Face down, ass up/ That's the way we like to drink

It's that time . . . of course, I mean more Tales from the Road!

This weekend's crapshow included a racial component, which brought out everything awesome about the awesomest racists who ever awesomed. Seriously, I couldn't even believe the white people in the crowd - simply stunning. Some highlights:

"I think [the plaintiffs] brought it on themselves - after all, if they hadn't put themselves into that situation, they couldn't have been assaulted."

"I don't think non-citizens should have rights in America. Rights are for citizens." (This same person may have decried Guantanamo later, but I can't recall an actual quotation, so you get shit and like it)

"I mean, I get that none of the [10,000 (literally --ed.)] other times involved any threat of injury, but you never know what the future holds. I don't think you can assume."

"It's not like he was pistol-whipped - stop whining."

"It sounds like whining, when they talk about Constitutional rights."

"So what does 'lawful authority' really mean, anyway?"

"Sure, I would just walk away from someone pointing a gun at me [if I didn't think they were police] - I've done it before."

"I know what you're thinking - 'Illegal! Illegal!' What's your name? PURPLE STICKY PUNCH."

OK so I made that last one up, but seriously, the Biodome reference just kept running through my head. The moral? Well, as always, it's "Don't get sued" - but also, that racial bias knows no boundaries, especially not those outlined by, like, the law. Or the Constitution. Or really even common sense. White privilege: apparently still awesome. White people: probably the problem.

Last note for the nerds: the best exchange is below, but it's really an awkward situation that, should you actually find it funny, you're likely a douche bag like me. Here goes:

Guy: "That wasn't proven! They never proved that!"
Me: "OK - well, 'proof' has a different definition in court than in life . . . this is a civil case, do you think it was more likely than not that [X] happened?"
Guy: "Well, yeah - I mean, that's probably what it was, but it wasn't proven."\
Me: STAB STAB STAB
Guy: "I am a preponderance of pretarded."

I Will Not Reveal the Wu-Tang Secret

So obviously my work travel (in which I added yet another tiny-town courthouse bathroom to the illustrious rolls of "places RC has pooped") ended early, and obviously I got exceptionally drunk at the hotel bar playing live poker then internet poker then live poker again, then obviously the only flight I could get on in the morning is at 7am . . . and STL is an hour and a half away. Boner.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I keep laughing about one of the greatest questionnaire sets I've ever seen in my entire life, which included the following gems:

- A young man of 23 who listed his wife's occupation as . . . "Mother." Dude, how cool would it be if women couldn't vote? I KNOW!

- An old old old man who listed his reasons for not being able to serve as "Prostate has grown - have to pee a lot." There's obviously no better way to describe that - fuck it, let's go with straight-forward. Well played, Guy Who Doesn't Pay Attention To Flomax Commercials.

- And, obviously, the coup d'grace . . . a gentlemen listed his marital status as "widower" and his wife's occupation as . . . "retired." Apparently, permanently. Survey says! "Synonyms for Repose"! Sweet!

Moral of the story: the average person is markedly more stupid than you expect. You think it's bad? It's worse. Way worse. I now must retire for the evening, to the awkward sounds of tears from my non-existent spouse, who will be briefly widowed until I wake up at some retarded hour to drive to St. Louis. Life sucks - be prepared, Joe Buck, because I plan on raping your plastic face should there be any traffic at all. I hate you, and I hate your city, and I hate Rick Ankiel.

HOLLER!

So a MILF nails an incredibly awkward-looking guardsman from the middle of fucking nowhere, IA . . . and it's not even my favorite story of the past 10 days.

Of course not.

You see, getting drunk and sloppily railing a true American (weekend) Patriot? That's par for the course. Honestly, ol' Lois probably hasn't felt that (drunk and) sexy since about 'Nam - she's just reliving her glory years, blowing the entire baseball team in the old abandoned barn behind Carroll Kuemper Catholic High School. I'm cool with that - chances are, the husband knew what he was getting into before he bought the ring, and realizes he won't be doing much better. No harm, no foul, and hopefully no AIDS. I do feel bad for the kids, one of whom definitely looks in the 15-16 year old range - every single one of his friends will be bringing over a box of Franzia and trying to fuck his mom. That's kind of a pain in the ass, I'd bet. It's awkward being 16 and from Carroll, IA anyway - now imagine dudes asking for camera-phone pics of your mom getting out of the shower? FML, indeed.

Let's be honest - she may well have blacked out, she may well have not, and we'll never know the answer to that question. However, we do know there was chanting and cheering, and that's pretty fucking awesome - I love running into people doing it at the bar, and let's face it, the Metrodome has long been essentially a giant, ugly bar for Iowa fans at away games. Pride.

No, clearly the best story is Plaxico Burress shooting himself in the thigh with his own pistol. Shot himself. In the leg. In a club. With his own gun. Let's run through the specifics:

-Bringing a loaded weapon to a club? Check. (This doesn't even bother me that much, given the Collier/Williams/etc. situations - these guys are targets . . . however, I mean, the club. I'd expect a deer would want a gun if it wandered into an NRA convention, but I'm sure there were other options.)

-Holstering said loaded weapon in the elastic waistband of your sweatpants? CHECK! (note here that it is awesome to be a rich black dude - I can barely wear sweatpants around the house and not look like a total douche, but the club? Baller! Also, clearly Plax didn't take a gun class, or he'd know that you're supposed to buy sweatpants with pockets instead of jamming into the elastic. Amateur hour.)

-Gun slips out of elastic (HA) while carrying a drink back to the VIP? Oh mother fuckin' check! (Booze has done a lot to me in its time - I have injuries, I have embarrassing moments, I have burned-in memories of incredibly unattractive girls . . . but booze has never fucking shot me. Wow.)

-Reaches for gun, shoots self? Obv.

The sheer enormity of this is staggering - think of every bad decision that had to happen for Plax to cap his own ass. If, at any time, that little angel on his shoulder had whispered, "Mr. Burress! If I could interrupt, it's important to realize that, perhaps, it is not the best decision to keep a loaded firearm with the safety off next to your penis, with only the loosest of K-Mart sweatpants elastic to keep it from sliding down into the Mandingo - pardon my boldness!" then this had NO chance of happening. None.

Any time you can do something so ridiculous that it makes the connection between "drink fuckload of wine -> vanish from seat -> meet stranger -> insert penis into kidshitter" look positively linear, you're living an awkward and probably cursed life. Here's to you, Plaxico Burress - just when you couldn't be any more of a piece of crap, you raise the bar.