My coworker M, today, about library procedures: " [Polyethelene] Strappin' ain't easy, but it's necessary."
Me: "Like pimpin'."
M: "Exactly. My strap hand is strong."
(Some days I love my job.)
I've been rewatching my Titus DVDs. My favorite sitcom of all time, mostly because of a lovely Aristotlean confluence of dysfunction. I.E., It premiered the
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*******
"Franco's gonna kill me."
"No, he won't."
"Hotch, I've known the guy for 15 years. And I do this for a living. I think I know when I'm in mortal danger."
"You're not in mortal danger, so could you... you know what, I don't even know."
"He just altered this suit. I mean, *just* altered it, like, last month altered it. And now I go and get blood on it. He's gonna kill me."
Hotch straightened up, and tried to edge his aching back up against the wall. Given the near dead-weight 190-pound belligerent Italian under his arms, this was not easy.
He turned his head to look at Dave, trying, as much as he could, not to jostle the jury-rigged bandages.
"Dave, I promise, I won't let your tailor kill you. I've gone through too much trouble for that."
"You promise?"
"I promise. Now, would you try to rest, please? You remember the cell phone call, right? Morgan and Emily should be here any minute."
"All right. But seriously, next time I go in to his shop, I want you as backup."
"Agreed."
"...yeah, Franco's a pretty gentle soul. He probably wouldn't kill me."
"If anyone's gonna get that pleasure, it will be me."
"What?"
"Nothing."
And as the warehouse door crashed down under the force of a Derek Morgan high-kick, Hotch breathed a semi-silent prayer to the heavens.
"I heard that, Aaron."
"Shut up, Dave."
"Shutting up, boss."
******
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