Carminvalanche! The Screecher gets buried • Brooklyn Paper

Carminvalanche! The Screecher gets buried

I’m madder than a driver who barely survived a four-car collision but woke up the next day and found his car ticketed for a broken taillight over the fact that drivers today get banged for so many things you would think the police were working on commission!

Look, you all know the ol’Screecher is a proud proponent of saving the iron whale and that my Plymouth Fury drives as well today as it did the day I pulled it through the showroom window, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to pay for non-moving violations when I already pay for gas, insurance, registration, inspection, and moving violations!

So you can guess how upset I was the other day when my lovely wife Sharon found a ticket for an out-of-date registration while she was feeding the meter outside the hair salon. I scooted over on Tornado and found out that, in fact, the reggie wasn’t good until the end of the month, like that other costly sticker. It just goes to show you that if they don’t get you coming, they get you going!

Now, I know exactly what you are thinking: “Carmine, I thought you beat all those egregious fees by using Access-A-Ride to get escorted from one place to another for the price of a subway swipe!”

And my answer is “Of course,” but all that changed this weekend when they raised the rate another 25 cents, and now I have to find five more bees to get a ride. Criminey!

So now, out of fear of tickets and far too many quarters, I’ve determined that it is best for me to only travel as far as Tornado can take me.

Now, again, I know exactly what you are thinking: “Carmine, how can you expect to get anything accomplished from atop Tornado? You’ll never be able to bring home enough food and provisions to keep you alive!”

Wrong again! Turns out I can — and have — been able to order everything I need with the help of my Banana Jr. computer and modem in the alcove near the bedroom. In fact, I’ve been able to order so much stuff on the line that my bedroom has been turned into a warehouse of supplies that could choke a camel (whatever that means).

In fact, the amount of stuff that the UPS man has delivered here has got me thinking the only thing Brown can do for me is ensure I’ll die in an avalanche like the one that happened the other day.

All I wanted to do was replace the undershirt I had been wearing with a new undershirt from pile three that goes up about to an elephant’s eye. Problem was it was only about a quarter of the way up the pile. So when I tried to pull it out, the whole pile came down on top of me.

The other problem was Sharon was in the shower while this was happening, and I had to suffer there while she blow-dried her hair.

Laying there submerged in T-shirts, underwear, towels, regular shirts, slacks, scarves, and you name it, you would think I would have seen the err of my ways — and you are 100 percent right, because right then I realized I should have re-ordered that tiny speaker that makes my voice louder so Sharon could hear me and come to my rescue!

When Sharon finally dug me out, we tried re-piling things to no avail, and I routinely ended up buried in stuff. Man, I wish I studied about how the Egyptians built those pyramids, because this was getting ridiculous!

By about 2 am, we determined that our double bed could accommodate all the stuff and us if we just used sound judgement. So we figured out a way to make that work.

Even more fortunately, the Interweb is open all night, so before I got some well-deserved shut-eye, I went into the alcove and ordered up that speaker I love so much.

With Amazon Primo, I should get it with free delivery in two days! I can’t wait to add it to the pile!

Soon, you’ll be hearing me riding down 86th Street once again, screeching my thoughts to the whole world!

Screech at you next week!

Read Carmine’s screech every Saturday on BrooklynDaily.com. E-mail him at diegovega@aol.com.

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