I have always been considered a good egg, even though most of my jokes are rotten. That’s why I squawked when I found out that chicken-hearted punks had recently egged a bunch of cars in my neighborhood.
One of those vehicles belongs to my son-in-law, who had parked it in my driveway. Feathers ruffled, I called the local police precinct and was connected to a cop whose puns are as criminal as mine.
Officer Vasilecozzo, who works in dispatch, took my complaint over the phone.
“Can you crack the case?” I asked.
“I think so,” he replied, presumably with a straight face, “but I wouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket.”
“These miscreants have obviously run a-fowl of the law,” I told him.
“I’ll have to scramble to catch them,” Officer V said.
“What if they’re poachers?” I wondered.
“Then they’re on the run,” he responded.
“You sound like a hard-boiled detective,” I said.
“You’re just egging me on,” said Officer V.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to henpeck you.”
“Let’s end this game of chicken,” he said.
“OK,” I said. “The beak stops here.”
“Good,” said Officer V, who began peppering me with questions. “Do you have a ring camera?” he asked.
“Why,” I wanted to know, “are we dealing with a crime ring?”
“If you don’t cut this out,” he said, “I’m coming over there to wring a confession out of you. Now what else can you tell me?”
Risking incarceration, I said: “There are spent shells in my driveway. And the back of my son-in-law’s car is covered in sticky residue. It looks like the work of hardened criminals.”
“Or,” Officer V said, “they could just be kids on bikes.”
I told him that my wife, a fan of TV cop shows, had done some investigating of her own and discovered on her daily walks that only red vehicles had been targeted.
“A red car up the street was egged,” I said. “And a red truck around the corner was also hit.”
“What color is your son-in-law’s car?” Officer V asked.
“Red,” I said.
“He must be seeing red,” the cop quipped.
“He’s blue in the face,” I remarked.
Officer V said he would file a report and asked me to get back to him if anything else happened.
That night, my son-in-law’s car was egged again. The next day, I called the precinct and spoke with Officer V.
“You must be shellshocked,” he said.
“I’m walking on eggshells,” I told him. “I’d like to see these guys fry.”
“That would never pan out,” he assured me.
“The eggs stink,” I said. “If this were a cop show, it would be ‘Law & Odor.’ “
Officer V said his favorite cop show is “Lucifer.”
“I haven’t seen that one,” I said.
“It’s really good,” he told me. “But so far, none of the episodes have been about egg throwers.”
“What are you going to do about the ones in my neighborhood?” I asked.
“We’ll send out a patrol car,” Officer V promised. “Maybe the police presence will be enough to deter them from continuing their messy activities.”
“Will you let me know if you make any arrests?” I said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “If we catch these guys, the yolk will be on them.”
Officer V’s plan seems to have worked because there haven’t been any further eggings.
When I called back to thank him, Officer V declined to take credit and said a coordinated effort between police and the community is what helps stem such quality-of-life crimes.
“Don’t be so modest,” I told him. “This is really a feather in your cap.”
“I appreciate it,” said Officer V. “But more than likely, these guys just chickened out.”
Jerry Zezima writes a humor column for Tribune News Service and is the author of five books. Email: JerryZ111@optonline.net. Blog: jerryzezima.blogspot.com.