I get down to the staging area behind the penalty box, and the other two participants are a girl who was so skinny she looked like she spent three weeks on the Miami 48-hour Miracle Diet, and a fat guy who uncannily resembled the Comic Book Guy from The Simpson’s. I asked him if he owns a comic book store, and I guess this is a joke he’s heard often, because he got kinda mad at me. Unsure of how to react to his visible anger, I say “Worst. Reaction. Ever.” This didn’t help.

Rich knows me from undergrad, and knows how to ride my hot streaks by provoking me, “come on man, you can do better. There are plenty of people around here to make fun of.” Express elevator to hell, going down. I give him my voice recorder and a simple order, “Don’t miss anything.”

Eddie points out a girl wearing the standard anti-globalization outfit. It is topped off with a “No Blood for Oil” button. Rich whispers in my ear, “You gotta get her. Come on man. Do it–for us…for your country.” Eddie starts humming God Bless America.

I storm over. Rich says into the voice recorder, “Target acquired…we are weapons hot." I introduce myself to her as Alger Hiss. She doesn’t get the joke. Time to be blunt:

Tucker “Do you hate the World Bank?”
Girl “Uhh, umm, well, I mean, yeah, I feel that…”
Tucker “You don’t hate the World Bank.”
Girl “I don’t?”
Tucker “No. You’re mad at your father. You just want daddy to hug you more.”
Girl “What?”
Tucker “You were a sociology major weren’t you?”
Girl “NO!”
Tucker “What was your major?”
Girl [Pauses] “Uhhh, English Literature.”
Tucker [Pause--to give her a look of contempt] “Did your parents send you a bill for college? How are those Marxist Literary Critique classes working out for you? You work at Barnes and Noble don’t you?”
Girl “NO–I wor–”
Tucker “Shouldn’t you be blocking an intersection right now? How many anti-sweatshop petitions have you signed–EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE REEBOKS ON. Very-anti globalization to wear those with your animal tested Clinque make-up made in Nepal. Well, at least you’re consistent in your shameless hypocrisy.”
Girl “What a fascist piece of shi–”
Tucker “You ever wake up in the middle of the night because a couple of cats are clawing each other to death outside your window? That’s what it’s like listening to you speak.”
Girl [A mishmash of stammered half insults]

1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to “get that ****ing light out of my face.” The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. “Son, where are your pants?” Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush