When I was a kid, my Uncle Manny would always come over and say, “Hey, kid, I wanna give you something special!” Then he’d do something juvenile like give me a wedgie or a noogie or a purple nurple or swirly or something like that. And then he’d laugh all nasally and weird.
The first few times, I came a-running, expecting something really cool. By the time I was 12, I learned to hide in the priest hole in the back of my closet whenever I saw his ’69 Pontiac Firebird come up the driveway.
Last I heard, Manny was driving an RV cross-country. Not his RV, mind you … which would explain the police pursuit.