Over the past few years, I have attempted on more than one occasion to publicize one of the crown jewels in our Lake Highlands/White Rock Lake community – PTs (which stands for "primarily talk") Club for Enlightened Gentlemen. Bringing our neighborhood the finest in mature and sophisticated entertainment for over two decades, PTs (which also stands for "platonic tutors") has always prided itself as a place where enlightened gentlemen can come together and contemplate lofty ideals and generally make their mothers proud.


Apparently, as a direct result of my many charitable efforts to promote the mission of PTs (which also stands for "pelvic training"), I was recently surprised at my office with a little gift delivered by a process server. "Subpoena?" I asked, while glancing at my morning mail which contained a brochure from PTs’ Tattoo-of-the-Month Club (by the way, PTs also stands for "popular tattoos"). "What for?"


The process server answered, "It looks like it’s a lawsuit about a bunch of strip joints." Needless to say, the folks around the water cooler started to wonder if I was moonlighting at La Bare — or in my case "Le Scare."


As you know, the Latin word "subpoena" comes from "sub" meaning "under" and "poena" meaning "piano," so that "subpoena" literally means "under the piano," which is one place to hide when someone’s trying to serve one on you. In any event, it became clear that the organization that owned all of these "clubs for gentlemen" (also known as the "Tastefully Nasty Association" or "TNA") wanted to take my deposition. I was scared topless.


I arrived at TNA’s offices and was escorted by a Miss Vixen to the conference room, where the inquisition was to transpire. I was introduced to the legal hit man for the dark side, whose name was Joey "Those Aren’t My Briefs" Pornofella. Seated next to him was his client, the nefarious CEO of TNA, Mr. X(XX). I took my seat and awaited my fate.


Joey P: "Isn’t it true that you have showered in the nude?"


Kef: "Yes, but I was younger then."


Joey P: "What do you have against PTs?"


Kef: "I can’t answer these questions while everyone is dancing on the table."


The interrogation finally ended when I stood up and looked Mr. Pornofella right square in the eye and said: "I have to use the restroom."


Quite simply, I experienced the ugly underbelly of the world of journalism (Mr. X(XX)’s underbelly wasn’t too pretty either.) The pen is, indeed, often mightier than the sword. Those on the receiving end of the pen are sometimes pricked. And that’s when the journalist must ride the waves of threats and hold onto the surfboard of truth (huh?).


They thought they could intimidate this columnist of the mighty Lake Highlands Advocate and silence his voice. But the voice of truth and reason shall not go quietly into that good night! (And if Joey Pornofella or Mr. X(XX) calls, just tell them that I don’t live here anymore and that my kneecaps are wired to explode on contact.)