Have you ever met someone, and they were all that and a bag of Lays? And you were like, wow, fuck’s sakes, this one is hot, the shiz-nit, someone I can talk to, shamwari yangu and all that jazz? Yet at the same time forgetting the Golden Rule?
By that, I mean Joe’s Golden Rule of Random Misfortune, which states that the nicer the person, the bigger the skeleton (in their closet). You know for sure that everybody’s got a skeleton; they may vary in size and age, but they’re there. And you know this. Yet you fool yourself into thinking this one’s different, nice, sweet girl/guy, zvangu zvaita. Hoo, wamama.
Then it comes out – the big secret. Whether you get this from the subject her/himself, or from someone else, does it really matter? If they confess to some huge past indiscretion, rest assured there’s a much bigger one which you won’t find out unless you A. pull a gun B befriend a sibling C. visit the Scud & Nanny. Everyone‘s got a skeleton, and no matter the size, they’ll probably go to great lengths to conceal it from the world at large.
But wait! What if I, JB Esq, was a walking, talking, skeleton-detecting machine? I could, you know, have little icons for each skeleton, like a gardening tool for “hoe”, handcuffs for “thug” or “convict”, boxing gloves for “wife-beater” or whatever! Think of the fun I’d have, where if I look at someone this flashing icon appears over their head, sorta like the eureka light-bulb you see in cartoons!
I could sell my services, like if a mate has a date with his latest “The One”, he’ll give me a time and place, I show up and observe her icon, and depending on the size of the skeleton/colour of the icon/flashing lights I see, I put in a discreet phone call telling him to either float or flee!
Think how much money I could make if I had business cards printed Joe Black: Skeleton Detective?