I just received a voice mail from Ms. Harris. She said she's picking up the potato salad and things were moving forward as scheduled. She'll see me on the 4th...
|Bring it, Ms. Harris.|
Since I neither know a Ms. Harris nor have plans for the 4th, I'm left to wonder if the message was code for some kind of impossible mission I should be starting... or... a veiled threat... I fucking hate potato salad.
|Fuck. You. Potato. Salad.|
So in order to cover all my bases, I have started saying things like "The grey man waits under the red umbrella at sunset." to everyone wearing a trench coat or a flower in their lapel. Also, in case the reverse is true, I have begun carrying a weapon on my person at all times in preparation to do battle with a potato salad wielding woman.
|I've battled worse, Ms. Harris.|
If I go missing, please know that I am out there saving the world from potato salad and creepy old ladies.
|You will die a peasant's death, potato salad.|