I Have Questions

As you may recall, I owe Sarcastro thirty nine billion dollars. He's been lording it over me for months now, but finally, we've arranged a repayment plan. For starters, last night, we went to the Army/Navy Surplus Store and then I took him out for dinner*. As a result, I have some questions: 1. No grenades? No spare cotter pins laying around? No enemy skulls? Surplus what, then? Long johns? 2. Isn't there some OSHA rule against having someone without steel-toed boots moving around construction equipment? Especially if that someone is in her brand-new work shoes? 3. How in the hell has Sarcastro made it to his advanced age without being stabbed by some enraged woman? Can dimples really protect a man for 40 years? 4. Is there some mathematical rule, whereby if you take the length of the buffet in feet and divide it by the number of people sitting in the restaurant and, if you come up with a whole number larger than say 1, you should flee? 5. Eh, let's face it. This was a lot funnier when I was thinking it through walking the dog this morning. I had a tangentially grueling day yesterday where a guy I don't really know died and everyone he knew called me to tell me. Very considerate on their parts, but I started to think that maybe they didn't have a funeral for him or something, because I spent the better part of my day on the phone listening to very old folks with that "proper" Southern accent that lets you know that they're of a certain age and that they went to college, talk very lovingly about a man they were devastated to lose. By the end of the day, I was sad the world had lost him, too. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, both from my interactions with him, and from the things his people have told me about him. And it seems that so few of us know how to be good to each other and to ourselves, it kind of bums me out that someone who seems to have had that figured out died so unexpectedly. *No, he didn't suddenly crumble to dust when I whipped out my wallet. But I, too, wondered if he would.