Oakland Beats Tampa Bay

n the battle of post-game celebrations, the fans in Tampa Bay have nothing on the spirited Oakland fans. Sunday night, following the Raiders' loss to the Bucs, East Oakland sizzled and burned with young rowdies demonstrating their loyalty to the hometown team by trashing and looting stores, burning cars and spinning doughnuts in intersections all up and down International Blvd. More than 80 people were arrested in the melee, most for vandalism, destroying public property, or public drunkenness.

Meanwhile, in Tampa Bay, Florida's "Bay Area," exactly one person was arrested: a dyed-blonde Miss Thang who was baring her implants to the crowd gathered to celebrate the Buccaneers' first-ever Super Bowl championship.

Asked to comment, Oakland riot-participant Hector Barbazino said, "They only had one arrest down there? Day-um, bro! And it was for what? Some bitch flashin' her titties? Oh, that ain't right, yo."

"That ain't cool at all, man," added Barbazino's cousin, Ricky Ledora. "Shee-it, they ought to come to Oaktown and see how we get down here, yo. Look at Carlos over there in the chopped Toyota, yo, his bitch LaShanté be hangin' out the sunroof all damn night, and she butt-naked, man! Butt-naked!"

"Oh, yeah, bro. Bitches be throwin' they titties on my windshield for hours, yo. Pressed titties on glass, what I'm talkin' about." Barbazino commented, as he poured lighter fluid all over a parked Subaru station wagon and set a match to it. "Word, homes. If Ray-Ray didn't had to take my ride to go pick up his baby-mama before ten, we'd still be gettin' it, them titties on glass."

The word from Tampa Bay was that, other than the breast-baring incident, not a lot of carrying-on occurred. City residents marched a few times around the three blocks of the downtown area, some of them carrying American flags and singing "God Bless America," and a few people were observed drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade from bottles hidden in brown paper bags. After an hour of this, most of the crowd dispersed and went home to watch Alias.

In Oakland, however, it was a different story. The large crowd merrily jumped on moving cars, broke windows and set fires for hours. When the mob energy began to wane, police fired tear gas, rubber bullets and wooden dowels in an attempt to further incite the crowd and egg them on to new heights of destruction throughout the night.

"Come on, you miserable bastards!" shouted Sergeant Arnie Cocklip at the crowd, as he fired his service revolver in the air. "Let's show the world how we kick heiney in Oakland. We're number friggin' one, goddamnit! Break something! Burn something down!"

Reluctantly, the worn out crowd complied with police orders and thoroughly trashed a nearby McDonald's, a Kelly-Moore paint store and the Gomes Tire and Service Center. Said one young reveler, Jose Chingamadre, "After we burned the three Chevys over on 151st, and threw bricks through the window of the day-care center there, I was ready to go home and watch Alias. But then the cops made us stay out here and keep going. Man, those dudes are like hard-asses, you know?"

Damage in Oakland was estimated at over $100,000, with the police that were present throughout the night gathering the day after to vote on which of the rioters would receive a full share, and which only half shares. "Them little slacking sonsabitches that only broke a couple windows or just missed a pedestrian while they were spinning doughnuts think they're getting a full share, they better think again. Punk-ass bitches gotta show me something special to get that," Sergeant Cocklip explained.

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Hey folks, and welcome back for another episode of Reflections of a Goocher, taped live before a recently-alive studio audience. We're here talking to celebrity housewife Susan Lutwidge, this year's recipient of the Lutwidge Family Prize for Drama.

SU: Good to have you here, Susan.

SL: Good to have been had here, Stu.

SU: So, is it true what I've been hearing about your recent plastic surgery?

SL: Well, if you've been hearing the truth it is.

SU: Good point.

SL: But yeah, I recently went in for Botox treatment, since my face was starting to look like Ed Asner's couch.

SU: I was going to say something.

SL: Good of you. But the thing is, when I got there I found out that Botox is extremely expensive. Go figure. Really makes you wonder about all those Vietnam vets who were paralyzed for free. So anyway, instead the doctor turned me on to Reebox treatment, which is where they inject your face with space-age sneaker rubber.

SU: It looks great.

SL: Thanks, Stu, I feel great. And it's comforting to know that the next time I fall while jogging, my face is going to bounce off the pavement like a superball.

SU: Talk about "saving face"!

SL: No shit.

SU: Okay Sue, we're low on time here so I'm afraid we're going to have to skip straight to the bonus round. Your question, for a chance to win all the tea in Denmark: Who is the tallest man ever to win the Noble Prize?

SL: Uh, Nelson Mandela? Dude's black, right?

