Horace and Grant were having a party. Not a cake and ice cream and presents party. They were having their weekly, sit around, have a couple of beers (that’s all their wives and doctors allowed them), and discuss the world as they knew it party. Their parties usually took place at Suds Tavern (coldest beer in town), usually on Wednesday afternoons (while their wives are getting manicures), and usually ended up in at least one argument. Today was no different.

They discussed sports for a bit. They stayed away from religion and politics. They were too old to talk about women. When they ran out of things to say, they talked about the weather and their many ailments. Mostly though, they liked to partake in back-and-forth, my story is better than yours, conversations.

After agreeing that the Arizona Coyotes are terrible, and why in tarnation do they play hockey in the desert, their talk turned to current news events. Horace started the latest topic.

“You hear about the rash of bike thefts in the park lately?”

Grant replied “Bike thefts? That ain’t real. We live in a gated community. It’s got a wall all the way around.”

“Believe me. It’s happening. Just this week. A couple bikes get stolen each night.”

“I’m not buying it! How do they get in and how do they get the bikes out?” Grant asked.

“They climb the walls, just like roses.”

“What the Hell does that mean?”

Horace tried to educate Grant. “That’s a simile. You know, using something to describe something else. Well roses climb walls, just like the bike thieves.”

Grant looked at Horace cross-eyed and remarked “Well, that’s just about as dumb a smile as I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s simile. And I don’t want to use another example of things that climb over walls. Last time I did, you got pretty riled up and I thought you were going to have a heart attack.”

They paused for a moment to sip their beers. Horace resumed.

“Anyway, if you want to keep your bike, you’d better lock it up at night.”

“I don’t own no lock, And I ain’t going to go buy one just cause you say bikes are going over the walls.”

“Do what you want.” Horace said. “If your bike shows up missing in the morning, I won’t say nothing.”

“Of course you won’t say nothing, cause if my bike shows up, it ain’t missing.”

The bike theft argument finished, along with their two beers. Their wives arrived to take them home. The party was over.

Later that evening, Grant pondered the situation. He sure liked his bike, even though it was old and clunky. It would be a shame if someone did indeed climb the wall and steal his bike. Grant didn’t own a bike lock or chain, but he was in possession of three things; a semi-working knowledge of how electricity flows, a golf cart, and a set of jumper cables.

He thought to himself. “Maybe I can sort of hook my bike up to the golf cart battery. Attach the negative grounds. Then attach the positive ground to the battery and place the other end under the seat. If someone tries to steal my bike, as soon as that scoundrel sits on the seat, the cable hits the seat post, completes the circuit, and sends a shockwave up his hind end. That’ll teach him.”

Grant got to work. He parked his bike next to the golf cart, secured the cables, and used some nearby palm fronds to conceal the cables. He looked over his work and chuckled at his cleverness. He went into the house and joined his wife in front of the TV. An hour later, they were both fast asleep.

Sleep didn’t last long. Not long after midnight, Grant awoke, thinking he’d been dreaming about Rice Krispies cereal. He heard a distinct Snap Crackle Pop in the driveway. He rushed to the living room window and gazed out. Sure enough, someone lay on the driveway, holding his buttocks; blood oozing from a cut on his head. Grant grabbed a baseball bat and ran out the door.

“I got you, you low-life, bike-stealing, son-of-a- . . . Horace?”

“Don’t just stand there, get me a bandage.” Horace said, grimacing in pain.

“What are you doing? And what were those sounds I heard. Sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies.”

Horace came clean. “I guess I was just having fun with you. Trying to teach you a lesson. That is until I climbed on your bike.”

Grant added “The Snap must have been the sound of the circuit closing.”

Horace piped in. “The Crackle was the sound of my buns getting zapped. And the Pop was my head hitting your golf cart when I flew off the seat.”

They looked at each other in the faint moonlight. Grant was annoyed. Horace was embarrassed.

“So there aren’t any bike thieves around?” Grant asked.

Horace finished the conversation. “Of course not. How would anybody get over the walls with a bike?”