I recently learned of a portion of the California Vehicle Code, 23103.5, which leaves open the possibility, given the agreement of the prosecution, for a person charged with a DUI to plead to a lesser charge of alcohol-related reckless driving, regardless of whether there was actually reckless driving involved. This charge is known as "Wet and Reckless," or "Wet Reckless."

Let it sink in. Wet and reckless.

"Wet and Reckless in California! The hottest babes party on the beach by day and climb onto our party bus to eat each other out on film by night. All the wet and reckless action you can handle and more! Call now and get our free bonus DVD, Tits, Tits, and More Tits: All Up In Your Face and Partially Up In Your Ass."

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"Dear Playboy Advisor, my boyfriend wants me to reach over and rub his taint while he drops a wet reckless on my pubic mound. First, I'm not sure what a wet reckless is. Second, will I need special shampoo to clean that out of my landing strip?"

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Calleigh Duquesne: "Horatio, I'm glad you got out here so fast. Our vic somehow managed to ride a jet ski down the hotel pool's water slide and crashed full speed into the concrete wall. I'm thinking this is an accident, open and shut."

Horatio Caine: "Tell me... Ms... Duqeusne... if this... was an accident... why... is his ankle handcuffed... to the exhaust?"

Calleigh Duquesne: "You're right. And whoever did it left behind a torn piece of wetsuit and a finger print."

Horatio Caine: "Then it looks like we... are looking for someone who is... wet and reckless."

Roger Daltrey: "YAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

You be the judge. See Corey Feldman-less Strib article.

Dear potential thieves thinking of breaking into Ang's place. I've reinforced her condo's door with a metal sleeve/plate, replaced her door chain with a heavy duty door latch, installed rails that make it next to impossible to jimmy her door or split the door frame, and I will be standing guard 24x7 ready to beat you to death with my rage-engorged cock should you venture within 5 miles of her.

Oh... how can I stay mad at you?

Kisses?

Kisses.

I heard the door rattling shortly after I got home this morning, somewhere around 10-11. (I know, that's broad but I'm not feeling well and was resting on the couch and I don't remember the exact time.) My first thought was the mailman, as he had a little trouble with the door on Saturday. It's an old door that's affected by the cold and heat and tends to stick a little, and needs a little extra budge and patience. But it went on a little long and I started to think something was wrong. Unfortunately I wasn't in a position to do anything about it immediately... AKA pooping. The rattling quieted and I went back to the couch instead of peeking out into the hallway. Partly because the whole thing made me nervous and partly because I just really wanted to lay down.

A few minutes later my doorbell rang and the guy on the other end claimed to be a UPS delivery driver with a package for Unit 1. Red flag! This is not the primary residence for the owner of #1. I don't buzz deliveries up anyway because the door release is a little sticky and I hate explaining this people, but I was definitely not comfortable with granting this particular dude access to my building so I just said, "Uh yeah you do... I'll be right down." He was not there, naturally.

One could argue even going down there was foolish but I still wasn't positive something fishy was happening. I didn't see anyone on the street so I reached for the door to peek outside. The deadbolt wouldn't budge, it had totally locked up. I couldn't tell yet from the inside but the door was in pretty bad shape. My only other way out is down the back stairs and out the rear of the restaurant. Wood shards were missing from the door in a pattern that looks like it was chewed on, as well as clear crowbar marks. The lock still had no interest in turning.

"Oh, greaaaat." Now I'm locked outside as my key does not open the rear door to the restaurant. It's an exit but it's not an entrance. That's fine, I'll hang out here on the stoop until someone comes along. It's noon or something so I should only have to wait about 6 hours. Well, luckily for me my new neighbors downstairs were rustling around inside and they were kind enough to let me in to access the back stairs.

Upstairs I called the non-emergency line and reported it. They sent an officer out pretty much right away but he said nothing could really be done without a description and since I didn't see anyone it wasn't even worth it to file a report. I thanked him for coming out anyway and knocked on TSC door, again, so I could back inside. This time, Aaron, one of the owners, said he saw the guy fiddling with our door and operating the buzzer but couldn't be sure he wasn't supposed to be there. He gave the description to the officer so if they catch the little waste of human skin, he can make the I.D.

A couple of points:
1. Let's say I'm stupid enough to have buzzed that fucker up. What would he have done? Broke into one the units knowing that someone was up there and could call the police?! He was oh-so-discreet with the door I'm sure he would have been just as quiet on a unit door.

2. It was just before noon, in front of a restaurant and a pretty busy karate studio, on an extremely busy street next to an extremely busy intersection across from Metro State. The door is not at all concealed from the public nor does it provide an entry of any sort for visitors. It is literally next to the sidewalk in broad view of the insurance agency directly across the street.

3. That door is so friggin' loud and yet he still kept slamming away on it.

4. He apparently didn't give a damn about being I.D.'d because he rang the doorbell at the back of The Strip Club and talked to Aaron face to face to ask if he could get a menu. Did he think that Aaron would walk away, leaving this guy access to the backstairs? Thankfully Aaron wasn't comfortable with this guy and didn't allow him inside. Wouldn't matter anyway, he'd have at least two more locked doors to contend with. Real piece of work, this one. I guess his mother wasn't proficient with the clothes hanger.

5. I am so pissed off.

The end.

Ang may or may not opt to recount the full tale herself, but some motherfucker tried to break into her building today through the front door while she was home. Broad fucking daylight near the intersection of two busy streets. Thankfully, one of the guys at The Strip Club, the restaurant nearby, saw the whole thing go down (he couldn't see for sure that the guy was trying to break in from his vantage point, but thought it was suspicious) and was able to provide a good description to the cops.

I don't have the whole description, but if you saw someone matching this description acting suspiciously near the corner of Maria Ave and 6th St in St Paul around 11 or 11:30 am, please contact the St Paul Police Department.

Black male, about 17-20. Grey hoodie with red stripes on the arms. Brown pants.

Please -- I always strongly discourage racial profiling (let us not draw broad and unfair conclusions because of one bad apple), but I encourage fashion profiling. Anyone wearing brown pants deserves a cinder block rubdown (in fact, let's include khaki pants in there just to be safe). It's ok. You have my permission. I'm authorized.