Grand Theft Shotglass

I stole this thing.

It was a cool spring night. I was in a small room, upstairs in a religious facility. A dingy, filthy room, not a place suitable for the dignity of fine glassware. This is where I found this mysterious red glass object. It's a squareish shotglass-like vessel, which was being used as an ashtray.

I found this to be a disrespectful use of the object, so I stole it. I justified my actions with knowing that it would be freed from this place to become my possession. I watched boring detective shows for years in preparation for this moment. Now it is mine.










I felt no guilt










but I knew I had to conceal my crime, so that no person would find out. Then I remembered I had a pocket, conveniently located in my shirt. I quickly placed the vessel in my shirt pocket, to protect myself from prosecution. It was the perfect crime. No one would ever know, and I would never tell anybody.

The Pocket.


Earlier that night, I ate at an Indian food restaurant, and I still had the napkin, which I thought would be useful for protecting the glass, and for concealing my crime even further. I daringly took it out of my pocket, risking capture, and wrapped it in the napkin; the smell of curry masking the scent of my thievery.


The napkin.

You are now safe from soft impacts.

While at the scene of the crime, I did not eat any of this irresistable chulent that was being served.

Nor did I partake in any of the other fine foods being served there.

Not even the chicken.

The Escape.


On the way to my getaway car, I encountered signs of criminal activities. It was as if God was trying to taunt me, as if I would break down psychologically and confess my crime. But no. I felt no remorse for what I have done, no pity for the victims, and no intentions of ever giving it back.

What kind of monster would feel such things? I'll tell you what kind. The kind who will slap you silly if you don't keep your mouth shut, that's what kind.

This door was ripped open, in an obvious attempt by a clumsy burglar to steal meat from someone's refrigerator. One could not possibly reach any other conclusion using the evidence presented. If you could, then you are woefully mistaken.

This parking ticket was carelessly discarded by a driver who thought no one would find him. Unbeknownst to him, the NYPD special collection force was out that night. Their job is to search the streets for discarded parking tickets, pick them up with a pointed stick, and mail it to the parking assailants. If they find this, somebody will get a surprise in his mailbox in a few days.

Oh, by the way, if any cops are reading this, disregard this blog.
There is nothing here of interest to you. No crime was committed. Move along.

(I just lied to the cops)

I crossed state lines with stolen property. It is now a federal offense. We are fugitives.

I cleaned out the last disgusting remnants of cigarette ash,
and washed away all evidence of my fingerprints and DNA.

The red shotglass checked its facebook.

Freedom.