Tales From Leg 4

Big ups to the DoD! I know it has been a long time since we last met, but I have been super busy! I did my last post from Indiana (what a hellhole), but now I am safely ensconced in my new home in Hoey Hall Room 411. I have a roommate named Twyla Harrison, and she's such a sweet thing...we'll get to her on another post. I wanted to update you on the happenings from the rest of my trip.

When we last spoke, I left Manhattan, KS after bumping uglies with a Ph.D. from Kansas State (he was so cute). After leaving Manhattan, I made my way east on US 24 and dropped down to I-70 in Lawrence. I swung by the campus of the University of Kansas...it was really nice. If you're ever in Lawrence and need some time to kill, I recommend going to the museum of natural history on the KU campus. It's aces! I sailed through Kansas City and headed for St. Louis. I saw some billboards for Harrah's Casino in St. Louis and figured, what the heck? D-Licious could always use a little extra cheddah, plus I love to play blackjack. The place was swanky-danky indeed! I had to sign up for a "membership" to gamble and they gave me my own Harrah's card (whatever happened to good old cash money on the barrel head getting the job done?). In order to stay off the "grid," I used my fake ID. I have a driver's license from an unnamed western state that shows my name to be Kelly Kapowski (from Saved by the Bell fame) and put down $500 in cash for my account. I got a kick out of it when the clerk at the membership counter said "good luck at the tables, Ms. Kapowski." I hit her with a devastating smile...that's how I roll.


I made my way over to the quarter slots first. I like to warm up by losing about $50 at the slots to get my mojo working. It's a proven fact that once you are down a little bit to the casino, the casino security (I like to call them the "eye in the sky") alerts a pit boss or two to send in the free drink hoochies to keep you on a losing streak. Then they also send over the rep to get you into a higher stakes game because of your "honored guest" status. Well, that doesn't work on my for a couple of reasons:

1. I'm a drunk. I actually function better with 1.5-4.5 oz of alcohol in my system. I concentrate better, work up the odds in my noggin and take better calculated risks, and bluff like a champ.
2. I cheat. When I was living in Africa, I had a friend named Jambo Amin that taught me how to count cards up to a 5-deck shoe. It's not a particularly valuable skill in Africa, but it came in hand on weekend runs to Vegas or the payday poker games we had when I was still at Boise State.
3. I'm handicapped. If I get in a rut, I can throw a fit about how the casino is taking unfair advantage of the disabled. I always get ejected from the casino, but not before I get a few hundred in hush money and a free buffet.

True to form, after losing some cheese-erino, a large pair of boobs on skinny legs came by and offered me a drink...I went with 7 & 7. I switched to the video blackjack machine to get my head right before moving over to the tables. I made sure to lose another $30 and the hooter patrol came back and I got 7 & 7 number two. Then the clouds started to part and I could feel myself easing into the zone. After another 20 minutes I had won back the $30 plus the $50 from the slots...it was go time. I strolled over to the blackjack tables and started watching the dealers. I always have the best luck with dealers that are either balding white males or Filipino women. I was in luck, because I spotted a gal named Lucy from Southeast Asia. I made my way over to her table; there were 4 other saps there. The minimum bet per hand was $25...just my kind of game.

I won't bore you with the details of each hand, but I let myself get down early, to make the eye in the sky think they had a red herring on their hands. I made stupid bets, hit on 18, downed another 7 & 7, stuff like that. When I got down to my last $50, I started winning. I acted all surprised, clapped my hands with glee, said "Golly, my luck must be turning around. I've had nothing but bad luck since my Harvey, God rest his soul, died 2 years ago when he got run over by a combine." That elicits sympathy from the other players and it gets in their head. They start losing and rooting for me even more each time that I would win. I started doubling down, betting big and coming through. I always made sure to lose every now and again to make it look good for the eye in the sky. After about 3 hours at the table, I was up $5700. That's when I made my fatal error. I usually limit myself to stopping after being at the table 3 hours or winning $5000. After you get above that, the eye in the sky runs a check on your ID.

