And The Purse Shall Rise

Watching the games Saturday: right after my friend Duke walked into the bar, an aggro freak in a USA Wrestling track jacket walked up and questioningly accused, "Hey man, did you fart?" The answer was no. The guy twitched there awkwardly for a few minutes, trying to escalate the fart thing into a conversation/confrontation. Then he drifted back into his corner with this British woman he'd shacked up with the night before, and whose very decent breasts he'd earlier exposed and groped by the vid-poker/sex-trivia machine.

Then he walked back over with a candle, and made a big show of smoking out the smell.

Then he apparently stole his date's purse and sold it to a homeless person, because her purse went missing, and after two hours scouring the streets for phantom thieves, there was this bag lady lording over a lot of fake purses, and the British woman's very real purse, claiming some guy in a wrestling track suit had fenced it to her. The Brit bought her purse back, and for whatever reason, everything was still inside. The wrestler disappeared, the cops were called (station's just across the street), and when Rob the bartender Googled him, he actually found an entire webpage dedicated to the guy's bizarre history of conning.

Meanwhile, a girl of unknown origin who'd been barstooling with my friend Ben all night made the above contribution to the bar's DIY Easter decorations. Whether Barabbas was a thief and a murderer, or a revolutionary, if he'd been as big of an ass as the wrestling purse thief, the crowd would have let Jesus down, and the world would never have been blessed with this creepy little Marks-A-Lot sketch.