The Back of My Hand

Weigh in or go home. El Jefe would agree with that one. As the steady stream of the curious came by to inquire about the "Toodles Pussy" t-shirts, he told me in a quiet voice that he couldn't lie. It's true. He can't lie.
I tell my lies from behind the pen, quoting a writer's liberty with the truth. The kernel is the key and the chaff is pure fancy. As a side note, Webster's has a second definition for chaff, which is, "Anything worthless." Christ, I can't even trust what I say sometimes. El Jefe, on the other hand, is as honest as the day is long.

We roamed the crowd, The Fabulous Bee, myself, Kimmy and El Jefe, and I encouraged everyone to come up with their own version.

1. "It's the name of our band."
2. "We own a catering company."
3. "It's a pet store."
4. "We're honoring the memory of our pet cat. He died last week." ( My personal favorite)
5. "It's only rain! You're leaving? Oh well, toodles, pussy."

According to some of the people we talked to, there were hundreds of us. The truth is, there are four of us. We just walk fast. So, go buy a shirt, stencil on the words "Toodles Pussy" and join the revolution. Make up as many explanations as you like. Just remember that El Jefe is out there following you around, cleaning up your mess. God bless him.