Boo. Our neighborhood is experiencing a bizarre crime wave. For years, not much has gone down here with the exception of the occasional car break-in or plants being stolen from a front porch. First there was the YST B-and-E, then the police hanging out in my front yard and now this.

A famous convicted tax cheat in drag once declared, “…there are times when you help people and then there are times when, if you help people, you end up being killed. So you don’t help people.”

Words to live by, if you ask me.

I know the guy that got shot. He’s a decent and good man who, had he had time to consider the full ramifications of his actions, probably would have done the exact same thing. I wouldn’t have. Because y’all motherfuckers is crazy.

This is the most important thing that has ever happened. Not since the Knob Creek shortage…

Seriously, you guys.

Angostura bitters are in short supply.

For the love of god, what about the Manhattans?!

You Say Tomato, the little Longfellow eatery right near my house was broken into last night. A person or persons unknown broke the glass from the front door and rifled through the place, also tampering with the cash register (per neighborhood grapevine). Coincidentally, I’m sure, at 4:30 this morning The Husband and I were awoken from our slumber by the sounds of an argument and fight in front of our house. We dont’ have a front yard to speak of, so when something’s going down outside it sounds like its happening on our front porch. Now all of this is per my Gladys Kravitz-y husband as I was to lazy to lift my head from the pillow, but he went from window to window trying to get the scoop (exactly what he yells at the dogs for when they hear another dog outside, btw). Apparently two folks were having a bit of a brawl which the po-po (you guys rock) broke up about 60 seconds after we heard it. Two cop cars and four officers pulled up and started slapping on the cuffs. I heard one of the arrestees tell an officer the other dude was lucky he didn’t shoot him. I count myself lucky as well as I wasn’t really relishing the thought of  leaping out bed to throw myself protectively over three greyhounds and one Elderly Cat. I guess one guy went downtown and the other one went to the hospital, as an am-buh-lanz and fire truck arrived shortly thereafter.

I don’t know if these two had anything to do with the break-in at YST, but I do have a bit of advice: if you find yourself getting into an argument and donnybrook on a public sidewalk in a residential neighborhood at 4:30 ack emma on a Monday morning, perhaps it’s time to sit down and reassess your life, because duh, you’re doing it wrong.

Bonnie Hunt’s portrayal of Kim Zolciak is spot-on and funny as shit.

Thanks Jaybird via Twitter.

Via Twitter:

Kanye west is the biggest piece of shit on earth. Quote me.

8:31 PM Sep 13th from UberTwitter

Concision, thy name is Twitter.

Count me among his millions of fans. Road House, Dirty Dancing (my one and only girlfriend & I saw this on a double-date with my cousin and whatever annoying joker she was dating at the time) and Ghost are all favorites.

But the guiltiest of guilty pleasures in the Swayze ouevre? To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.

Miss Vida Boheme, you will be missed.

Also fascinating, but serious heebie-jeebies.

And on a related shoe-beating note, a blast from the past which still brings a song to my heart:

Not to be messed with, indeed.

The Husband, Patti & Scoots are will be pedaling their hearts out come September 12 in an effort to cure teh AIDS and provide relief for those with AIDS or infected with HIV as part of the 2009 AIDS Bicycle Challenge. All donations stay local by going to AIDS Services Foundation of Greater Kansas City. Contributions to the AIDS Service Foundation benefit equally the Kansas City Free Health Clinic, SAVE Inc., Good Samaritan Project and Hope Care Center as well as the ASF Community Fund. So if you have an extra $5, $10 or $20 in these less-than-stellar economic conditions and about three minutes’ time, please click one of the names above and donate. Lest you think me a slacker, I will be working the ride at the Parkville support-and-gear station helping folks with tire changes, water & similar.

I mean if you like daddies, bears, chubs and the occasional hot doing extra-kinky frat house type stuff  like drinking ass-vodka and peeing on each other and capturing it all on camera. And who doesn’t? Check out the pics of the folks with whom we’ve contracted to guard our interests in Afghanistan. Keep winning hearts and minds.

This reminds me of my summer at Missouri Boy’s State which is the single gayest event I’ve ever attended. Keep in mind I’ve seen both Bette Midler and Cher in concert. Perspective!

Ladybird, LAB & I have started a Great Books of the ’70s & ’80s book club. Our first selection? Scruples by Judith Krantz. I read the first 40 pages before I went to bed last night. Awesome. By page 35ish, the protagonist, Billy Ikehorn is scattering her late husband’s ashes from a solid gold box from the window of her private plane over the vineyard they owned. She then proceeds to seduce the pilot in a seedy motel after plying him with scotch from her travel bar. She leaves him the golden vessel as a memento. That shit’s money. She gave him her box and then she gave him her box.

If any local bloggers want to join in our reindeer games, drop me a tweet(@akcb) and I’ll let you know when we meet to discuss. But we’ll have decent discussion questions like “Which parts had you locking yourself in the bathroom and masturbating furiously?” Oprah can suck it.