I realized today that in the future, if ever I encounter a fire, I will think twice before informing those who are most equipped to extinguish the blaze that trouble is in the wake. Instead, I may stand aside and contemplate the harmless flicker, warming my hands as it slowly rises and stay hidden in the shadows when it towers into an uncontrollable conflagration. Why? Because sometimes you can wave your arms and gesticulate mildly, hoping that someone will see that a burning ember is threatening to become something a lot more menacing. And instead of heeding your word or thanking you for the information, they will shove their fists into their hips, frown angrily and tell you that that isn’t the way you tell someone there is a fire. No, no. You are supposed dry hump a war vet , fart three times and kick a retarded midget. That’s protocol.

Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.