I pulled up in my Fiesta, rolled down the

I pulled up in my Fiesta, rolled down the window, and, in time with the music, lip-synched "Get out of my dreams and into my car" at the hunk of a construction worker standing on
an Arctic ice flow from what used to be Alaska, Canada & Greenland. He gave me an discomforted look, but that old bimbo with the glasses & makeup was ready to launch another salvo
. No one knew what Ira Flato was doing on an ice berg.
But one thing everyone did know is that Ira Flato's ass was frozen off, which was not a big deal in terms of his radio show, but a real bitch when he needed to use the bathroom.
He'd pass the time on the toilet alphabetically writing bodily functions in crayon on squares of toilet paper. He was stuck on "U" when the bathroom door was suddenly kicked down
and a man in a black suit with a gray tie entered. "CBI," he said, and flashed a badge so quickly its insignia couldn't be seen. "You've been charged with criminal vandalism."
"CBI?" I guffawed! "That's not a real agency! And it's a plastic badge." His gun, quite obviously, was metal. Cold hard metal. Death metal. "Turn off that awful music," he ordered
As the grammophone played vintage Black Sabbath. Who could not love "Paranoid"? Well, someone didn't like it and smashed the grammophone to smithereens. I stood there and looked at
it with an expression of horror plastered on my face. Why would someone do this?
Eyes bulging in disbelief, I minimized the window and quickly signed off. It was time for a break.

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