What Do You Pour Out For A Dead 40oz.?

I just found out Patrick Swayze died at the age of 57. I can now say with some certainty that there is not a higher being, at least not one capable of intervening whatsoever in human affairs. No, this God, or god, or gods, or Cthulu or what have you, probably hates fun times of all sorts. Dear God, have you ever seen a little movie called Roadhouse ? It's about THE BEST DAMNED BOUNCER ever! He was so awesome at bouncering, that people all over the bouncer community talked about him at bouncer conferences. And now he's dead of cancer and not something Monster Truck related, which is actually how Patrick Swayze should have died.

My earliest memories of Patrick Swayze were heinous. Fucking heinous to be specific. My mom and her pals watched Dirty Dancing with a rampant housewife fervor, like watching a loose cannon outlaw teach a stuck up twit how to dance would somehow stop Communism, or get a Republican out of office, or hell, maybe just put some food on the table that was not Kool-Aid, Hot Dogs, or Bologna. It didn't do any of those things though, it just made one eight year old boy very sad, and irritable. One thing it did though, was reinforce my hatred for dancing that has only been partially altered by the invention of Dance, Dance, Revolution , but which is now being challenged again by Dancing With The Stars , which I'm fairly certain was designed to make me want to die.

So long Patrick Swayze. Tomorrow at red dawn, I will dance dirty to the roadhouse, and surf out to point break. I will pour out a forty for you and then pour out Cristal for that forty. I will consider ripping someone's throat out at work tomorrow, but unlike your wild card portrayal of Dalton , I will not rip out someone's throat in front of my wife, because that would be a buzzkill, and would probably create an anti-sexfield . I hate anti-sexfields.