Passenger 57 is in my barn
My wife, Robin, came to me today to announce that Wesley Snipes is pregnant.
“Either that or he’s just really fat,” she said. “And it’s not like he eats a lot.”
This was something of a surprise to me. I’d been interacting with Wesley Snipes on and off for a few years now, and he’d never struck me as the type to go out and get knocked up, being a dude and all. He had been a bit more skittish recently, and I wondered in retrospect if that had anything to do with him being in the family way. He would let me pet him, but seemed standoffish. With this look in his eyes that almost seemed to say, “Go buy me pickles.”
“If he has kittens in our barn, I’m going to lose it,” said Robin.
Wesley Snipes has been hanging out in our barn for a few years. He’s totally black without a speck of white on him and, possibly like and possibly unlike his namesake, is very friendly. He likes it when you scratch behind his ears. I’ve heard that he belongs to one of the neighbors, but likes to roam in search of new places to dine. And no, his given name isn’t actually Wesley Snipes. It’s probably something lame like “Fluffers.”
(And by the way, before anyone flames me on this one, it’s not a racial judgment to notice that Wesley Snipes is very black. It’s just a fact. Really, I was either going to call him Wesley Snipes or Yaphet Kotto. But if this cat had been really white, I would have named him Kate Moss. If he had been retarded, I would have named him Will Farrell. You get the picture. I’m just swinging at the easy lobs that life tosses my way.)
Later, I went out to the barn to feed the horses. (Robin can do it now because her knee is mostly healed, but I tend to do it a lot of the time anyway. That’s just how cool I am.) And the horses — Zoe, Shy, and Leroy — were totally snickering over Wesley Snipes’s situation. Which was actually pretty uncool of them. Leroy especially. That guy doesn’t even have any testicles, so who is he to talk? For his part, Wesley Snipes didn’t seem to mind. He was hanging out, sitting quietly on top of one of the hay bales, seemingly at peace with the world. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t named him Adewale Akinnuoye Agbaj, and not just because I can’t come close to pronouncing it. Mr. Eko is far too badass and awesome to get pregnant. Although strange things do sometimes happen on the island.
Fiona was hanging out too. She’s cool; we hauled her in to get spayed. She seems to get along well with Wesley Snipes — unlike Evil Cat, who is out of his mind and who, in retrospect, I should have considered naming Gary Busey.
“Wesley Snipes, are you pregnant?” I asked.
He refused to answer. But I’m telling you, this is exactly how it began with the whole tax evasion thing.