SU: No, I'm sorry, the correct answer is Steve "The Stork" Goodgee, who won the Noble for Frisbee Golf in 1997. You may have been thinking of the lesser-known Nobel Peace Prize, which is awarded every year for outstanding achievement in the field of keeping the peace. The Noble awards those who keep it real in the face of being spanked in the nuts by a flying projectile. Thanks for playing.

We'll be right back after this commercial break.


Hey there Ricky, sorry to hear your dad got arrested again.

Yeah, my life sucks. This is the worst family vacation ever.

Come on, look at the bright side. Maybe your dad didn't do it.

Yeah, but they caught him with her jammies and everything.

You're probably right. Hey, wanna play doctor?


Holy Jehovah, we're back! And now it's time to check in with Hank Spankman and Johan Sebastian Crackersnatch, RoaG's own professional conversationalists:

HS: So, Johan, I hear you bought a bike recently.

JSC: That's a balled-in-the-face lie.

HS: Well you know what they say, there's a crayon of truth in every lie.

JSC: I always heard it was a train of vermouth in every life.

HS: That makes me very thirsty.

JSC: Me too, but I can't eat that much cheese.

HS: Chee—You know the thing about you? You're exactly like a cross between Bob Dylan and Bob Denver.

JSC: Well, you're like a cross between Bob Hope and a vacuum cleaner.

HS: I think I vacuum cleaner than you.

JSC: I vacuum naked.

HS: Do you always remember to wash behind your gears?

JSC: So we're back to the bike thing again? Okay, I'll admit it. The bike bought me.

I'm afraid that's all the time we've got this week folks, and I'm also afraid of spiders. We'll go into that some other time.

—closing theme, AKA "Can't Hug the Love Bug" by Styx—

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As much I regretted it, I had to take a break from the world's greatest conspiracy last week. Nothing more than I can handle, of course. Maybe I'll benefit from the break, it will give me a chance to put everything in perspective, possibly have one of those great conspiracy epiphanies I've always longed for. But I'm such an important player I couldn't just take a vacation, so I had Stigmata Spent put on my fake beard and fake trenchcoat and take my place at all the secret meetings. But the conspiracy will wait for me. I had to take off for more pressing matters. The world's highest-stakes poker match.

I'm not a member of the Illuminati, of course—I wish! But I'm quite wealthy, so me and some other wealthy friends started a sub-Iluminati. We call ours the Niluminati, and we control everything the regular Iluminati doesn't want to control. Mainly the stuff we own. But being a member of the Niluminati has its own benefits, like our covert annual picnic and our annual high-stakes poker match. The highest stakes, as I've mentioned before.

No slouch in the poker department, I've won three of the last fifteen matches I've attended. Doesn't sound impressive? How many of the world's highest-stake poker matches have you won? I didn't think so. But it had been a while since I've had any real success, I've been on a losing streak for long time. Approximately since I started publishing the commune, oddly enough.

I decided, despite the conspiracy barking at my back door, that I'd put everything on hold and go back and claim my crown. Mind you, the crown itself is rather chintzy, but what I want is the respect that comes with wearing it. Sure, I've made my own crowns out of cardboard before, but when people find out you didn't get it winning a card game, all the respect vanishes.

I was happy to board the ol' riverboat Pressure Cooker and see my old colleagues and rivals, the nameless members of the Niluminati—"Buggy" Bob Hedges, Krisco, Flatella Morgan, B'Twana Modge, Catarast Winton, and Dave Pogo ("The Instigator"). They all sized me up with their eyes the minute I came through the door, though Flatella hired somebody to do it with his hands, and they took me for a rube whose bad luck streak was going to continue for another year. I said nuts to that, and quite loudly. They asked me not to do it again.

I made my presence known right away, starting the first game with an unheard-of bet of $75,000. They called me overeager and told me I would not be invited back if I insisted on betting so high first time out. But we played for a while, I won my share of games and kept my bets wise, and eventually we raised stakes to $250,000. That's American dollars, mind you, and not Niluminati dollars, which weren't even accepted in the Niluminati swear jar.

And in the end, believe it or not, I won it all on a bluff. I won the game with a bet of $800,000, then we doubled the bet, and I had jack shit in the way of cards. Not even a pair, I tell you. Nothing wild, all my options run out, so I bluffed—I yelled "Fire!" and we all abandoned the boat. Since we didn't finish the last game, that made me the winner for this year.

Quite a bluff it was, if I must say so. And I had Rascal in the engine room ready to throw a stick of dynamite into the fire if they called me on it. Always keep an ace in the hole.

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