Hiding

            “Holy shit, they’re coming, they’re coming! Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide your husbands!  I hate being right sometimes!”  The Jeffersons heard someone screaming outside their house.

            Fred looked up from his morning paper, slightly irritated that someone had the gall to break his routine with such nonsense about hiding husbands.  How could anyone want to hide Fred? His mustache was too marvelous to hide.  He was relatively sure some people would even take offense to his not being in public view at some point during the day.  Curious as to who would be spewing such drivel, Fred got up his favorite chair, and went to the front door.  He threw it open and asked the world “Who the hell thinks anything is coming? Why would you think that? Who’s coming?”

            A short-ish man in a dark purple sweat suit and an aluminum foil cowboy hat ran up to Fred’s front door, panting loudly.  “Name’s Ernesto.  The nudists are coming. I seen ‘em. Out that way. I like your mustache, guy.” Ernesto punctuated the statement with an enthusiastic pointing down the road.

            Flabbergasted, Fred didn’t realize that he had dropped his newspaper. It had been folded up in his hand, by his side.  “Dear God, please tell me you’re joking.”

            Shaking his head furiously, Ernesto replied “There are dozens of ‘em, man. Maybe hundreds, who knows? No way I stopped to count them all, I just ran.  Everybody needs to know.”

            “Damn straight, they do! We need to prepare! As you were, Ernesto. Godspeed!”  Without further ado, Fred shut the door and got his rifle from the closet right beside the door.  He made sure it was loaded, and went outside, running the direction Ernesto had come from, mustache twitching in anticipation for what would soon come. The nudists had to be stopped at any cost.