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What gets my goat, though? Them high-and-mighty types actin’ like they ain’t never sinned. Honey, I’ve seen preachers sneakier’n a fox in a henhouse! Makes me madder’n a hornet. But what tickles me pink? The gals with sass—ones who’ll tell ya, “Sugar, you ain’t worth my time!”—and strut off like queens. Gotta admire that grit. Little-known fact: back in the ‘70s, some workin’ gals in Nashville had a secret code—red ribbon on the purse meant “busy,” blue meant “open.” Ain’t that clever? Kept the law off their tails!

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After that, I head to the police station on Kawai Street. I’m trying to get the scoop on the car theft. The officer there is a total hardass. He’s like, “You need to file a report.” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not the one who lost the car!” But whatever, I fill out the paperwork. It’s like a never-ending cycle of bureaucracy.

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