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I Had Lunch With a 9/11 Conspiracy Theorist Yesterday.

Don't look at me that way. I didn't do it on purpose.

It all started when I decided to take the Vic out for a little afternoon sun, and head up to the O-Club for some twenty-five cent tacos. That's right motherfucker, twenty-five cent tacos. And not shitty microwave ones, either. These are genuine handmade tacos in your choice of hard or soft shell. A quarter a pop. As many as you can eat. Although if you want a little container of sour cream, it's $0.25 extra. Anyway, I get to the O and as one might imagine, it's pretty full with the lunchtime crowd; twenty-five cent tacos will do that. So the only seat available at the bar is at the corner. And normally, I'm not a corner seat kinda guy, but hey it beats sitting on the floor. But I soon found out why this seat was available.

I never did find out the name of the guy I sat next to, I'll just call him Crazy Fucking Conspiracy Guy. I ordered a beer and four tacos with sour cream. After a quick hi/how ya doin top the guy next to me (CFCG), I find out that he is sixty-three years old, and has been retired for nine years after putting in thirty-seven years at General Motors as an electrician. Now let me preface this with this: I don't like to talk to people at bars. I really don't. I'm prefectly content to just sit there, play some trivia, and enjoy my beer in silence. Other people are chatters. When chatters try to talk to me, I oblige them so as to not be rude, but don't go through any lengths to contribute to a full blown conversation. This is especially true when I'm eating. But as I said, CFCG is a little older, and mentions that he only comes out to the O on Tuesdays for twenty-five cent tacos, so I presume he's a little lonely and do my good deed for the day and engage him in some conversation. Big. Fucking. Mistake. because I had no idea how strong this guys opinions were.

Him being retired inevitably leads the conversation to, "So what do you do for a living?" Usually I just tell people I run porn websites to shut them up, thus sparing myself from a conversation that I don't want to take part in. But this time I answered truthfully, wondering if this older dude would even know what a blogger is. "Oh you're a blogger," CFCG says to my surprise, "yeah I spend a lot of time on the internet. I like to look up conspiracies." Now I'm thinking grassy knoll, or fake moon landing conspiracies, you know, nothing too crazy. No such luck. Less than thirty seconds later, he's telling me about how they found nanothermite in the wreckage of the World Trade Center. And it's here where I made a critical error in judgement. I thought it would be entertaining to egg a 9/11 Conspiracy Theorist on. I really did. I wanted him frothing at the mouth, eager to get this all off his chest to a willing audience. So I egged him on. I asked him to tell me more. Boy was that stupid.

I let CFCG go on for about five minutes or so about how Dick Cheney told NORAD to stand down, about how Charlie Sheen -- that's right, Charlie Fucking Sheen, everybody -- has all these documents proving that 9/11 was an inside job. And how Charlie Sheen even challenged Obama and several other high leaders to a debate on the issue, and because they declined that was even more proof of the government had a hand in the attacks. And I could quote him on that, he offered. After all, how could we have the exact names of the nineteen hijackers a mere twenty-four hours after the attacks? And how the Patriot Act had been drafted during the Clinton Administratio, and they were just waiting for any excuse to take away our civil liberties. I mean this guy had completely lost it.

It was around now that my tacos arrived. And let me describe them to you, as they were quite delicious. Spicy seasoned taco meat, crisp lettuce, fresh charp cheddar cheese, and firm plump tomatoes. All served on a warmed soft taco shell. Four of them. All yummy and juicy and begging in their little taco voices, "Eat me Ernie, eat me." And that's just what I was prepared to do. Except I couldn't really hear my tacos because I had this fucking whack job, two pitchers of beer down, yammering off in my ear about how I would soon be paying taxes to the UN under a New World Order. I quickly realized that it was a grave error in judgement to invite this genie out of the bottle, as all I wanted to do was enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos. And in an effort to stem the flow of his mouth a little bit, introduced CFCG to my Blowjob Theory. That theory as you might remember, is that if Bill Clinton couldn't get a blowjob in the Oval office without the nation finding out about it, there's simply no fucking way a conspiracy that would involve hundreds of people, could possibly be kept under wraps. But the very bitter CFCG was having none of it. He chastised me that I didn't believe it was a conspiracy, because I didn't want to believe it was a conspiracy theory. Uh-huh.

Over the next agonizingly long five minutes I did my best to enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos and maintain some sort of presence on my Buzztime trivia game, all the while tuning out this CFCG who evidently had no intention of keeping his secrets any longer. He yammered on and on about photo proof, and hidden documents, and how Walter Cronkie predicted in 1988 that the United States would move towards a New World Order -- and than he was congratulated by none other than Hillary Clinton! My Gosh! And all the while, all I'm trying to do is enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos. Occasionally he would ask me what I thought on a given matter, and I would have to snap out of my daze and offer that just because you see it on the internet doesn't always make it true. Oh yes it does, he contested, because he's certainly done his research and urged me to do the same. The truth is out there, he assured me.

I'd love to tell you that I took the time to enjoy each of my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos, but alas I did not. I scarfed them the fuck down and asked for my bill. I know, kind of a sleazy thing to do, but I couldn't help it. The old guy simply out lasted me. I paid my tab, overtipped for my short stay, and got the fuck out of there. I'll probably go back for more fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos next week, but I'll be sure to get there a little earlier and sit at the other side of the bar.

Oh, and the current leader in Deflector 2 is Rob Dawg who completed all sixteen levels in 2:40. Surely this has made me feel quite emasculinated, and thus I now have to go to the bathroom in a SheWee, and use several other creepy feminine hygiene products. Yet despite this and despite what anyone else tells you, no I am not moving to Salt Lake City. because there are scorpions there. And on the list of things that I will never fuck with? The tailless whip scorpion ranks up there one notch behind camel spiders.

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