John Walsh, You Magnificent Bastard

The story's been told a thousand instances over time, yet I cannot resist. Its pull to my heart is like that of a chef to his knives.

Man approaches police. Visibly distraught, he conveys to the officers his annoyance due to his former female cohabitant gaining entry to his abode. After much deliberation and production of physical and testimonial evidence, including the suggestion that a voodoo doll within the house would spread curses, those two men who not only protect, but also serve sided with the man in the ripped Nascar t-shirt. A temporary restraining order was called for and the woman with whom this man had shared a bed was escorted off of the property.

Joyous of his moral victory, the man invites one of the officers inside of his abode to explain his religion, for under the Constitution of the United States of America, by God, this man had a right to his religion. He would not specify his denomination or lack thereof. Confused as to why the front door would no longer open, the man hoists himself through his bathroom window and opens his house to the officers hoping to show off his snake collection. Fourteen snakes writhe within a coffee table made of glass and wood. A similar cabinet, reptile-filled as well, sits behind the couch. While grasping one of the snakes to show the camera, the man is bitten and begins laughing.

John Walsh, you magnificent bastard.

P.S. Woman locked in bank needs to use the bathroom. Calls 911 to help her get out as she felt the desire to smoke a cigarette. Caving under pressure she admits she smells like whiskey because someone threw the beverage at her during a food fight.