Well you guessed it, when they ran a check on Kelly Kapowski, it came back as a fake. If I had left at the $5000 mark, I could have walked out of the casino scott free. Instead, Bugsy and Izzy the Nose escorted me to see the "manager." The manager hits me with the "You've done very well at the tables tonight, Ms., Kapowski, is it?" I fix him with a cold stare. "Yes, I've done pretty well. Justy lucky, I guess." He shifts in his chair "How long have you been away from (insert unnamed western satte here), Ms. Kapowski?" My heart started pounding in my ears "A couple of weeks. I'm on vacation." He smiles a thin-lipped smile. "That's interesting, Ms. Kapowski. I took the liberty of reviewing your membership. Since you were doing so well, I wanted to upgrade your status that would allow you to have some comps at all of our Harrah's casinos around the world. Did you know what I found out?" I forced myself to take a deep breath, and smile. "You found out that I am a sexy lady with a prosthesis that does not in any way reduce my sexiness, and you also found out that I once beat a man to death in front of his mother?" He paused as that one hit home. "Well, no, Ms. Kapowski. I found out that in fact that there is no Kelly Kapowski that is a resident of (insert unnamed western state here), and that the identification card you used was a fake. So you can see that puts me in a rather delicate situation. I cannot have members that use false identification to get gambling credentials, nor can I disburse money from the casino to someone who may or may not be a wanted murderer, as you so delicately put it. A bit of a quandary, you see?" I was so nervous that I farted. "Pardon me. Well, I'm glad I'm not you, because while you could have me arrested, I could also make a scene about how you threw me out of the casino because I'm handicapped and a woman. I would be lod and obnoxious to the point where the cops would have to tazer me. Not a great PR choice for your other members. Why don't we try to work something out." The manager put an envelope down on his desk. "There is $1500 in there. Take it. Your membership has been revoked. Your photo is now listed on our internal security website. If you so much as think about coming into another Harrah's facility anywhere in the world, I will be all over you, I will put a bullet in your ass. If you show up in Macao, I will jump out of a bowl of rice and shoot you. If you show up Vegas, they will never find your ass in the desert. Have I made myself perfectly clear, Ms. Kapowski?" I tried very hard not to pee my pants. "Crystal. Thanks for your hospitality."

I grabbed the dough off of the desk and was escorted out the door by Bugsy and Izzy the Nose. I took my winnings and drove eastward. I kept driving until I got to Indiana where I stayed for the night. My heart was still racing. I decided to go to an Applebee's and have a few drinks to calm myself down. I was bummed because they were on to my Kelly Kapowski alias. Knowing those knuckle-dragging morons, they alerted the FBI or some crap, so I can never use it again. We'll see what sort of new fake ID I can get once I arrive in North Carolina. Until then, I have to stick with being Dana with the metal friggin' leg. I'll let you know how the rest of the trip to Moore went next week. Peace out!

Tales From Leg 3 - On The Lam

Originally, leg 3 was supposed to be from North Platte, NE to St. Louis, MO. Well, due to the, shall we say, delicate situation from leg 2, I decided to take a more circuitous route across the Midwest. I figured I had to get out of Nebraska on the double, but I wanted to minimize Interstate travel in Huskerland. So from Lemonye, I hustled down to I-80 in Ogallala and squirted over to North Platte. Then I dropped due south on US 83 and went trough a series of nowhere towns like Wellfleet, Maywood, and McCook. These were the towns that time forgot. I did manage to run over some culture in McCook by way of a house built by Frank Lloyd Wright, called Sutton House. The town is super proud of it. I have never been a fan of FLW's houses, they all seem really boxy and weird. I know all of that crap about it being different and groundbreaking and stuff, but if you ask me, would it kill you to build perfectly spherical houses? Big ups to the geodesic dome!

