The best time that I was sick, aside from the chicken pox that I got (around 7 of them total, which resulted in a carefree vacation of school, luxuriously lounging in oatmeal baths all day) was when I got a frog in my throat one morning while living in the dorms at Fort Lewis. Lowering my voice, amplified by my sickness, I found that anything I said resembled it being said by a large, black, NFL linebacker.

My friend across the hall, Lucas, had recently aqquired a coat from the lost and found. It had his last name written across the sleeve, although it wasn't his coat. What a coincidence. So Lucas, after looking at the jacket for months, finally snagged it. The next morning, Lucas got a call. From a very angry Tyrone Brooks, who wanted his coat back.

Lucas: "Hello?"
Me: "Yeah, this is Tyrone Brooks. I understand that you got my coat. I want it back, you hear?"
Lucas: "Oh, god, yeah, absolutely!"
Me: "Campus told me where you're at, so you just hang on - I'm comin' by to get it. You have it ready, OK?"
Lucas: "Of course, yes."

So then I walk over to his room and go in, and sit in the armchair he had, as custom. Lucas has just woken up, shirtless, a little disoriented. The jacket that has caused this whole debacle is lying on his desk.

Lucas: "Good morning, sunshine."
Me, after a pause or two: "HEY MAN HOW'S IT GOIN'."
Lucas: "You son of a bitch."

I then called my parents as Tyrone Wheatley from the Fort Lewis Academic Department, praising their son for his incredible academic performance. The downfall: I accidentally used a different last name for Tyrone when I was leaving a message at my mom's work vs. my dad's office, which they quickly caught on to. You can't fool all the people all the time.

Yeah, I just called my dad and tried that out again. It didn't work. According to him, it wasn't "big and black enough". Dammit.

Look, just don't steal a black man's jacket. Ever.