Ann Coulter, reggae and gout

March 18th, 2010

This column takes a similar approach to “Seinfeld.” There’s really no point to it other than to entertain. And over the past couple weeks I’ve encountered the most bizarre people, experienced the highs and lows of life and learned that Ann Coulter is absolutely, frickin’ nuts. 

During Spring Break, I traveled to the Big Apple to visit my sister. Now, I’ve toured New York City multiple times and figured I tackled all that the majestic city has to offer. Boy, was I wrong. 

Feeding off of Editor in Chief Katie “I may be small, but I pack a large punch” Sheridan’s column, my trip challenged and broke the usual NYC stereotype. People think Jay-Z, Carrie Bradshaw and Rudy Giuliani. Well, everyone should have the opportunity to acquaint themselves with these NYC natives. 

Boston Bob, Scoop, Mikey K, Pablo, Dangerous Dave, Coach, Eddie and my personal favorite, Ricky Sprinkle. 

Boston Bob and Scoop haven’t been sober since the Bay of Pigs. Mikey K could win the jackpot and still find himself in debt. He also filed for bankruptcy with no assets. Pablo set his tie on fire in grade school. Dangerous Dave’s Irish brogue and Eddie’s thick Brooklyn accent have you continually asking the person next to you, “What did he just say?” (They told me to nod, smile and go with the flow). Coach, well, is Coach. 

And now, my faithful readers, I present Ricky Sprinkle. Security guard by day, a tempest of laughter and ridiculousness by night, Ricky would be an enigma for any clinical psychologist. 

My sister, her boyfriend and I attended a social gathering at Ricky’s place one night. During this exclusive event, Ricky and two others unrelentingly and proudly boasted that their driver’s licenses had been suspended. I felt like asking, “Everyone who has a valid license raise their hand!” There would have  been a minority. 

One woman even enlightened us with her stimulating license suspension story. According to her, she was pulled over, asked to step out of the car and put her hands behind her back. When she inquired as to why, the cop simply said something along the lines of, “You have a 10-year warrant for your arrest.” Oh, and the best part, she didn’t even know. 

But back to Mr. Sprinkle, I would like to make a final note about this prized individual. He has gout. Gout! There hasn’t been a documented case of gout since the Bubonic Plague. But I digress.

Earlier that day I traveled down to the World Trade Center site to visit the temporary memorial museum and St. Paul’s Chapel. Being that I was only in the eighth grade when terrorists attacked our freedom, I never really comprehended the magnitude of what happened. 

Despite their rebuilding effort, the austere, vacant lot where the towers once stood sent chills of patriotism up and down my spine. And with people from all around the world traveling thousands of miles to pay their respects, it served as an ardent reminder that at times we may bend, but will never break.

So, the break was over and I began my journey back to C-Town. Safely navigating my way through the Internet, I stumbled upon some commentary by political pundit and ultra-conservative Ann Coulter. Now, if you don’t know who Ann Coulter is then restrain your curiosity and don’t Google her.  Just ask Al Franken. 

Coulter’s bombastic writing and incredulous claims would make any decent human being convulse. A few days after 9/11, Coulter wrote, “We should invade their [the terrorists] countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity.”

Well, “The Golden Girls” is on and I hear it’s the episode when Sophia steals Rose’s car to go on a blind date. So in the paraphrased words of my uncle, “Live, laugh and play reggae in your head.”