The Big Lie Part Deux: Consequences Schmonsequences!

I got home from work one day to find the Coalition Against Robot Basketball (or CARB for short) convening in my living room. This coalition consisted of Xanthippe M. Phillips (or XMP for short) and six women I did not know. When I arrived, they were arguing passionately and passing a sheet of greenbar printer paper around, scribbling eachother's words on it as fast as they could transcribe.

"It's our mission statement," the missus informed me. "We're against robot basketball players! The very idea! Why, if Congress can take a little time out from the war forchrissakes to have a hearing about Steriods in Baseball, they can investigate this! So we made an appointment with our congressman."

It's at this point in the story that I remember my egregious lie from the night before.

"Well, I'll be in the basement," I said. "I need to.. uh.. adjust the fulcrum armature in the.. uh.. ceiling fan subsystem. You know."

"Well, would you like a sandwich first?" she asked "We got one of those rings from Giant Eagle..."

"Whoa!" I responded. "Didja hear that? Sounds like undamped vibration in the.. you know.. centrifugal advance mechanism. I'd better get down there!"

There's nothing like a table saw when you're in trouble. I made small pieces of wood out of big pieces of wood for a long time as I considered my situation. The noise and sawdust are enough to repel even the manliest member of the CARB alliance. What I needed to do now was think...

What I thought was this: "Gee, I really need to adjust that rip fence. Where's my eponymous tool?*"

This was getting me nowhere. I had to either make a stand or fess up. Clearly, making a stand was out of the question. The Truth was my only real option. I needed to stop this before it got embarrassing. I hitched up my resolve and marched up the basement steps just as the door flew open.

It was Xanthippe.

"We've decided to convene here again for the Finals. We'll watch the games and take notes so that we can present a better case to Congress. We're scheduled to meet the subcommittee right after the final game. Do you think it'll go seven?"

I did the only thing a middlin' honest man could do at that point.

"Will there be food?" I asked.

(to be continued...)




*A tool named after me. Or maybe it's the other way around.