Everybody’s been emailing me wanting to know if the Mr. Macenroe story is true or if I made it all up.
I wish I could’ve convinced the cops that I made it all up. They were pretty nasty when they showed up at my house.
“Are you Philip Clark? Nice fucking sweatpants.”
They kept asking me all sorts of weird questions, like about a spate of bombings in Saint John several years ago, when a bunch of police cars got blown up. The cops seemed to think I had a chemistry lab hidden away somewhere in the house for making car bombs.
“That’s just bizarre,” I said.
Finally the police took my website and put it in a manila envelope and put the envelope in a giant Ziploc bag and then threw my website onto the front seat of a police cruiser. I could’ve cried.
Cops don’t seem to like me very much.
(P.S. Take a plastic film canister. Fill it two-thirds full of Drano crystals and pack the rest full of Comet cleanser. Drop the canister into the gas tank. It’ll take around ten minutes for the gasoline to eat through the plastic; plenty of time for you to set up your tripod.)