Sometimes it’s just a wealth of riches.
On Thursday, we had a stripper getting sued for slapping a customer and the Humane Society spending $130,000 to help box turtles cross the road. Where is one to begin?
Box turtles, obviously. The Humane Society would be proud of me because earlier in the week, I stopped my car to move a turtle out of the road. I did this because box turtle populations have been declining and I believe it is important that we, as a higher, intelligent form of life, recognize our obligation to protect vulnerable species from harm. I also did it because Beth was in the car at the time yelling STTOOOP!
The turtle crossing in question is near Greenbrier State Park, where turtle mortality on the highway had reached unacceptable levels. There was a culvert under the road that turtles could use, but it was small and Humane Society officials were worried that it could cause the turtles to be subjected to poor cell phone service.
The new system will have batter fences that will guide the turtles to bigger, more turtle-friendly culverts. It is interesting that the Humane Society can get a turtle crossing for $130,000 but the government can’t put a sewer line under the road for less than $4.5 million.
I’m glad they’re doing it. I have a soft spot for turtles, as do all people who were not allowed to have a dog or cat as a child, and for whom a turtle became the Pet of Last Resort. I even went so far as to put a leash on mine to add to the delusion.
And although turtles have their troubles, at least getting a beat down in a strip club apparently isn’t one of them. Not so for a fellow who is suing a former dancer at Mitzi’s Gentleman’s Lounge. The dancer was convicted in a criminal case of striking him across the chops – perhaps the first recorded case of a “slap dance.”
It is also historic, in that it is the first strip-club disturbance of the decade not involving Pac Man Jones.
But you’re telling me a guy could get slapped in a strip club? No, that doesn’t happen, does it? We expect this kind of violence at a Democratic National Convention, but not here.
Dude wants $400,000, half from the club and half from the dancer, who has had a couple of past brushes with the law, including passing bad paper. So good luck with that.
“You want $200,000? Sure, no prob. Do you take checks?”
Maybe she can give him $200,000 worth of provocative gyrations under a strobe light to the tune of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”
The news story didn’t say whether the man in question was married. That would be an awkward decision. On one hand, I have a crack at 400 large, on the other hand I might get cracked in the lemon with an iron skillet – especially if I’d told her I’d been working late at the office that night.
“Uh, honey, good news/bad news. Good news, you can buy that new washer and dryer. Bad news, there’s a new cell phone video on YouTube showing me getting a smackdown from a naked chick.”
Maybe it’s just me, but this might have been one of those times when I just put a bag of ice on my jaw and walk away.
