So, I’ve got my first sex offending neighbor. I know because I got a notice in the mail.
I have a couple of problems with this. One, if the perp has paid his debt to society why do I care? Secondly, I’m not totally convinced that the Department of Corrections is totally convinced this person has been adequately rehabilitated.
Why? because of the list of safety precautions printed on the post card like, “do not confront this individual.” Now, I’m not exactly scared of what he might do to me; I’m not an 8-year-old boy, but it just … well … I get lonely sometimes.
Hey, don’t start jumping to conclusions. It’s just that …
OK, I brought him some cookies just to welcome him to the neighborhood. I was curious. They weren’t Toll House or anything, just your garden variety Pillsbury sugar cookie.
Anywho, he opened the door wearing nothing but dingy tighty-whities and clown shoes — red.
“What,” he snarled.
“My name is Jay. Ah, I live in 401, and I just wanted to say welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Are those Toll House?”
“Ah, no, but they’re good.  Here, try one.”
“No, thanks,” he said, “I gave up sweets for Lent.”
“You’re Catholic?”
“Born and raised,” he said.
Huh?
“As a matter of fact, I’ve got all this candy that I can’t eat anymore,” he said, “you want some?”
Red flag.
I’m getting a red flag here, but I can’t pin down why.
“Come on,” he said, “It’s just candy. What’s wrong, you don’t like candy?”
Red flag, red flag.
“Hey, it’s chocolate. Everybody likes chocolate.”
He’s right; I do love chocolate.
What is this red flag business? He’s just being neighborly.
“I bet you like crunch bars.”
“Crunch bars?”
How does he know I like Crunch bars … am I salivating?
What’s the harm in one bar?
“OK,” I said.
“Yeah,” he sighed, “little buddy likes Crunch bars.”
I don’t know what happened, but the next thing I remember was stripping down to my underwear and rubbing chocolate all over my torso.
RED FLAG!
“I think I hear my mother calling.”
I have know idea why I said that. It was like a conditioned response or something. It was the closest thing to instinctual that I’ve ever experienced.
I ran out of his apartment, through the courtyard in nothing but my pink Brooks Brother’s boxers screaming, “Sex offender!”
Now, I have to notify all of my neighbors that I, too, am a sex offender.
On a totally different note, I would like to congratulate Alice Wack for her 100th cartoon running in today’s paper.