Not Very Christlike But Could Be Fun

Today I got a pix message on my phone from a number I didn't recognize, but somehow I opened the message before seeing who sent it. Butterfingers. The pix was some cartoon thingy that you could probably download at pornocards.com. (Don't go there. I just made it up.) It said Happy Thanksgiving and had a really lewd and inappropriate moving image for any day of the week, but especially right after church, for Pete's sake!
Then I replied: Who are you?
Then he replied: Mystery.
Then I called the number and I get a whispery, "Hello." Whereupon I launched in to a who-are-you?-I-don't-think-you-know-me-tirade, but he hung up.
Then he texted me: What do u want im in church.
I wrote: I don't think you know who I am. The pix message was in poor taste. Please tell me who you are or I will find out and file charges.
He wrote: What charges? I think your threats r as poor as ur charecter.
The spelling errors are his.
He also sent me another pix.
I was really upset. I called my neighbor who is a cop. He said I could call the local police and they could find him and charge him with telephone harrassment and lewdness. He thought it sounded like a teenage prank.
I then had to go visit some people. When I came back, I wasn't so upset and didn't think I'd call the cops on him. But I did think that I could give him a taste of his own medicine.
I'm torn. Do I just let it go and not give this guy any more of my time? Or do I plan an all out assault involving lots of public phones. Or maybe even my friends' cell phones. Or a KSL.com personal ad. Hmmm...I could have a lot of fun getting under his skin.
Well, I'm still deciding. BUT, here's his number, in case you already have decided.
HAVE FUN!
801-548-1457

drama

There was drama for FHE. I had decided that it was culture night for family night and announced that we were going to see "Pericles" (y'know, for kids), at the Orem Library (for free!) at 7 o'clock. Things were going along swimmingly with the getting of the dinner made and eaten and the getting of the shoes on. (Even the getting of the littlest bathed and in jammies--why can't I go to Shakespeare at the Library in my jammies?) We were in the truck at 6:30. Plenty of time to get good seats in the storytelling wing.
Except if, as you're getting off the freeway at Center Street, the car next to you hits a pedestrian and drives away!
And you thought I was talking about the play when I said drama. Silly you.
Well the Rose partly pulls over and jumps out of the car and runs to the 12th West intersection, chasing down the hitter. He is joined by another witness. As he walks back, I see him whip out his handy dandy notebook and jot down the license plate. He is a man on a mission. Meanwhile, another lady attends to the hitted. She is mostly just shaken up but is sitting on a precarious stretch of burm next to the off ramp. The Rose joins them. I decided to stay in the truck with my brood, hazards on.
Shortly, but very shortly, a police car is behind us with lights a-flashing. I'm about to get out and explain why we're parked in the right hand turn lane when I see the second witness approach the police car. Ambulance and Fire Truck arrive at the scene. I decide that the hitted is not the only one in a precarious location and move the truck on to 12th West on the south side of the intersection. The Rose calls me. "They want me to give a statement. I don't know how long it will take."
Sheesh. And we were doing so well. I was thinking to myself, "How bad is it that I still hope we make the show?"
Long story short (What? Too late? You know me...):
Hitted wasn't even taken away in the ambulance.
Hitter didn't run.
And we made the show. And it was good. How we love the Jolly Porter.