Look out, everybody, I'm on the war path. And if you're on the war path we better be going in the same direction or I'm going to roll right over your sorry hindquarters.

And my path leads to Carl Tomlin. Does that name mean nothing to you? It didn't mean much to me until I recently started my war path.

Carl Tomlin is the insurance agent who sold us our life insurance policies, me and my soon-to-be-ex-wife Arvelyn, back when she was my as-yet-unknown-soon-to-be-ex-wife. Put short, Carl sold me a sweet insurance policy in which my survivors received quite a substantial financial settlement if something happened to me. If I am eaten by a large fish, my family receives $200,000. If I am kicked in the groin by a non-family member with such force as to cause my death, my family receives $500,000. If I am poisoned by a mysterious, undetectable poison, my family receives $1,000,000. This was shortly before my wife tried to poison me and we broke up.

As is the custom, I drove over to mine and Arvelyn's house around midnight to sneak in and watch her sleep for a little while. But she had company—Carl Tomlin's car, complete with his TONG ASS personalized plates, was in my drive way. That's right, at midnight. Of course it was then I realized I have unfinished business with Carl Tomlin.

My best guess is that I never signed the insurance policy we agreed on. I suppose he could've stopped by urging me to get a physical or something, perhaps offering to do it himself as he was always a helpful insurance company servant—he even examined Arvelyn for her policy. I know I at least have some form of unfinished business with Mr. Tomlin. I could call Arvelyn and ask him what was so urgent he stopped by so late in the hour, but talking to her only brings up the heartache of my attempted murder and our breakup. I'll just call Carl at his place of business.

Okay, I just tried the number for Carl's office and they said he wasn't there, he was taking the day off and could be reached at a new number, which they gave me. The curious thing, and see if this doesn't make your jaw drop, the number is my home phone number, or the number I had before I moved out of our house. Do you believe that?

There are two possibilities as I see it: One, a little far-fetched, is that Arvelyn changed the home phone number and Carl coincidentally got a new phone number that happened to be our old one. Right, I don't buy that either.

Or the second possibility: The unfinished business I have with Carl Tomlin is of such an urgent nature that he is taking all his free time up going to my house to await my arrival, and he has left my own number for anyone to reach him there.

What service!

Carl Tomlin is the last of a dying breed, I tell you. The dedicated insurance salesman, the service-oriented salesperson who puts the customer first before all else. I'm impressed beyond all measurable English phrasing. I could only hope that Carl Tomlin is representative of all the other insurance agents at his company, for Rokwell T. Finger is in awe.

I must call Carl right away, at my house, and settle all unfinished business so he can go back to serving his other customers. The universe does not revolve around yours truly. Carl has other places to see and people to be, and they are just as fortunate as I am.

I've needed to call him for some time anyway, and ask him to quit fucking my wife until she at last succeeds in killing me.

º Last Column: Camembert is Missing
º more columns