This is the new thing. Sending a loud alert message to millions of phones in the state when kids get snatched up by their angry estranged father or creepy boyfriend their mom met on Craigslist who swore his criminal arrest record for animal cruelty was a youthful indiscretion. When the Amber Alert started shaking my phone, I did what I think you’re supposed to do. I stood outside the front of my place and watched for a blue Nissan Versa. I don’t know what the fuck a Versa looks like, so I broadened my search to include any blue box on wheels. Then I drank three beers to stay vigilant. I wired up the ham radio and learned that the fucked up kidnapper was going to try and make his way to Canada, which makes sense since he snatched the kids near the Mexican border. Still, crazy people eventually all find their way to the State of Washington so I waited on my little side street 200 miles north of the abduction site ready to pounce. All night. I texted back for further instructions but got a sending error. There were three more beers left in my arsenal, which I quickly polished off, then promptly fell asleep on my front lawn, probably just moments before a blue box on wheels driven by a psychotic kidnapper headed to Canada drove by. The Amber Alert system did not fail, I failed.
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