Cordially Requesting Your Restraint

I've always thought there should be some kind of intermediate step that comes before a restraining order. Because after all, "order" does sound pretty bossy. And Americans don't like being ordered around any more than we like paying for music or a legitimate cable TV connection. So I have no idea why we're still stuck with these old bullshit English laws. Our country should have something like an official Restraining Request, like "Stay the hell away from your ex-wife, if you don't mind." That'd be way more to my liking.

Unfortunately, many of our nation's lawmakers aren't regular My Friend Polio readers, so I'm stuck dealing with the restraining order my new neighbor Hamms slapped on my tender ass last week. Can you believe this shit? I swear to God, the cops catch you naked in your neighbor's basement in the middle of the night, the carpet saturated in cherry Jell-o to create a room-sized Slip 'n Slide, and you might as well not even have a trial. I've always thought being caught naked doing anything puts you at an automatic legal disadvantage, and now I have the proof.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have brought over that giant boom box, since the thudding bass from that Mexican polka music is undoubtedly what brought the attention of the law and woke Hamms up in the first place. But like they say, hindsight's on 20/20, and that bitch Barbara Walters asks some mean questions.

So now I have to stay 100 yards away from my neighbor at all times, which really bites the bits since it means I can't go in my den at all, since it's too close to his house. I've been sending Foghat to fetch things I need from that side of the house, since the plaintiff foolishly forgot to include my dog in the suit, but his oversight is my gain. The real pain in the ass is that I had to drop four grand to have hidden cameras installed all over Hamms' house just to comply with the ruling, to make sure where I am in my house and where he is in his are at least 100 yards apart at all times. Next thing you know I'll be hearing from Hamms' lawyers about the Neighbors Gone Wild hidden-camera DVDs I've been selling on the Internet. Sometimes you can't win for losing.

Not that I'm sweating the whole restraining order thing, since this is probably the wimpiest one I've ever had tossed in my lap. One time I couldn't go into Kentucky Fried Chicken for an entire year, that was a real bitch. Especially since I'd been running a home-based business off their pay phone, and we'd already had some problems about KFC and I not seeing eye to eye on what their "business hours" should be, which led to the restraining order in the first place. Well, that and the whole thing about letting 400 live chickens loose in their men's room.

I have to admit though, I've always wanted to file a restraining order against somebody. Doesn't matter who, I just I think it would be hilarious to chase someone around town knowing that I've got the power of the law on my side, should they ever let the chase get too close and breach the invisible 100 yard barrier. And if you brought along a video camera, I bet you could make some mad cash selling a DVD of that shit on the Internet. Restraining Order 2: Run, Yuppie, Run.

But so far Hamms doesn't seem like the fun type at all, I think he sincerely wants me to stay out of his house. I've tried to reason with the guy that I've got so much of my shit over there we should just trade houses, but I don't think he was too impressed by the offer after he saw Foghat's treasure room, where the dog brings all the stuff he's found around the neighborhood over the years.

But I think he'll come around once he realizes that a restraining order just means Foghat's going to be over at his house twice as often now, running errands for me and searching the house for cream of asparagus soup on his own dime. Hamms can say what he wants about Omar Bricks, but at least I never barfed on his collection of antique pillowcases after eating a case of canned cat food.

I give this restraining order thing about two weeks. Bricks out.

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