I sallied forth from McCook down to Oberlin, KS. I was expecting from the town's name that this would be home to the world famous Oberlin Conservatory of Music. I was wrong. As it turns out, that Oberlin is in Ohio...figures. They did have a diner that served a wicked pepper steak. The waitress, let's call her Flo, asked me what happened to my leg. I have three standard answers that I give, and I pick depending upon my mood:

1. The truth - I lost my leg in a tragic crocodile encounter in Africa. The standard reply I get to that is "bullshit!"


2. Fake answer #1 - I was playing in my grandfather's wheat fields in Idaho during harvest time and I lost it in a tragic accident involving a combine. The standard reply I get to that is "no way!"


3. Fake answer #2 - I was the top cheerleader on the pyramid and I fell off and landed awkwardly on that leg and it was shattered into such tiny bits that they couldn't put it back together. The standard reply I get to that is "that sucks."

I was feeling a little saucy, so I went with option 3. She said "that is a bummer. Have a piece of apple pie on me." Sweet right? The pie was a day too old but even bad pie tastes good when it's free. I gave Flo an extra $1 for her trouble. Oh yeah, Mama-D is a giver.

I then headed east on US 36 and blew through some real shitholes like Norcatur, Norton, Stuttgart (can you believe it?) and Smith Center. I jogged down 181 to Downs and picked up US 24 and kept heading east. I read on the Internet once that when you are fleeing someone like an abusive spouse or a hopped up crack dealer you owe money to, you should change directions alot and try to remain unremarkable. I at least got the direction changing part down. I got more gas and kept going, finally stopping for the night in Manhattan, KS, home of Kansas State University. I thought to myself: college town + hot but slightly road grimy blonde + alcohol + EuroVan = anonymous sexy time! My instincts were dead on! As it turns out, I had rolled into town late on Saturday the 13th. As it turns out, the Kansas State football team had just won a home game (against Colorado?...who cares) and the bars were filling up with tons of loose-walleted dudes hung over with gridiron glory.

I rolled into the Buffalo Wild Wings on Moro street and went looking for a free beer. I also ran into this guy named Ionut. I couldn't pronounce his name so I just said "buy me a beer and don't get pissed if I call you Donut." He obliged. Turns out that hes was this uber-geek Ph.D. in Computer Science who had come in for the weekend to visit his old campus haunts and some other Star Wars nerds and to take in the game. I broke it down for him: if you keep feeding me beer and wings, you will in fact get to lose your virginity tonight. He laughed...turns out Captain Nintendo wasn't a virgin after all. There was this special gal in the computer science department that he had loved and lost back in the day, by the name of Sasha. Sasha was from Croatia. I really didn't give a flip, but he kept the malted hops and barley flowing so I listened to his tale of heartbreak. She ended leaving him because she couldn't find work in the US and had to go back to Croatia. They used to spoon until the sun came up after knocking boots (what a dork).

After listening to him yammer on for 3 hours, I said "are we going to do this our what? We can go to your hotel or take my van to a park somewhere and I'll move you into a different time zone." We ended up going to his hotel (Courtyard by Marriott, very nice). He was far from the best 1-2-3 skidoo that I ever had, and a couple of times he called out "Sasha!" as I was rocking his world. The second time he did it I slapped him across the face and said "who's your Sasha now?!" He did tell me that I was remarkably limber for a woman with only one leg. Tell me something I don't know. After he was asleep, I rifled through his belongings, but nothing worth pawning, so I got dressed and took off. I drove the EuroVan to a little park and went to sleep. The next morning, I headed off down the road and picked up the Interstate in Kansas City. After that, it was on to St. Louis.

Tales From Leg 2 - Leaving The West

Hey gang! I wanted to give you an update on my progress across the country. I'm actually writing this from New Albany, IN which is on leg 4, but we'll get to that on another post. I had a hoot of a time on leg one, and I had to get a few states between me and Wyoming before I could safely regale the DoD faithful with my tales of daring do.

