Sunday Sabatical

Sometimes you just need to take a break - party like a rock star and mingle with the "beautiful people" and give the bastards a reality check by your very presence in their midst.

This morning our 23-year-old son called and asked if we had plans. No, not other than studying we answered. He told us that he was tending bar in a Sky box at Arrowhead, and if we wanted to come out...

Um. Lemme think about it...NOT. I live six blocks from a "Stadium Express" bus-stop. Color me there.

So I spent four hours drinking Grey Goose cosmos while the Major drank Grey Goose martinis and held court on the evils of the suspension of Habeus Corpus.

The Chiefs shut out the 49ers and today was a good day to be alive in Kansas City. Even the rich bastards in the sky box weren't defending the events of the last week, and in fact consensus was with us. But in fairness, only wing-nut Phelps-ian type evangelicals question the patriotism and right to opinion of a retired military officer who looks like Wild Bill Hickock, right down to the unflappable air. Biz-pig Publicans just sorta piss down their leg and hope he doesn't call them out and shame them in that even, coolheaded way he has.

This is probably it for today, and I doubt I have a lot to say tomorrow, since it's our 24th anniversary and all.

But if I'm not back in spades by Tuesday evening, tip the ACLU that I'm at Gitmo.