The Good Samaritan

It was three o'clock a.m. The top was down on my really fast and expensive white sports car, but I was a bit chilly so I rolled up the windows. The great thing about convertibles is that when I'm done with my cigar, I can just reach down and extinguish it in the ashtray.

So there I am, cruising along at a modest speedometer reading of 170 miles an hour, when I notice that a minivan parked in front of one of the houses in the cul-de-sac had its parking lights on. I immediately slammed my foot on the gas. "Oops," I thought. "The brake's on the left."

I hopped out of the car without even opening the door, to illustrate the size of my masculinity, but with the window rolled up I tripped and smacked my head on the concrete. After brushing myself off, I walked around to the passenger side of my beautiful shiny white sports car and opened the door. I pulled a flashlight out of the glove compartment.

It was a heavy flashlight.

Always willing to help out a fellow citizen of Earth, I waltzed on over to the minivan to figure out how to shut off the parking lights so's the car battery wouldn't be dead in the morning. It wasn't too long that I was suspiciously shining the light through the windows of the car before its owner ran out of the house in a bathrobe.

She was a gorgeous blonde with a great body, and I wondered if she'd noticed me hopping out of my car earlier and smacking my head on the concrete.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled. Her voice was as sweet as Irene Ryan's. Boy, did that turn me on.

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