I forgot to tell the story of how I was Rick Jamesed. Last Friday I drove to Shreveport to go see Ben Folds (which was great). I didn't get back to Shreveport until about 1 or 2 am, and I dropped off the people riding with me at their respective houses. Then I drove to my house (which is about 10 minutes away) and was just pulling into my driveway when I got a call from who apparently had gotten drunk and was trying to get back to his vehicle but did not know where he was. So I had to turn around and go find , who despite not knowing where he was, kept walking in the direction of his truck (at least, he supposed it was the direction of his truck at the time). Finally, he walked past a street sign and let me know where he was - it was the same street I had just left when I dropped my friends off! Rackin frackin! By that time I was nearly there - then thought that he was nearly at his truck and he was OK to drive, at which point I told him that if he took one more step towards his truck (I could see him on the road) that I would personally run him down rather than see him get behind a wheel. So he stopped, I picked him up, and we went to Waffle House to sober him up. Actually, I think the wait time on his meal did more to sober him up than anything, as the guy making his omelet kept on throwing it away (along with the pan), yelling out "I quit!", and then preceding to get a different pan and starting over again. I saw him go through two dozen eggs before he finally got one that was good enough (although did say it was one of the best omelets he'd ever had, but you can't always trust a drunk person). So we finally got home and fell asleep on my couch. So how was I Rick Jamesed, you may ask? Well, the couch was new, and fell asleep with his boots on - his boots that were muddy as hell. So I've been calling Rick James since, and I'll probably start referring to Rick as such.