Saturday, February 19, 2011

"Somebody’s Actually Figured Out a Way to Make $$$ Off UFOs That Doesn’t Involve Hollywood and Roswell"

Alien Tequila

Happy trails to meeee …

By Billy Cox
De Void

Billy Cox     Skimming through the latest Hammacher Schlemmer catalogue on the tail-end of another dispiriting week in Florida was masochistic, but De Void couldn’t help it. I wanted it all, the $379.95 New York Public Library Reading Lamp, the $799.95 Heated Lumbar Office Chair, the $1,950 Foldaway Treadmill — all of it, everything, I wanted it.

But with the state unemployment rate hovering at 12 percent, and my “profession” in transition, as they say, I know I’ll have to dump it on a moment’s notice. Plan B — landing one of the 23,000 jobs from the proposed high-speed rail — went down in flames a couple of days ago when our new guv, Rick Scott, rejected the $2.4 billion federal package because of socialism.

The good news is, Scott — who presided over the Columbia/HCA hospital chain that gouged Medicare for the biggest billing fraud in history — made my fantasy options a bit sweeter last week by announcing plans to scrap Florida’s privately funded prescription drug-monitoring database. The dude said it’s not the state’s business to be keeping tabs on how I choose to party, and of course he’s right. Roughly seven Floridians fatally OD on RX painkillers every day, but that’s not my problem and at least it’s not illegal like reefer or crack.

But anyway, yeah, it was a bummer of a week so I figured I’d go out and scrounge up enough Oxy to tide me through the NBA All-Star game when a colleague turned me onto a fix that promises even brighter visions if only I can get drunk enough: Alien Tequila. De Void Googled Alien Tequila’s harlequin ET strumpets with the atomic nay-nays, and oh my my, oh hell yes — somebody’s actually figured out a way to make $$$ off UFOs that doesn’t involve Hollywood and Roswell.

So it looks like I’ll be working the Charles Bukowski route this weekend — “The shortest distance between two points is often unbearable” — and waiting for the booze to take me to its leader.

Rockin’ on down in Florida. TGIF, over and out …

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