Observations from the Middle Stall

I got pulled over for driving without my headlights on in New Tampa, which features the most well-lit roads in the long and boring history of well-lit roads. After the officer got to my car, he asked if I had been drinking. I told him no and he seemed to believe me (I was actually sober so this was kind of fun). Then he asked me why I didn't have my lights on. I told him that I hadn't noticed because the road was so well-lit. He looked up at the lights, looked down at me and said, "Yeah, I guess that is a little much. Have a good night." Then he walked away from me and out of my life forever. I miss him.

I don't care how stupid it sounds, the number of hot chicks in a given supermarket seriously influences where I do my grocery shopping.

It took the media approximately ten seconds from the end of last night's Colts/Pats game to convey to the general public that two black men would be coaching in the Super Bowl and that they were the first two to ever do so. That upset me because I don't think we'll ever properly combat racism until we start ignoring things like this in the media. I told my buddy Dave about this and he said, "No matter who wins this game, no black coach has ever beaten a white coach in the Super Bowl." Clearly, we have a long way to go.

I've never met a prude with fake breasts.

I have a quasi-neighbor named Willie. He's not technically my neighbor because he doesn't live next door to me, but his Baby Momma does and Willie is a big part of his daughter's life. Which means he's by her place a lot. So, I treat him like a neighbor. Anyway, Willie and I were drinking a beer around the tail end of the Pats/Colts game and I asked him how he felt about there being two black head coaches in the Super Bowl (Willie is black). Willie replied, "Ten years ago, I'da been scared for their lives." Maybe we have come a long way, after all.

I've never met a slut with a hymen.

Writers have crazy big egos and generally think that they're better than everyone. That's one of the many reasons I usually hate those guys.

A good, regular bartender is as important to one's health and well-being as his psychologist, banker, preacher or doctor. I firmly believe that.

And finally, because logic and fluidity once again need to regroup and help me hit my column deadline, I leave you with the following, which was written on the wall of a bar's bathroom in South Tampa:

She's not fat,
She's horny.
She's not ugly.
She's ready.

Chug your drink and take the muff dive.
No reason to look cool.
Hell, the ugly bitches will even drive
And they'll suck you through and through.

--King Motherfucker

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