Hello, 911? I want to report a crime – a break-in. My name? That’s rather personal. Oh, all right. Millard J. Fillmore. Yes, like the president. Apparently, mother screamed it out during natural childbirth. Christ Almighty was mentioned too, but she thought that was a little ostentatious. Address? 555 Sycamore Street. This is the Beverly Hills 911, isn’t it? Oh good. I don’t want a bunch of sweaty policemen from the valley showing up. The time? Good God, doesn’t anyone own a watch down there? Oh, time of the break-in. Well…I’m not really sure. I was sound asleep in my Calvin Klein pajamas, when I heard such a clatter, and faint animal smells coming from outside my upstairs bedroom window; perhaps the roof? Why yes, they are green with peppermint stripes. Makes me feel festive this time of year. Thank you. You have a cute voice too. Am I alone? Why, did you want to come over for a glass of wine? Oh, is the burglar still in the house? I don’t know. I was afraid to look. Butch up! That’s not nice to say. Okay, I’m going, I’m going. Yes, it is a clear signal. It’s the new I-phone X that cost more than my first face lift. Okay, I’m now on the balcony, overlooking the living room. OMG, he’s still here! Description? A large man, chunky, not tall. This guy needs to hit the gym. Dark red jumpsuit, straight out of the 70s, with matching black belt and boots to die for. He has a huge bag of loot. Must have already cleaned out the neighbor’s houses. Wait, he’s reaching into the bag, and pulling something out. I hope it’s not the macrame I gave the Bernstein’s last year. I hate re-gifting. No, it’s a small fruit tree and there’s a hefty sized bird in the branches. What the hell am I going to do with that? He’s going back into the bag again. Two more birds, doves, I think; three chickens wearing adorable Berets; and four more fowl, singing their brains out. I’m sensing a theme here. Ah, something I can use, five gold rings, although I am not Mormon. More birds. Six geese and seven swans. Guess what I’m serving to the Cohen’s on Saturday? No way! Now he’s pulling out people. What an active, eclectic crowd. There are milkmaids, lords a leaping, drummers drumming, dancing ladies, and guys with flutes. Must have escaped from a nearby renaissance fair. I hope he’s done. My living room is full and the poultry is crapping on my Persian rug. No, it doesn’t look like he’s stealing anything. Who? Santa Clause? You’re kidding. That’s why he kept going Ho, Ho, Ho. I mean I sleep around, but I don’t give it away. No, I understand why you won’t be sending anyone. Look, I’ve got to get down there and break out some music, food, and drink. Don’t want Santa to think I’m a bad host. Drop by after you get off work. I don’t think these folks are leaving anytime soon. No, sorry, I’m Jewish, but Merry Christmas to you too.
Published by Rich Allan
I'm an author, actor, bass player, singer, reader, TV watcher, movie lover, wine-maker, husband, father, photographer, and fun at parties. My two novels, "Drafted" comic adventures of a college student illegally drafted into the US Army during the life threatening era of Vietnam; and "Identity Check" a mystery thriller about a young man who uncovers with his girlfriend Jessie that his real father is the current president of the United States, are available at amazon.com in Kindle and paperback versions. View all posts by Rich Allan