Jack.

I don’t know Jack.

In fact, I’d never heard of Jack until yesterday when I glossed over an article, a personality piece, in our local paper (yeah, I STILL read a newspaper. what’s WRONG with me?)

And then Jack popped up again in a commercial tonight while Miss Carol was making dinner and I was hanging out doing nothing, so I commented on all the sudden Jack sightings.

Who is that dude, I said. He looks like a wrinkly Crocodile Dundee, I said.

Miss Carol paused and stared at the ceiling, shaking her head sadly and said, Jack Hanna’s huge.

Really? I said. Hmm.

I read something in yesterday’s paper but I didn’t really pay much attention ’cause it looked like it was geared to little kids wanting to pet snakes and stuff, I said, guzzling a beer.

Miss Carol stopped staring at the ceiling and gave me one of those looks that just screams SHUT THE FUCK UP.

So I did, briefly.

Then I said- like I said, it was just little kid stuff.

Tug heard that and sat up and said, I LOVE little kids. They taste just like chicken, he said.

Miss Carol and me looked at him and I said, oh no you DIDN’T.

Tug laid back down, panting and grinning and I turned back to not helping Miss Carol thinking it was over when Tug mumbled, hell, they can’t even run very fast in their stupid diapers.