government agency that asks. 

 

 

In the good old days Federal agencies were too busy fighting the "Red Menace," to mess with me.  But now, with the Berlin Wall, the Iron Curtain and the old Morrison house coming down.  It seemed I was next? 

 

All I could do was prepare.  It's amazing how much you can learn watching old mobster movies: 

    1.  Always check under your car before you start it; 

    2.  Always face the door in Italian restaurants; and

    3.  Capote is not an old mobster movie.  It turns out that Truman Capote and Al Capone are two entirely different people who aren't even related. 

 

I've got to go now.  Scarface was due back at the video store an hour ago.  Besides, I need to pick out a new vitamin pill.  Oh, and if the Social Security Administration asks, you haven't seen me.