RUSTLERS

My senses were awoken yesterday when I was making my twice-a-day trip to the local hardware store. I was in the most wonderful aisle in the store - the one that has all the nuts and bolts (zinc, stainless steel, galvanized and chrome). Just when I was sinking into a delightful hardware-induced coma, along came two rustlers who ended up botching my otherwise pleasant trip to the my favorite aisle in the store.

Oh, you don't know who rustlers are?

My apologies.

Let's rewind a minute to a previous sermon in which I sung the praises of our local hardware store. Key to these praises was the fact that our hardware store features free bags of fresh popcorn. Among those who partake of the free corn is the occasional rustler. These schmucks are easy to spot, much like Republicans at a rap concert.

Rather than simply consuming their free bag of corn, rustlers incessantly shake the bag around, thus creating (what I consider to be) an annoying ruckus.

Why this noise bothers me I cannot say. Perhaps buried in my subconscious is an incident from my childhood. Maybe I was taken hostage against my will by a strange cult whose only source of food was popcorn and whose only source of entertainment was enjoying the sound of popcorn being shaken about.

Yes, I'm sure that must be it.

Some time ago I told the wife about this strange aversion that I have to the sound created by rustlers. The look on her face told me that she thought that I was being overly intolerant. Then came the day when we were in a movie theater, seated directly in front of a particularly active rustler. His rustling went on well into the film. He must have ordered the jumbo trash can size bag. Thankfully, there were some empty seats in the theater, otherwise the wife would have pelted the guy with a barrage of Milk Duds.

In the days of yesteryear, rustlers (of the cattle and horse variety) were dealt with in the most severe way. Hangings were not out of the question. That is not to imply that I'm in favor of public hangings for popcorn rustlers. Rather, as always, I believe that the punishment should fit the crime.

A good pelting with Milk Duds makes much more sense.

Readers, enjoy your day.