Gentle Readers, allow me to introduce “Joe Critter”.
Joe is a fairly recent transplant to our fair city, having been forced to relocate due to Mother Nature developing a serious case of the arse regarding his former stomping grounds.
What earns Joe his moniker of “critter” is the fact that he is currently on misdemeanor probation due to his having an attitude towards romance which is generally frowned upon by society.
Now, to the best of our knowledge, Joe has managed to keep his booger-hooks to himself for a fairly admirable amount of time — probably due in no small part to Joe’s erstwhile Probation Officer getting a wee bit put out and issuing a Violation of Probation warrant for Joe — but, it being a long summer, Joe has apparently decided he can contain himself no longer.
So, Joe hops into his late-‘7o’s crittermobile and cruises down to a local curb-side diner, pulls into a parking slot and orders a meal, content in the knowledge that said meal will soon be delivered by a toothsome morsel.
Now, as Joe’s meal is being fixed, allow your gaze to fall upon the pick-up truck several slots down from Joe. Witnesses become unexpectedly blank as to the description of the truck, the description of the occupants, and even the name on the side of the truck, but we’re fairly sure that it contains several men of Hispanic extraction.
Anyhoo, back to Joe. Sure enough, Joe’s munchies are delivered by a Sweet Young High School Thing, and Joe is so happy about this fact, that when she appears at his window and greets him, he reaches forth and gathers himself a nice, big, double handsful of female … umm … architecture.
Our Wee Damsel, having been gently tutored in Southern Feminine Deportment, Etiquette, and Grace by a loving Mama and/or Daddy, immediately stiff-arms 44 ounces of Sprite into Joe’s leering mush.
Joe is somewhat taken aback by this reaction to his smoothness, and responds with language that is not generally viewed as being romantic by most people. To say nothing of our Fair Maiden, who takes a two-handed grip on her Serving Tray of Doom +3 and attempts to line-drive Joe’s snot-locker over the score-board.
Now, you may be developing an inkling that Joe isn’t quite as quick on the uptake as one might hope for — he hauls off and delivers a tirade of abusive, indecent and, yes, profane language, said language which tends to incite our Lady Fair into taking a firmer grip upon her tray (Of Doom, +3) and commencing to pummel him furiously about the head and shoulders.
Sometime during the middle of this beat-down, Joe’s buttocks (being somewhat brighter than the rest of Joe) apparently decide that discretion is, indeed, the better part of valour, walk themselves across the bench seat, open the passenger side door, and hop out onto the parking lot.
We know this, because Joe has repeatedly maintained that he is — and I quote, “a man, ‘n’ I don’ run from no [expletive deleted] [deleted]!”
Since Joe seems to be rather firmly attached to said buttocks, here we have Joe out on the parking lot, with Our Heroine button-hooking the front of his punkmobile, battle tray at the ready.
Well, this is altogether enough for Young Joe — steps must be taken to preserve his reputation — and he comes to his feet with a linoleum knife in one paw.
Any further action on Joe’s part is interrupted by a soft voice saying, “Perdóname, señorita.”
Well, this kind of clears the old tunnel-vision, and Joe discovers that he and our Damsel are surrounded by a group of gentlemen — probably out of the construction truck mentioned earlier — one of whom is ‘tsk’ing his tongue at Joe whilst gently wagging an index finger.
Joe, finally tapping into a here-to-fore unused reserve of smart, freezes in place.
The finger-wagger was heard to murmur, “Con su permiso?” before a very large gentleman with a huge mustache over a bigger grin firmly relieved Joe of his pig-sticker — then witnesses affirm that the gentlemen grinned at our Sweet Young Thing, made “get-on-with-it” gestures, and went back to noshing on fries and Cokes — still surrounding the combatants.
Since this is Texas, let us say that our Damsel then “held the suspect for questioning by police.”
Yes, that will do nicely. The suspect was, indeed, still present when police arrived. Followed by the ambulance.
Responding officers note that there may have been some quite understandable enthusiasm expressed in said “holding for police”.