If you are a square, then I have found the perfect place for you to visit or retire to: Rock Springs, WY. Where is that you ask? It's about 180 miles east of Ogden on I-80. It's charming if you're old as turds, and it was a convenient place to stop and stretch my leg. Tripadvisor.com "advised" me to go see the Community Fine Arts Center (CFAC to the locals) to see "one of the best collections of modern art in the Rockies." What they failed to mention was that quote was made in 1952. Now D-Bird is flush with cash, but I'm not in the business of making cash rain down like Pacman Jones at a strip club, so when I went to this place I figured it would be a reasonable price: say about $5-7 US. Now when I entered CFAC, the place was pretty small. I sauntered up to the reception desk and asked how much to get it. A sweet lady named Jennifer told me that admission was free. They did accept donations, just whatever the visitors felt like giving.

I decided to give the place the old once-over before I decided on what to donate to the place. I mean, I had to take in "one of the best collections of modern art in the Rockies" for myself. It was not too bad as collections go. There were a lot of weird abstract pictures, stuff I'm not a big fan of. I prefer the old stuff like Greek and Roman statues because they put lifelike genitals on them. I mean, it takes a lot of skill to carve a realistic twig & berries out of marble. The more I examine these statues, the more I believe that there may be something to this Darwin character & evolution. Stay with me: you never see a John Holmes like appendage on any Greek or Roman statue. They usually look normal. So, over the course of a few centuries, humans have evolved to in some specimens an enormous dingle-hopper to skewer unsuspecting nymphos. What I can't seem to figure out is why? What is the biological advantage? Anywho, I took my tour and dropped $5 in the donation box so they can keep the lights on in the place.

So what's the big deal that you had to hightail it out of Rock Springs? Well, I went to a gas station to fill up the EuroVan before leaving town, we'll call it a Smexxon/Globil station. I went up to the pump (pump 9 for luck) and swiped my card. It doesn't work. I check to make sure I have the magnetic strip facing the right direction (I am a blonde) and try it again. No dice. I rub the card to make sure that there's no dirt or gunk on it and try it again. Strike 3. I try to lift the lever and start pumping. No workie. It was at that point that the clerk comes on over the little loudspeaker at the pump and says "You have to prepay." I tell her "the card reader isn't working, can you just turn it on?" She asks "Did you swipe your card in the machine?" I said "Yes." She said, "Was it turned the right way?" I said "Yes." She said "Are you sure?" I said, "I tried it 3 times and it didn't work. I checked to make sure the card was turned the right way." She said "Why don't you try another card?" Now I was getting mad. I walked into the store and up to the counter. That's when I saw the bitch. She looked like a red-header version of Avril Lavigne, except that she was a 200 pound fat cow. I handed her my card and said "Can you run it in here?" She rolled her eyes at me and said "I'm gonna have to reset the pump," and then just stood there chewing her gum at me.

I said "Well you better get to it then." She narrowed here eyes at me, and started punching buttons and swiped my card. The register booped at her. She sighed and did it again. Another boop. She hands me back my card and said "Your card doesn't work. You're going to have to pay cash." I'm sure she meant well, but her attitude had got the best of me. "My card worked the last time I used it, so why don't you run it again?" I made sure to give her my best "crazy eyes." She said "Either you pay with cash or get lost." I must admit that at this point things got a little out of hand. I reached into my wallet and laid out 2 crispy Ben Franklins on the counter. I also nonchalantly loosened Mitch's straps. I asked her to put $25 on pump 9. She said "What's the other $175 for?" I said "For this, bitch!" I then proceeded to swing Mitch around, knocking a display of lotto tickets to the ground, also laying waste to the Jerry's Kids bucket, a Tic-Tac display and some Jack Link's beef jerky. I then took a lunge at the tart and connected with her right forearm, leaving a nice red mark. The yelp of pain and surprise was very satisfying. I then strapped Mitch back on and put $25 of gas into my car and took off. I had to get off the Interstate and take a number of back and side roads until I got into Nebraska (I crossed at Lyman, NE) and made my way hither and thither until I couldn't drive anymore and camped in the EuroVan near Lemoyne. After that I did manage to get back on the Interstate in North Platte after another gas stop (the card work fine, thank you) and took off and tried not to look to conspicuous.

