KING LEAR JET LI.

Though I haven’t witnessed a crime, I’d still like to enter the witness protection program: (*) I could start a new life (*) With a mountain view (*) Attend fish fries with little remorse (*) See the Times delivered to my door (*) AND, I could get one of those robes, those witness protection robes. If fewer witnesses decide to topple kingpins, then maybe the Feds could keep a Witness Protection Wait List. At the very least, they should vend some Wit-Pro gear down at the J. Edgar Hoover. I gotta get me one of them Under Armour robes—with the terrycloth and the belt and the cargo pocket—that really separates and defines me.

[2]

In my witness protection dream, the Feds spirit me off in a King Lear Jet. The trip has a mountain view. The landing has a mountain view. We taxi to the gate where we park beside an enormous aircraft, a Jumbo Jet Li. The martial arts actor, himself, appears on the tail, gazing upon a mountain view with enviable wushu modesty. He, too, has entered the witness protection game, spiriting-off his share of the Protected-to-be. In my first morning of protection, I slip on (at last!) one of them robes, open the front door, and stoop for the Times. The headline declares a merger between King Lear Jet and Jumbo Jet Li—King Lear Jet Li. “O Cruel World,” I howl, while startling awake, “O Cruel World!”

[3]

I witness a shoplifting and approach the store detective with details. I’d seen two kids pocket some Peppermint Patties but I throw in some Hot Wheels and some Belinda Carlisle ringtones—for greater effect. “Do you think I could get protection?” I ask. “What?” says the store detective. “Relocation,” I offer, trying to explain. “Sure,” he says, tossing me out the automatic doors, which part just at the right moment. “Relocation,” he emphasizes, as the double doors clap together in a single beat of applause, he on the inside, I on the outs. But I’m not letting that deter me. No, I plan on witnessing some very important crimes, yes I do. I plan on demonstrating, eh!, that ‘witness protection’ ain’t just a condom on a testifier!


For more see: Under Armoire