busker

Loaded ... and loaded

So ... what've we got here?

Mr Jack Whittaker of the parish of West Virginia, millionaire Lottery winner, nabbed behind the wheel worse for wear for the sauce. Not good.

And JW was packing - metal and moolah (a handy $117,000 in loose bills) - which begs the question why the WV fuzz bothered to post bail at a pathetic 1.45% of what the dude already had in his wallet.

By Jove, if I'd won $315 million, I'd probably treat myself to a tincture or two, and I'd *definitely* keep a gun about my person to discourage pals of yore from spongeing too vigorously.

Mind you, I'd also hire a shapely young thang to drive me around lest I became testy at being asked to take some footling sobriety test.

Just as Leona Helmsley left payment of taxes to the 'little people', and Winston Churchill wanted the study of Latin held back as a *reward* for deserving star pupils, I go with old Jack there: Let these sobriety tests be reserved for the appreciative sober.

Nor does it surprise me that Whittaker's wheels, business and home have been under siege: the news report doesn't specify, but might we assume that these crimes were *subsequent* to his windfall?

As for Jesse Joe Tribble, what a relief to find his death "not a crime". But wise precaution by JW to be out of town.

The way *I* would have handled things would have been to have had my comely chauffeuse "live in". I'd also ensure she accessorized with the very latest slimline side-arm (so as not to spoil that pantie-line) and furnish her with canine companionship for when I was unavoidably detained exploring outta-state watering holes.

That way, it wouldn't be anything but a terrible mistake:

• Young master Tribble mistaking the portals of Château Holmes for his own sumptuous trailer.
• The skeleton key mysteriously fitting my locks; the dead bolt giving way to the gentle ministrations of Jesse's crowbar.
• And poor Fido, mastiff of slavering jowls and nervous disposition: who could blame him for misinterpreting Jesse's good intentions of removing the best silver for safe storage elsewhere.
• Likewise, on surprising our Jesse, bound for some fancy-dress party in balaclava and bag marked 'swag', no wonder Fido panicked at J's raising his switchblade, the better to show the fine Toledo workmanship in a good light. I too would have panicked and leapt for protection into Jesse Joe's arms, and who's to say that my own yellowed British fangs wouldn't also have snagged in the Tribble jugular?

"Yes, officer, that's exactly how I found him. Tragic. But come, let's not be morbid. A nightcap? I think you'll find we stock your brand. Fifi, my dear, a drink for the Captain and my check book while you're about it - I feel the need to contribute to some worthy LEO cause of the captain's advising. Bottoms up, dear boy."