Happy 3rd 34th, Harrison! And in other news...Notorious J.E.J. and I handle some beef

 

Today, Harrison Ford celebrates his 3rd 34th year anniversary of being alive. 

At the relatively young age of 34, the still unknown future Star Wars star decided that he would forego annual birthday celebrations, deciding instead to consolidate them into 34 year anniversaries.

In his words, "I'm not doin' this shit every year. It'll be another 34 years before I put up with this crap again."

He celebrated his 2nd 34 year anniversary at age 68 with a single cupcake, eaten alone in his New Jersey apartment, listening to Pink Floyd's "The Wall."

Today's festivities included a short walk with his dog Sandy, a Pekinese whom he says he is determined to outlive, and a cup of frozen yogurt at Bob's Fun and Fro-Yo, a dog friendly bistro and video arcade. 

Mr. Ford turns 102 in human years today, Jan 12, 2025. But who's counting, right? Back to you, Betty.

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OK, so the real story today is that I was out driving with James Earl Jones, the voice of Darth Vader and Arby's Roast Beef. We were in my Honda Fit (an apt name, since it always seems miraculous that anyone of even moderate stature can be pretzeled into any of its seats). 

We were out collecting debts. Some were bookings from a gambling operation, others drug debts, and some were personal vendettas being carried out for pay or pleasure. The common denominator was the extraction of pain or profit, or both, from fearful and unhappy customers, something in which Mr. Earl Jones took great delight.

We were in the parking lot of a Safeway when we found ourselves in the unlikely position of being shaken down by a couple of grocery store thugs. Two black guys in their mid 20s were trying to rob us, alluding to a gun, which they never actually produced but claimed was hidden under one of their coats.

"We don't have time for this now, gentlemen," said James, in that famous voice that was both silky smooth and hard as a judge's gavel. "We'll take this up another time."

With that James Earl went into the grocery store while I went to a friend's nearby apartment for a foot massage. I didn't go there intending on getting a foot massage, but it just worked out that way. 

It got kinda weird when my friend, a guy who I really only knew in passing, asked me to get on the bed and lie down. I took my shoes off and did as he asked, but I didn't feel comfortable about it, and I wound up leaving before any actual foot massaging happened.

Back in the car, James informed me that we had to go to his mother's house. She was making soup, and it was a standing calendar event from which he would never be absent, no matter what else was on the itinerary.

At the house, his mom greeted us, but before we could even enter, we spied the two grocery store thugs lurking around behind my car.

"Excuse us please, Mom, we've got something to attend to," James said, wearily.

Back out to the car we went. The two thugs retreated into the woods, thinking they'd gone unnoticed, but we could still make them out talking about their plans to rob and kill us. 

"You wait in the car," James told me. "I'll handle this. Just be ready to peel out when I get back."

"OK," I said meekly. I didn't know what his plan was, but it sounded ominous. Pretty much everything he said sounded that way, because, you know, he was James Earl Jones.

He walked back into the woods and approached the two men. Without a word, he produced a .38 caliber revolver and shot each of them once in the head. Well, I assume that's what happened. I couldn't see anything. I just heard two shots ring out and then the sound of two bodies slumping to the ground in the autumn leaves.

"Hurry up!" James said as he opened up the car door. 

Paralyzed with fear, I was possibly the worst getaway driver in the history of getaway drivers. Not only was the car not running, but the keys were in my pocket, and I was seatbelted in, which prevented their immediate retrieval. 

"You've got to be kidding me!" James scowled as I fumbled.

I kept tugging at the blade of the key which protruded slightly from the pocket, but the rest of the keys were firmly ensconced, wedged behind a crease in my jeans. It took two of us pulling and prying to get them out, and by that time, bystanders who had heard the gunshots were starting to take notice of us. 

We finally managed to get the keys into the ignition and the car in gear, and away we went, skirtching the tires on the gravelly parking area behind his mom's house. At this point, the dream ended.

And James Earl Jones never got his soup.