Repo men (or, why we’re going to hell)

The Better Half received a mailer from one of the Lasik eye places that are expanding into the area. In addition to the ringing endorsement of Tiger Woods on one side of the mailer, there was a can’t-believe-it’s-true credit offer– thirty dollars per eye per month, plus interest, subject to terms and restrictions, as well as credit approval. Which led us to wonder– what do they do if someone defaults on the credit agreement? “It’s not like they can exactly go after the collateral,” I said.

Better Half: Of course they can. “Get me Jimmy the Spoon.”
Me, as Jimmy: Yeah boss?
BH: Jimmy, we’ve got a job for you.
JTS: Left eye, or right eye?
BH: What does it matter?
JTS: Well, it’s a little-known fact that the left eyeball is slightly smaller than the right. A person’s got to pick their professional tools, in order to do the job correctly.

It got grosser from there, as you can imagine. Later, however, over dessert, we were musing about the new ways someone was aggravating me, and the BH suggested that perhaps Jimmy the Spoon could take care of it. Except…

BH/JTS: Uh, boss, whaddya want me to do with the right one?
Me: Whaddya mean, the right one?
JTS: Well, I only collect the left ones.
Me: I don’t care– just don’t let it come back to me. Throw it out the window for all I care.
Me/JTS: But won’t people think it strange if they see an eyeball come flying past their window?
BH: Nah. It’s in a rough part of town. Jimmy, you worry too much!