So, if you're traveling through far western Wyoming, I recommend that you stop at the CFAC, say hello to Jennifer and take in their collection, it is definitely worth $5.

Tales From Leg 1 - Last Day at Weber State

Greetings to the DoD (Disciples of Dana)! I salute you as always with a smooch, and a chaser of high-end hooch (I prefer Tres Generaciones tequila). Well my road trip has commenced! I apologize for not getting in touch sooner, but I had to leave Boise quietly due to a small misunderstanding with the landlord of my apartment building. She understood that I was going to move out all of my belongings by 9/30 and have the place cleaned and ready to move in...I understood that she could go f@$! herself and I was leaving her with a beautiful furnished apartment. I only took all of my clothes and everything I could fin it the EuroVan. I had dinner with Teena and Lamoni one last time before leaving town. It was a flop and a half.

Let's just say that Teena has never been nor will ever be accused of being Julia Child. She has on a number of occasions launched off on some weird culinary tangent and has punished us with her poor attempts at what she calls "the latest food craze that's sweeping the nation." Only it's not and she's 30 years late. When I was in junior high it was pemmican. For those of you who don't know what pemmican is, Wikipedia defines pemmican as "is a concentrated food consisting of dried pulverized meat, dried berries, and rendered fat. It was invented by the native peoples of North America, and widely used during the fur trade and later by Arctic and Antarctic explorers such as Robert Falcon Scott and Roald Amundsen as a high-calorie food." I define pemmican as s$@! that birds regurgitate to feed their young. I had to take pemmican to school with me in my lunch (as my lunch). I would get her homemade pemmican "bars" (it looked more like a diseased peanut brittle) an orange and lemonade flavored Kool-Aid (Teena was afraid that the dyes in the good tasting Kool-Aids like cherry and grape would delay puberty...I wish I was kidding). In Africa, she went on a bean pie kick. I reminded her that we were not, in fact, members of the Nation of Islam. When I was in college, she subjected Lamoni to macrobiotic cooking from the 70's even though it was the late 90's. Let's just say her organic potato pancakes made with local goat's milk left a wee bit to be desired. I'm surprised Lamoni hasn't died from food poisoning. I bet if you took his blood it has the cure for cancer in it.


The fall colors are coming out in Boise, which is French for "wooded" for those of you who care about such things, and so ends an important chapter of my life. I look back and smile. There were many positives in Boise: T-Nugget and his family; my dog Jake; my time working at Boise State University; playing "just the tip" for the first time with Larry Martinez, my neighbor Mrs. Young's gardener (I think she played with Larry as well); my introduction to the chronic; Ms. Mangus my American History teacher from junior high, who made me memorize and recite the preamble to the Constitution in front of the whole class. I was so nervous, a little pee came out...good times, good times. So I will always have a special spot in my heart for "the Bois."

I made it down to Weber State over the weekend to bid farewell to some of my friends and former professors, but I especially wanted to say goodbye to Mr. Gomberg, who taught my Sex Roles in the Law class at Weber State. He was a charming, disarming, and unexpectedly handsome fellow, whose deep baritone voice rolled over you like silky milk chocolate. He never got his Ph.D., so he was not as self-important or snooty as some of my other professors. I used to fantasize about his rough hands massaging my stump after a hard day of Mitch chafing at me and rubbing me raw, and I would smile is the secret places. Alas, I never had the courage to make myself available to him, and I kept this passion a secret from him. I tracked him down on Saturday and we had coffee at Starbucks. We talked for about two hours. He was excited for me and my decision to launch in a new direction at App State. He said he always pegged me as somewhat of a handyperson (when you are a male teacher in women's studies, you have to remain as gender neutral or feminine empowering as possible), and said he thought I would take very well to the old jigsaw. I broke down and told him of my schoolgirl crush. He said he was flattered, but that his devotion to his wife, family and the laws of human decency and God's decrees prevent him from pursing any such behavior with any of his students. At least now I know he is a tower of moral unimpeachability as opposed to being a Mitchophobe.

