You may have seen this story on the front page of, where some guy with a Jamaican accent killed a cop and his dog, and shot another officer in the leg.  This took place in Lakeland which is 15 minutes down the road from where I live.  There’s cops, helicopters, and a manhunt going down to find this guy as I type this.

So what happens?  My roommate tells me to walk the dogs at midnight.  Sure, they have to be pottied, and I can’t live my life in fear, and to be quite honest I wasn’t really worried about it.  But I was bored, and I wanted to give my roommate a guilt trip.  So the conversation went down like this:

Me:  “So you still want me to walk the dogs, huh?”
Her:  “Yep.”
Me:  “Oh, ok.  (Pause)  Which sounds worse?  A)  I really don’t like you anymore, Matt. or B)  I want you to walk the dogs at midnight with a convicted killer on the loose somewhere in the vicinity of our neighborhood?”
Her:  “The dogs have to go out sometimes, you know.”
Me:  “Yeah, but I figure we can wait until the dogs are clamoring and absolutely begging at the door to go potty, and then when we let them out they’ll have no choice but to immediately relieve themselves not 2 feet from the door, thus negating my 10 minute walk down a pitch dark street.”
Her:  “Are you really that uncomfortable walking the dogs tonight?”
Me:  “Well … yeah, you know. I kind of value my life, a little bit, you know.  Just a teensy, tiny bit.  I can’t help it.  God gave me this thing, perhaps you heard of it, it’s called survival instinct.  Us men excel at it.”
Her:  “Well Matt, I don’t …”
Me:  “Are these your Final Words to me before I take the dogs out … ?”

At this point she breaks down and starts laughing uncontrollably.  I think she knew I was just pulling her leg, but it took her a while to figure it out.  Phew.  I was afraid I was going to run out of guilties at that rate.