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But wait, there's more.

There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

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Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

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diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2003-03-08 (12:22)
In which our plucky young hero always takes his keys with him.

I almost want to thank the car thieves for the unexpected highlight of my weekends: the automated message from the Toronto Police Service, every second or third Saturday afternoon.

53 Division apparently has an automated dialing demon, kind of like the one Homer Simpson used for his telemarketing scam, except they use it for good and not evil. The non-evil phone messages, from a man who is undoubtedly the most cheerful police officer you will ever hear, are all about a rash of car thefts in the area. This in itself is not why I always listen through the whole thing with a grin. After all, I don't own a car, so it'd be pretty hard to have mine broken into.

The reason I listen is for two little verbal habits that the guy who records the messages always, always has: the first is the way that he stresses "Toronto Police Service!", as if he had totally forgotten the proper name of his employer, and the guy in the wings is ready to hiss out the line so that the play can go on, but then it comes back to him in a flash and he says "Service!" with such a smile (oh dude, I totally saved the play!) that the audience cracks up at the way he totally just broke character but they cannot, simply cannot hate him for it.

And the second is the "thank you!" at the end, which does that swoopy-upward thing, so that it almost sounds like a question. A grateful question. "You actually listened to this whole thing? Just for me? Wow! Thank you!"

If I ever run into the guy who records the messages for 53 Division, I'm going to buy him a beer, just to sbe thanked.

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