Spencer's Parents

His parents didn’t know what happened. They were living in South Beach. They were reclining on the sand while Spencer was in the courthouse.
Mrs. Blackwell looked over the ocean.
“Oh, it’s such a beautiful day!”
Mr. Blackwell responded by sighing pleasurably.
“You know,” he began, “I was just thinking about going—“
His cell phone began playing the chorus of some tropical-themed pop song.
“Spencer, what’s up?”
“Well, something.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I might be going to jail for six months, unless I can make an appeal.”
“For what!”
“Marijuana possession.”
“You idiot! How could you ever do something so stupid?!”
“It fell out of my bag.”
‘Ah!”
“They say it helps if you have money.”
Mr. Blackwell calmed himself down.
“How much money do you think?”
“Based on what the bailiff said, I don’t know, a hundred thousand.”
“Jesus Christ! Is this bribery of the legal system?”
“No, it’s just to prove that I’ll rehabilitate myself, go to rehab, and stop using drugs.”
“That’s laughable.”
“Come on, you’ve got to respect a system that won’t clog up their jails with potheads and actually give me a second chance without the fear of losing my anal virginity.”
“You do some more research on this appeal, and you tell me when I need to be there, you dig?”
“I dig.”
“Now, your mother and I have to get back to our tanning and swimming. You better be getting back to me soon on this.”
“By the end of the week.”
“I’m not proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t be either.”
“Goodbye.”
Mr. Blackwell hung up the phone and Mrs. Blackwell asked what was the matter and Mr. Blackwell said that they’d be taking a little trip in a little while.