The Ignornace (not Spirit) of St. Louis

Fast Fact: So I was in a hot STL club last Saturday night after the big Cory Spinks fight in town. ("$20 bucks," was the price, said like the Boondocks doorman.) But I noticed something interesting. Roughly about 60 percent of black St. Louis women have at least one tattoo on their titties. That's the ratio for black people with gold in their mouth in Louisville. Just thought I'd let you know so you won't be scared if you go out there.

Cashiers carded me three times while in St. Louis the last week.

For alcohol once. Two other times just to check my name up against my credit card I choose to pay with. It confused me a little. In Kansas City, you almost never show identification to verify who you are aside for getting in the club.

But this happened to be extra strange. Everytime they, the cashiers who looked as though they were hoping their 20-year-old son would be the next Cornell Haynes, held onto my driver's liscense for a little too long.

"It's me," I said jokingly, as I do everytime someone is carding me for an unforgiving minute.

There response were measured, similar and downright gross, son. (Sorry, I have to add the son, son - or daughter)

"Oh, I'm just looking at good of a picture this is and how nice you look," one would say.

Ugh. Are you serious? WTF! I didn't come here for this. I came here for some Popeye's Chicken. You do not need to be flirting with me whatsoever. That's what went through my mind. What actually came out:

"Thank you," and then I politely left. Come to find out, my looks actually paid off a little mad extra B. I got an extra wing out of the deal.

Nothing good to report on the other to fronts though.