I took a final stroll around the Weber State campus. It is truly a gem in the crown of Utah's seats of higher education. Sure, the "big boys" like BYU, Utah and Utah State get all of the accolades, money, national merit scholars, gifted athletes, fantastic faculty, research money and whatnot, but the Wildcats make up for lack of all of those things with and abundance of spirit, determination, hard work and transcendental medidation. Big ups to the Dalai Lama! I had dinner with one of my best college buds, Shiela Samms (formerly Sheila Fortinbras), from Yuma. We met when we were both in our second semester at Weber State. We both had some unfortunate roommate assignments at the beginning of the year. My roommate, we'll call her Twyla, objected to my recreational use of ganja in the room, called me Satan's handmaiden and called the cops. I was able to do a flush and dive out the window, leaving no evidence and no conviction. Shiela's roommate, we'll call her Peppermint Patty, took her own life when Sheila rebuffed her lesbianic advances, taking a very firm, pro-dong position. So the next semester we became roommates and have been best buds ever since. She made a fabulous spaghetti dinner and we had a bottle of red wine that went straight to me head (it still hurts a wee bit). She gave me a $100 Wal-Mart gift card for the road and made me some peanut butter sandwiches. We promised to keep in touch, and I hope she can come visit next year. Well, time to set off down the road some more. North Platte, NE, here I come, and I'm bringing my life-mate Mitch with me!

Road Trip!

Well, this is it! I've been accepted to App State for the spring semester! Rather than moving in the dead of winter from Boise to Moore (let's just say snow and ice would be an issue), I've decided to pack everything I can fir into my van and me and Mitch are going on a road trip! I'm totally stoked. The trip itself is about 2400 miles. I plan to break it up into five stages and chronicle my odyssey in pictures. I'm very excited! I'm packing my fave road food: Pringles, Whatchamacallit bars, Corn Nuts, Diet Pepsi Max, Gatorade, Twinkies, Peanut butter sandwiches, and weed.

• Leg 1 - Boise, ID to Ogden, UT. I have to stop at my alma mater, Weber State one last time to take in the campus atmosphere and visit a couple of my buds from the Women's Studies department.
• Leg 2 - Ogden, UT to North Platte, NE. I've never been across the entire Cornhusker State, so this should be something to see. I plan on checking out the Fort Cody Trading Post and taking in the miniature Wild West Show that runs every 30 minutes.
• Leg 3 - North Platte, NE to St. Louis, MO. Time to take a tour of the Anheuser-Busch brewery and get a free snort of the King of Beers. If the Rams or Cardinals are playing, I'll take in a ballgame!
• Leg 4 - St. Louis, MO to Huntington, WV. We are!....Marshall! I'm totally going to look and see if I can see Randy Moss or Matthew McConaghy!
• Leg 5 - Huntington, WV to Moore, NC. The final leg through the glittering fall colors of the Appalachians! It will be totally sweet!

I'm taking the van by my buddy Zack Fardy's cousin Galindo Mars III's garage to make sure that the VW is good to go. I will of course have my laptop and Sprint card with me to update the blog as I go along. Let me send a shout out to Thundering Biceps. If you lie anywhere along the route, send a hit to my blog and I will make a stop. I need to check out those biceps myself. And if you buddy Steve comes along, I will take Mitch and beat him in the mouth until all of his teeth are knocked down his throat because he is a no-talent crapsicle.

Grey's Anatomy vs. Private Practice

So here's the question ABC is asking us...can Grey's Anatomy still be as good without Kate Walsh (Dr. Addison Montgomery-Shepherd) and Isiah Washington (Dr. Louis Farrakhan) or will Kate's new show be better? The shows each have fantastic potential, and because of that, ABC has them on 2 nights, Wednesday 9/8 C for Private Practice and Thursday 9/8 C for Grey's Anatomy. Grey's could suffer without the Christina/Burke love action, and the George/Izzie/Callie triangle is a bit harder to believe now that T.R. Knight has been outed by ex-ABC employee Isiah "Faggot Basher" Washington. Unconfirmed sources have spotted him hanging out with OJ in Vegas, working on his "anger issues" with the Juice. Not to mention that George flunked the intern exam...what a gimp. I have to say that I was disappointed in ABC for firing Dr. Burke. I've never lain with a black man (not even when I was in Africa, but my parents had me on a short leash), but I have to believe that getting nailed by him is as close as a mortal can come to touching the face of God without dying first. He has an otherworldly attraction to him; a black President Clinton. You know it's wrong, but all he does is smile and look at you and you wind up with DNA on you blue dress.


