Great. You caught me. You proud of yourself? You opened the door to my bedroom and caught me picking my nose. Good for you.
You know a lot of people pick their nose. They usually don’t get caught, because most people knock before entering someone’s room. Hmm… Knocking. What an interesting concept. Ever heard of it?
You know I only pick my nose because I have to. I got this medical condition where my nose produces an extraordinary amount of mucus. My doctor says if I don’t pick my nose, I won’t be able to breathe out of it. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? You with your perfect nose that makes just the right amount of mucus. Lucky you.
OK. Now you’re looking at my computer screen. I guess you caught me doing something else embarrassing, didn’t you? Not only was I picking my nose, but I was also watching pornography.
Yep. Big surprise. I’m one of the billions of people in the world who watches porn. I realize the actors in this porno are much older than usual. But, guess what? People in their nineties like to have sex too. And some of us like to watch, especially while they’re dressed like pterodactyls and making sexy cacawing sounds. Big deal.
Oh, and that sexual position they’re doing? Never seen that before, huh? That’s called the “Seaside Slammer.”
Well, I bet you’re waiting for me to address the elephant in the room, aren’t you? You’re wondering who this man is kneeling beside me and why I’m holding a gun to his head. Well, you caught me. I work for the mob. Happy? And, while I was picking my nose and watching perfectly normal pornography, I was also taking care of some business. This guy’s a stockbroker. He lost about ten grand of my boss’s money on a bad investment, and I’ve been assigned to rub him out.
Oh, and get this. He drives one of those annoyingly loud muscle cars. So, yeah, he definitely deserves to be rubbed out. And that’s what I was about to do, before you rudely interrupted me. No, I will NOT put my gun down. Who do you think you are? The FBI?
Oh, you are the FBI? Well, that explains why you have a gun also. And that helicopter outside’s been getting pretty loud.
That was a funny joke about me being in the mob, wasn’t it? This guy I’m pointing my gun at—he’s an actor. We were just practicing a scene from a stage play. Yeah, that’s it. He’d tell you himself if he weren’t so busy crying and begging for his life. He’s a real method actor, this one.
Anyway, I’m definitely not in the mob. How ridiculous would that be? By the way, if you come across a suitcase on your way out, don’t bother opening it. It’s filled with powdered sugar. You might also see my cat, Benjamin. He’s quite large and, at first glance, could be mistaken for a Bengal tiger. Don’t worry. He’s not a Bengal tiger. That would be illegal.
Well, I guess that about covers it. Except for this painting behind me that looks like the Rembrandt stolen from the Gardner Museum in 1990. And then there’s the map on my desk with an inscription that says, “Here’s where I buried Jimmy Hoffa’s body.” Not to mention the duffel bag of cash in my closet, along with a passport for a man named D.B. Cooper, who I admit looks a lot like me.
Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go through my house, find all the things that look suspicious, and write them down. I’ll send you a letter of reply within a few days, explaining how each allegation is the result of a simple misunderstanding. If you find out I fled the country, it’s because I do my best letter writing overseas. Especially in Russia.
OK. You don’t believe me. Fine. You caught me. I’m dropping my gun and putting my claws behind my head. Whoa. I meant hands. What did I say? Claws? How silly of me. I don’t have claws. I have hands. Normal human hands like everyone else on Earth. I’m definitely not an alien wearing a human skin suit. How bizarre would that be? If I were an alien pretending to be a human who works for the mob, watches porn, and picks his beak– I mean nose. His normal human nose.
Wow. Those handcuffs are cold! You mind if I use the bathroom before we leave? My bathroom’s outside. It’s that giant silver disc with a dome on top. I know it looks like a flying saucer but, believe me, it’s not a flying saucer. If you ask me, there’s no intelligent life out there. Especially not on Neptune. That place is full of idiots.
Anyway, when I use this bathroom that looks like a flying saucer, you might hear some loud clunking and whooshing sounds. Don’t think anything of it. That’s just the lousy plumbing. It’s definitely not engines revving up to launch me into outer space and away from capture. What a weird bathroom that would be, huh? Ugh… Fine, don’t let me use the bathroom then. The joke’s on you anyway. I didn’t really have to go. That’s right. I told you exactly one lie.
You caught me.