Supplemental Jurisdiction

Crawfish

Yesterday, one of my good friends from high school had a crawfish boil.  110 lbs. of live crawfish, brought from Arkansas, all for the purpose of spicing them up, throwing them in a vat of boiling water, and consuming their tasty little tails.

If you never been, boils (regardless of their subject) are a good time, consisting mostly of eating something that was previously buried in mud and drinking lots of beer.   Last night was no exception.  It is also where I had this conversation:

ME:  Well, we have to leave.
DUDE:  Why?
ME:  We got work in the morning.
DUDE:  Hell, everyone here has to work in the morning.  (Ed. note:  except this guy, who is unemployed.)  What kind of work do you do?
ME:  I'm a lawyer.
DUDE:  No you're not, you're [messing] with me.  (Ed. note:  to be fair, this guy had just seen me drink a pitcher of Bud Light and suck the tails out of about 50 crawfish, all while wearing a pair of ratty shorts and a grubby t-shirt.) 

[The Dude turns to the other people standing around him, looking for confirmation as to whether I really am a lawyer.  They all shake their heads yes, mostly in disgust.]

DUDE:  Hey, you got a card or something?  I may need you by the end of the night.

For an instructional video on how to eat a crawfish, click here.

Weekend Recap

Last Thursday and Friday, I was out of town.  Here's a hint as to where I was instead:

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I was totally going to do this whole "Supplemental Jurisdiction" remake of the opening credits to the Mary Tyler Moore Show (the original can be viewed here), but I got in really late, and then proceeded to get somewhat drunk.  Those things, combined with my inherent laziness, caused me to just not get around to actually doing it, but you can imagine how cool it would have been had I actually done it.  Seriously, I probably would have even entered it in some competitions and stuff.

In other things I saw this weekend while watching basketball, is anyone else confused by this new movie, Larry the Cable Guy:  Health Inspector?  Isn't Larry's occupation "cable guy?"  You'd think they'd make a movie about him being a cable guy, although, to be fair, a far superior movie has already been made on that subject.  In any event, shouldn't they explain how Larry went from being a cable guy to being a health inspector?  And then wouldn't he just be "Larry the Health Inspector?"  The producers obviously haven't thought this out all the way.

Cowboys

Last weekend, this story was published in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch about the effect of Missouri's conceal and carry law.  Basically, there is no effect.  Apparently gun-related accidents are not up and crime is not down.  This law was essentially upheld by the Missouri Supreme Court in Brooks v. State, 128 S.W.3d 844 (Mo. 2004) (apologizing for the non-user-friendly opinion format).  I wrote a paper about Brooks in my state constitutional law seminar, and included this incredibly horrible graphic:

I'd try to explain to you what I was talking about, but you wouldn't understand.  Seriously, I'm not being condescending---it's just that your mind would literally explode as you tried to comprehend my totally kick-ass and not illogical reasoning.   That, and my theory doesn't really have "a point" or any "validity." 

The fact is, I already knew the truth about concealed weapons before the Post-Dispatch ran their sissy article.  That's because in high school, I saw how effective a concealed gun could be against even the most dangerous criminal, which in this case was three high school kids bashing mailboxes. 

See, a friend of mine was just minding his business at home, when a truck slowed down in front of his house, and then a baseball bat appeared out of the window and smashed his mail box.  As the truck sped away, my friend did the only thing he could do in that situation---he grabbed his shot gun and jumped in his own truck to pursue the bastards.  As he tailed them down a gravel road, a Camero fishhooked out of a driveway and came up behind him.  It was my friend's neighbor, who was angered that his own mailbox had been destroyed.  They chased the offenders down several country roads until they cornered the kids in a subdivision.  My friend got out of his truck, holding his shotgun, while the neighbor and his buddy got out of the Camero with a couple of handguns.  They then called the sheriff.  Just then, the local chiropractor came by and asked what was going on.  Having been apprised the of the situation, he reached under his dashboard and retrieved the handgun strapped under it, telling them he was "going in."  A couple of minutes later the sheriff arrived, calmed everyone down, and apprehended the felons (is mailbox bashing a felony?  I doubt it, but for the purposes of this story, I don't care). 

So, the point here is not that guns help deter crime.  They don't.  Crazy people deter crimes.  I have no doubt that regardless of whether guns are legal, my friend, his neighbor, and the local chiropractor still would have found a way to threaten the lives of a couple of 16-year-olds.  Maybe with pointy sticks, I don't know.  Thug life 4 ever.

UPDATE:  Somehow, this shirt and this shirt should also be involved.  If you are interested in purchasing these for me, please send me an email.

Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!

Does he look like a bitch?

In response to Sugar, Mr. Poon?'s post, while visiting my parents this weekend, I too watched Pulp Fiction, and had this conversation with my mother:

MOM:  What is Bruce Willis doing on a motorcycle?

ME: It's a chopper, baby.

MOM: Ok.  But what's he doing with it?

ME: It's Zed's.

MOM:  Who's Zed?

Me:  Zed's dead, baby.  Zed's dead.

Oh man.  As John "Hannibal" Smith says, "I love it when a plan comes together."

Fathers, your main job is to keep your daughter off the pole.

So says Chris Rock.  Anyway, I found this article hilarious.  The gist:

Law enforcement officers raided a clandestine strip club Friday night, arresting its owner and his girlfriend on suspicion of operating without a license.

Ricky Dean Weaver, 46, ran Ricky D's in a small metal barn near the border of Pettis and Johnson counties at 22380 Daviess Road. The interior of the barn was set up as a strip club with a small stage, dancer pole, a dressing room, DJ station, restrooms for men and women, a bar and numerous tables and chairs.

So, this guy's first defense is "This isn't a business; I live here."  He lives there?  In a "small metal barn?"  That is "set up as a strip club with a small stage, dancer pole, a dressing room, DJ station, restrooms for men and women, a bar and numerous tables and chairs?"  Fo' reals?

Ok, I'll grant him the benefit of the doubt.  In college, I knew some guys that wanted to put a pole up in their common room for parties.  But they were 19 years old and lived in a dorm.  And they sure as hell didn't have a dressing room.  But whatever.

Moving on, he's also charging a $5 cover and accepting applications for dancers and bartenders.  Again, in college, fraternity kids were getting busted for selling raffle tickets at the door for parties, and they really did live there.  Trust me, the "I live here defense" doesn't work when you're selling booze without a license. 

Anyway, here's my favorite quote:

Jeff Redburn, of Osceola, sat on a couch drinking a beer while officers combed through the club. He said Mr. Weaver's barn was simply a place "where rednecks can go and get along."

"This is Rick's house," Mr. Redburn said. "It's a place to party."

Right, so this guy is sitting calmly on a couch drinking his beer while the police are raiding the club.  He's all like, "Sheet, screw the police.  I want a cold beer, and then I want to see something naked."  Although it is admirable that all the man wants is redneck peace.  Without beer and strippers, the boondocks are like 'Nam.  But with fewer teeth.