For me, Kate Walsh's character was the most intriguing on at Seattle Grace. She was vulnerable yet strong, and the story lines for her never really got going anywhere, even with the whole McDreamy/McSteamy story arc. Everyone else as the hospital was taking turns shagging each other and pining for each other. The crossover episode when Addison went to LA to visit her old med school chums was the best one of the season. I'm throwing my lot in with the kids at Private Practice. I think it has potential to be a better show than Grey's Anatomy this year. I of course will still watch the sexiest doctors on the planet in Seattle, but let's get real. When have you ever been to a hospital with such a high concentration of studs and babes? Puh-lease! My orthotics guy looks like his mother beat him upside the head with a stick and threw acid on the left side of his face (he maintains that he has a rare skin disorder...I call it leprosy). I am curious to see how the two shows do. I will have to make sure to set my Tivo to catch all of the drama that these two shows have in store. I have no choice but to tune in and see.

OJ Jailed - Held With No Bail(ed)

Well I'll be jiggered! The "authorities" in Las Vegas have thrown the book at the Juice due to his involvement in what LVPD is calling armed robbery and what OJ is calling his own "sting operation." In a related story, Florida Citrus Growers have officially changed the name of Orange Juice from "OJ," "Juice," or "Orange Juice" to "Jugo de Naranja," "Jugo," or "Naranjito" to distance themselves from Simpson. A spokesperson for the FCG was quoted "It's bad enough that he moved here from California. Now he's giving us a bad name as well. Jugo de Naranja is bound to do well with the growing Latino demographic, and will catch on with rich white suburban kids withing the next 6-12 months. Let's just pray that no Nicaraguan mass murderer named Jugo gets any press here or we'll be forced to change our name to 'jus orange,' which would be a shame because I'm not a big fan of the French."

Officially, the Juice is charged with two counts each of robbery and assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy to commit robbery, and burglary with a deadly weapon, said Capt. James Dillon of the Las Vegas police. Simpson has declared his innocence, telling The Associated Press in an interview that there were no guns involved in what he described as a self-organized sting operation intended to retrieve some of his sports memorabilia. At a press conference, police said Simpson was implicated after police arrested one of his golfing buddies, Walter Alexander, at the Las Vegas airport. On Sunday morning, police executed search warrants at three locations and confiscated two firearms.
Alexander, of Mesa, Ariz., was charged and released on his own recognizance, sparking speculation that he is cooperating. I guess OJ just can't get the high-quality "I'll drive you around the freeway in a white Bronco with a gun to your head" kind of friends anymore. Now he can only scrape together the "I'll go along with your crazy plan, just please don't kill me" kind of friends these days. A pity. Perhaps OJ's new lawyer Yale Galanter (no, I didn't make that up) can get OJ off on the patented "irony defense."

I personally think that OJ, Tonya Harding and Lorena Bobbitt should go into business together in the New York/New Jersey based "waste management" business. Have a pesky "mess" that needs to be "cleaned up?" No problem. Our professional staff of bumbling psychopaths is available 24 hours a day to help you out. And not to worry, we'll draw so much press that no one will ever suspect that you had anything to do with the "waste disposal." We're also available for personal appearances, book signings, etc. I wonder what they would call it? Maybe "I Did It Waste Disposal," "Crazy Inc. Waste Management," or "Infamous Waste Disposal." Their slogan could be "There's no mess we can't screw up, I mean, clean up." I think Vegas needs a new ad campaign, because obviously, what happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas.