Detailing Tailgaters

Subject: Disheveled Pontiacs
Date: Tue, 4 Oct 2005
From: Bob Walker
To: Mike Durrett
An actual letter from an actual reader:
Your tailgater description really struck a nerve with me. My neighbor Dave and I went to a Chiefs football game about seven or eight years ago. We cooked out in a rainstorm. My beer-laden Chiefs red makeup drooled into my salmonella-infested breast of chicken.

We were all adorned in our get up and accosted by the Chiefs' owner as we walked into the game. He shook his head as he shook our hands.

A driving lightning storm was appoaching. The game was delayed whilst the lightning was flashing right over the Arrowhead or Airhead stadium. I walked down into the concession area and enjoyed my stupor with wall-to-wall fans.

We won the game. Dave and I stumbled back to the car. All of Dave's Chiefs flags were stolen. Our grill was gone. Lucky for me, I clandestinely stashed our cooler of beer in the bowels of the back seat.

Vagabond hooligans (we found out later) were always stealing their ill-begotten booty from the parking area. ... Somewhere in K.C. there's a goon with about 25 Webber grills. Luckily, we were able to save our sacks of Ole Diz Briquets.
Thanks for writing -- and for sparing us the details of what's stashed in the ear canals of the front seat. You know, Chevron has a vacuum cleaner out by the curb.

So, what do you want from us? A kiss to make it feel better? A tip of the Hatlo hat? What if we let you sit in Subway Jared's old pants and have a powwow with banana peppers?

You kids and your Sterno fumes.

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