Uncle Louie

What a despicable woman that Mrs. Widmeyer is! Bragging about her carpeting and doorbell, it makes me want to barf. But this is all part of the plan. I must be a gentleman.

“Would you like some tea?” She asks me.

I hate tea. It’s disgusting. I have my own name for tea—“dog spit.” But I don’t tell her this. Instead, I say in my most alluring voice, “I’d love some.” When she’s not looking, I dump it out on an expensive-looking bush. Let the bush drink that crap.

“I, uh, neglected to introduce myself,” I stutter. “I’m Uncle Louie, of Uncle Louie and the Polka Dots?”

“I love that band,” she squeals.

The plan is working well.