I'm sitting here, waiting for Johnny Law to arrive. I just caught a boy stealing a pair of boardshorts. They were down his pants.

He left the hanger sitting on the shelf, directly in front of the rack.

Um, hello? That hanger wasn't there 5 minutes ago. Do you know where the trunks are that go on this hanger?

Oh, your girlfriend put them in the rack somewhere? Would you mind showing me?

And while you're at it, would you mind lifting up your gigantic sweatshirt?

It's not under there? Oh, then how bout that very large bulge in the front of your pants?

You have another pair of shorts on underneath your jeans? And they just happen to be bunched up in the very front of your pants?

Dude, you might have a big package, but it ain't THAT big!

And I'm not shoving my hand down your pants to retrieve what's mine, so you can give it to me now, or you can yankem out when the cops get here - your choice.

Hello, 911? Police, please. Yes, I have a shoplifter here (I say as he pulls said concealed trunks from his pants).

The girlfriend has the keys in her hand. He looks at the door and takes a step.

Don't leave or it's going to be worse.

She doesn't know what to do.

He grabs the keys from her hands and bolts; she runs after him.

Yes, ma'am. They're getting into their grey Mazda 6 with the license plate # yadayadayada.

Oh, and by the way, they stole a pair of sunglasses, too, which they did not give back.

You're sending someone after them and someone here to speak to me? Great, thank you so much.