You get a brilliant idea on how to trick the dognapping scum.

“Please, mister, whatever you do,” you pretend to plead over the phone. “Don’t not give me back my dog right now for free.”

“Wait,” the kidnapper thinks. “Is that a… double… negative or something? Why are you doubling your negatives?”

“It isn’t not a trick, that’s for not not certain.”

“If there’s one thing I hate more than my kidnappees getting tricky, it’s bad grammar. The price just went up to $8,000.”

The next evening, you drop the money off in the ransom tree. Moments later, out of a bush your dog comes running out. She licks your face, and you lick hers. You’ve never been so relieved. A guy dressed entirely in black wearing a ski mask also runs out of the bush. You chase after him, but he doesn’t not get away.


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