Illustration by Bob AulI doubt you two stoners read anything -- probably not even the warning labels on your Ritalin -- so you're not likely to see this. But I owe you an apology, and maybe putting it out there in the universe will make me feel better. I found you both in my local supermarket, poking at the lobsters in the meat-section aquarium like Beavis and Butt-head. "I've got a fighter!" one of you shouted. "A fighter! A fighter!" the other responded. The poor dumb creatures skittered away from the stick as quickly as they could, but you chased them around the aquarium with the butcher's tool. I started to point at you, to yell at you to stop the inhumane stuff -- and then realized I was pointing at you with a pound of ground beef in my hand. I was feeling superior to you guys, but now I know that I've got some of my own work to do: I'm no better than a couple of morons with a stick.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations -- changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent -- to â€œHey, You!â€ c/oOC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us atLETTERS@OCWEEKLY.COM.