Adage

Adage (ad’-age): One of several terms describing short, pithy sayings, or traditional expressions of conventional wisdom.

“The best things in life are free.” This was my motto. I’d be standing in a convenience store, gun drawn, balaclava pulled down and a car idling outside, legally parked and poised for my getaway. I’d wave my gun over my head and yell, “The best things in life are free!” Give me all your cash and Marlboro 27s, and Take 5 scratch offs. I’d hit three stores a day. I almost had enough cash to buy a racehorse and a Lincoln Navigator. In two months I bought the horse: a filly named “Pearly’s Promise.” I had violated my motto by actually paying for the horse. But then I realized I paid for her with stolen cash. So, technically, she was free.

I got a trainer and a jockey. The trainer was named “Crackers Punchoski.” The jockey’s name was “Salad Vogel.” I thought their names were pretty weird, but I was told weird names are a good sign. The name shows their dedication to the “sport of kings.” With names like Cracker and Salad, they can’t get a job anywhere else. They’ve taken the leap.

So I rented horse tack from a guy in the parking lot who said it was lucky. A horse running in the Traverse Stake at the SaratogaTtrack in New York had lost by only a nose. I bought a trailer, pulled by the Lincoln Navigator, and a small farm in Kentucky named “Butter Bill Glen.” Then, I bought a set of colors on e-Bay. I registered them under a phony name: Jefferson Starplow.

“Pearly’s Promise” was magical. She was on her way to the Kentucky Derby. That’s when the FBI showed up. They wanted to know who Jefferson Starplow is and how I got all the “stuff” with no records of loans or other sources of capital. I said “Wait a minute” and ran out the door, and jumped in the Navigator and took off. Their piece of crap government issue sedans were no match for the Navigator. I got away, but I knew it was just a matter of time before they caught up with me. I drove to Ruidoso, New Mexico where I took shelter among the racing aficionados who flocked there from Texas to race their quarter horses. I got some cowboy clothes and made plans for a dash across the Mexican border. There was a “hole” in the border maintained by a corrupt troop of Border Patrol officers. I paid the tariff and and walked across the border. I had four big suitcases with wheels. They were packed with $100 bills. I hired a kid to help me drag them into Mexico. There was an armored limo waiting for me. It took me to a clandestine airstrip. I boarded a plane that took me to Costa Rica—no extradition treaty with the US. I’m living in a vila overlooking the ocean. I married a local woman and we have two lovely children—4 & 6. I still believe the best things in life are free. But, I learned my lesson—escaping justice cost a shitload of money, and I’d count that as one of the best things in my life.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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