When Stealing Beer Express Yourself
Wellington Leg: the same week that a naked man was arrested after doing the hula during a beer heist, scientists have discovered an enormous empty spot in the universe, free of matter, anti-matter, dark materials and Burma Shave ads. Shocking as these developments are I have to say they pale in comparison to the vertiginous mountain of books staring your reporter right in the kisser. Perhaps to fill the void or make good on Pluto’s downgrade from plant to icy rock, I may share some thoughts in regard to the burgeoning crime fiction titles around here: but, first,
Why the hula? I wonder about that. You live in St, Louis, you’re naked, and you need beer. Sure I can see that. It’s hot, you’re thirsty, and the proverbial convenience store is on the radar. You and your pal concoct a plan to distract the clerk….
It seems to me that the hula is a complex choice here. Every movement has a meaning. You’re in a convenience store and your accomplice is lurking near the freezer. Maybe the clerk is wondering why you’re not wearing clothes, but on the other hand, this is not a high wage job, so wondering about customers is optional.
Would the clerk recognize the hula? I’m not sure that I would. Is recognition of the dance being performed crucial to the success of the beer heist? Would the plan fail if the perp went into a little Saturday Night fever disco revival, index finger pointing heavenward, toward Pluto?
I don’t know. When you’re naked in St. Louis the week before Labor Day, maybe the hula works. There’s beer in the freezer and one bored clerk is all that stands in your way. Hula down.