Seeing as how disc jockey’s are always talking up Thirsty Thursdays and great deals on drinks, cheap cover charges and the like I decided to take a different approach. As a recovering alcoholic I thought it would be interesting to link videos of people making asses of themselves while drunk. Thirsty Thursday is just a horrible marketing scheme that inevitably leads to What The F@ck Friday. But more on that tomorrow.

So this week I bring you “Struttin.” I can’t say for sure that this gentleman is drunk -- but he’s most assuredly on something. I couldn’t find any info about this video except that a Huntsville, Alabama reporter is trying to do a story and for whatever reason this passerby goes off about people that have to walk from place to place. As an Alabamian I’d like to point out that Huntsville IS one of our classier cities. Just keep that in mind. Now I’m off for a walk. Got to be struttin’ dat ass. Keep it sober, keep it safe and keep off camera.

Its days like today I hate this town. Or more accurately its weekends like this one that I hate. I love my hometown of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. In my opinion it’s the most cultured city in the state of Alabama. We are a great university town. It’s not too big or too small, there are a fair amount of activities and we are just a short drive from the bustling city streets of Birmingham. But for about 5 weeks a year this city becomes unbearable.

The Deep South is home to the full frenzy and fervor of college football. And Tuscaloosa, home of the University of Alabama Crimson Tide, is at the epicenter of that fandom. Now hear me out. I am a massive fan. I was raised on Alabama athletics. I bleed crimson. But as a former student that lives in this city there is nothing that irks me more than the influx of 100,000 plus people that have no intentions of doing anything other than drinking, cheering and congesting traffic.

I know it’s a massive boost for the economy…and I know it helps out the University. But try and do something on a home game weekend. I dare you. Yesterday I spent almost 30 minutes driving two miles. Thank you never ending line of RV’s. You made me late for my appointment. I made the mistake of going to the grocery store also; bad move. I thought I was never going to get out of there. Not to mention they were sold out of half the things I wanted. It was as if people we’re buying before a natural disaster.

I guess I just don’t understand the culture. Maybe living in this city has caused me to miss out on something. Is there something magical about RV’ing to spend the weekend back at your alma mater? I’m torn. I want my hometown back and for Alabama to win. So Roll Tide folks….and then roll out.

A shmoke und a pancake. You know, a flapjack und a shigarette? No? Shigar und a waffle? No? Pipe und a crepe? No? Bong und a blintz? No? Well, then there ish no pleashing you.

So there I was, trying to stand on my front porch and enjoy the afternoon. Hanging out, enjoying the weather – a beautiful October afternoon in Alabama. Suddenly I feel as if I am being watched. Not like a stalker kind of thing, but one of those kind of “is this computer camera on while I am surfing adult sites?” vibes. Never had that? Me either…I was just making that up – seriously. A friend told me about that feeling.

Anywho – there I stand with a very unusual feeling and I look to my left and there, about 3 feet away – just hanging around minding her own business is a deer. This is at first one of those fight or flight reactions – do I run? Do I hide? Do I kick this deer in the crotch, gouge an eye and wrestle it down hoping my manly show of force will deter it? I wish I had a manly story. But, I didn’t do anything. I let out a quick “What’s up, deer?” and went back to minding my own business. After all, perhaps if I pretended I wasn’t there she would move on through the neighborhood and go hang out on someone else’s front porch. It’s the same approach I use with the homeless.

But then I got to thinking – I’ve seen all those damn Disney movies – the ones where the animals work in pairs and everyone’s best buddies. Maybe this deer was best friends with that squirrel I sent to the afterlife a couple weeks ago. Perhaps it had traveled many, many miles in search of me – to exact revenge in a flurry of paws and fur. Maybe it was my turn to “pay the piper.”

I mean, honestly? What the hell? When did I become Dr. Doolittle? I am remarkably unqualified for situations such as these. I never took this class in college. The closest encounter I have had with an animal in 10 years prior to this month was that one time a cat clawed my man-berries through my shorts at a house party. Or that time my ex-wife bit me when she…never mind that, actually. I still have scars and nightmares.

So I stood and thought about this quandary. Suddenly my brother opens the door, Bambi startles – I hear a faint “God D*^&!” and a quick slamming of the door. Once again, the familial ties have failed me and I alone am left in a compromising situation. The brother is batting 0 for 2 of being any kind of aid in times of crisis. I felt like George Clooney’s character in Oh, Brother Where Art Thou. “Damn, I’m in a tight spot.”

Here is a frightened deer, ears perked up – possibly wanting to exact its revenge on me – angry at my potty-mouthed brother for taking the lord’s name in vain. Of course this deer has on a collar – which makes it seem less threatening. But in my mind, equally dangerous. That’s how they sneak up on you. “Oh, look at me. You can pet me! I wont hurt you!” You can’t fool me deer. A pet deer? Seriously, work on a better disguise. At least put on a mask – pretend to be a dog, or my elderly neighbor.

I thought perhaps I should offer her a cigarette as some kind of peace treaty. But as I am currently uninsured I thought better of putting my paws that close to a wild animal’s mouth. I consider taking her on as a pet, but I can’t foresee her curling up on the foot of my bed.

So I do what any redneck from Alabama would do. No! I didn’t shoot her, mount the head and make deer jerky. I start waving my hands wildly in the air, screaming random gibberish and profanity and making a quick B-Line right in her direction, at which point I scare the shit out of someone’s petting zoo escapee. Either that or she decides I am crazy enough to “off” her just as I did the squirrel. Either way, the predator becomes the prey. Kind of like in “The Last House On The Left,” but completely different.

So here I am. I am beginning to wonder if crap like this use to happen to me all the time but in my drunkenness I just never noticed it. I’m not sure, but either way I am changing colognes – and brothers.