Rinse, Gargle, Spit

I like football, in case you didn’t notice. If you hadn’t, well you’re just an un-observant mother fucker.

And so it was, another New Years Day when I awoke to partake in my customary new year’s routine. Watching a full day of college football while fighting the holiday itis; slipping in and out of consciousness in front of the tube.

One particular year after groggily waking up sometime in the early afternoon, I tuned into the Citrus (now Capital One) bowl. If you can guess the year and teams involved in this game you’ll know exactly where this post is headed. That AND I’ll give you $50. Go ahead and guess.

(Guessing time)

It was 2000. The teams: Michigan State and Florida. If you recall it was the senior year of one Plaxico Burress. He was torching some freshman DB covering him, absolutely killing him. While the announcers were salivating over Plax and his NFL prospects, I sat on my couch and thought to myself “I think this guy’s prone to making poor life decisions and is going to monumentally fuck-up his career and life one day.”

Can I call ‘em or what?

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt because, you know, I’m a good little liberal asshat. But some things coming out of the Plax shoot-myself-in-the-leg-gate are just bizarre. Like, does anyone else ever get annoyed by the addition of “gate” to the end of every crime/scandal/news event? It doesn’t even make sense, it’s just thrown on there; like some D’s on that bitch... or some DDD’s on that bitch.

From my initial withholding of judgment, everything that has come out of the case concerning Plax has been meet with a “seriously?” response. Let us revisit the bastion of credibility, the Associated Press.

Burress accidentally shot himself in the right thigh at the Latin Quarter nightclub on Nov. 29 when he fumbled with an unlicensed handgun tucked into the waistband of his sweat pants.

I can see why you illegally carry a loaded gun, you gotta protect yourself from those stick-up kids wanting your sweet bling. But why are you trying to get into a club wearing sweat pants? Actually, why’d you leave your house in sweats? They’d better be some Hermés velour sweats handmade by an underpaid (re: non paid) Parisian Arab immigrant that cost $1000 a fiber.

Secondly, what made you think of tucking your gun into the sweatpants? You can’t spring for a holster, buddy? It’s an ELASTIC waistband. I couldn’t even get an up-flipped boner to stay still in a pair of sweats, no way a gun is going to hold in place.

Burress was also sued last week in Florida's Broward County Circuit Court for rear-ending a woman in May while driving his nearly $140,000 Mercedes-Benz.

According to a document provided by the woman's attorney, his car insurance lapsed three days before the crash. A letter from Allstate says Burress neglected to pay his premiums.

By far the funniest part of the story. Drop six figures on a ride and you can’t spend $200 a month on insurance. Pretty sure he paid for it in cash, is Plax so financially tied up he can’t find $200 to pay for his insurance? This wins the “and you know it’s a black person if...” award.

In addition to a 9-mm handgun, a .30-06-caliber rifle and the ammunition, including a clip for a .45 gun, police also said they recovered the sneakers that Burress wore during the accidental shooting during the three-hour search of the Super Bowl star's Totowa home.

I can’t hate on this, it’s just a part of being rich. You’ve seen Cribs, you’ve seen the Chapelle Show episode. Point is, the richer you get the crazier shit you need to own. Fact. If you’re making a boat load of money, you have to have a boatload of gear. There’s a checklist of stuff you have to get once you strike it big:

1. Big ass house in a nice neighborhood with plenty of white neighbors. Holding all other things (house purchase price, family income) white neighborhoods possess higher property values. Wonder why?

This is purely a fiscal decision…plus you can corrupt their teenage (18+) daughters. Their thought process “he’s black, so he’ll piss off my dad; but he’s also rich, so he can buy my silence if I ever decided to go Kobe on him.”

2. Cars. Whips. Rides. Autos. Tons of them. A BMW M3 because it’s dead sexy. BMW M5 for when you want to bone in the backseat (and to put the resulting baby, subsequent car seat). Ferrari 360 Modena. Rolls Royce Phantom . Mercedes SL55 AMG , because some times you need to drop the top in order to drop her top. A Cadillac Escalade because you need a truck. And a Toyota Supra because you secretly liked 3 Fast 3 Furious: Tokyo Drift
1. Speaking of which, whatever happened to Paul Walker? Every girl I know used to love that guy. I’m pretty sure his career ended with Timeline – that movie sucked, hard. Talk about poor life decisions.
3. Biggest, most powerful motorcycle you can find. Who care’s if athletes have ruined their careers and lives on these (Williams, Jay; Ellis, Monta) I’m invincible...That right there is 10 cylinders of 500 horsepower, 350 mile-per-hour American Muscle. Dodge Tomahawk. You won't ride it, pussy.
   
4. Exotic animals: Siberian tigers, orangutans, blue whales, ligers, centaurs.
5. Stock in Enron. Because I’m THAT fucking rich….bitch.
6. Private 747 jumbo jet…..Oops, not that rich.
7. Weapons. Guns, katanas, heavy artillery canons, Moonraker lasers, Scud Missles, etc. You have everything else you want and need but know you can’t spend the hundreds of millions it costs to own your own 747. So you buy weapons to cope. Nothing says I’M RICH like being able to kill your entire family, or put a hole in your leg, with one inadvertent move.

Read the article here: http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=3791174