GOOD FRIDAY. YOU BETCHA.

My family has had a crawfish boil on Good Friday for as long as I can remember. That tradition, however, was put in jeopardy this year when some recent cold weather shortened the supply of crawfish. I received an urgent and horrifying call from my father Thursday.

Dad: Just wanted to warn you. We might not have crawfish tomorrow.
Me: Are you freaking kidding me?
Dad: The place couldn't fulfill our order, so we have to try somewhere else in the morning.
Me: I see.

The place where we used to get them (and we had a sweet deal) closed up shop after Katrina, and the new place we've been using ran out. Lo and behold, though, we were able to secure four sacks of crawfish early Friday. They were small, but me made due.

Also on the menu: red snapper fish, catfish, shark, boiled shrimp, fried shrimp, fried oysters, raw oysters, shrimp dip, crawfish dip. Uh, yup. That's about it.

The old man can still put 'em away. That pile took in the neighborhood of two minutes.

That's my pile. Not for the day. Just from the first batch. With each batch, my uncles add more spice and salt. So, the best strategy is to attack the opening offering and then pick at them the rest of the day.

Of course, I left for work in the middle of the festivities. I wonder who won the jello shot contest.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I'm startled awake by my mom's yelling at 6 a.m. Friday morning. "Fucking fingerprints all over the place."

Mom is trying to tell me another movie to add to our Netflix list. "What was the one after Benjamin that I wanted? Shit. I can't remember." I tell mom that there's a long wait for Slumdog Millionaire. "So, it'll be three months before I get to see Slumdog. That's bullshit."

THE GENE POOL DIP (I MEAN TIP) OF THE WEEK

Don't drive over the speed limit in Texas. This campaign is the opposite of the one shoved down our throats by NIKE. Just don't do it. The last two times I've been to Texas, my driver has been pulled over for "speeding."

Last year on the way to Dallas, Lopes got a ticket. I think he was doing 70 in a 60, and the officer wrote it out for 68. Something like that. I drive all over this town at 10 mph over the speed limit, and I've never gotten a speeding ticket. Reckless driving? Sure. Following too close? Twice. Running a stop sign? Who hasn't? But speeding? Nope.

On the way back from Houston, Paul and I had an incident with what I believe to be a police officer. As I've retold this story in the past few days, it seems to me he might not have been a cop. Judge for yourself. Note: He was in an unmarked car.

A car on the side of the road pulls out next to us on the Interstate between Houston and the state border at like 2 a.m. It drives alongside us for a few miles and then puts on its lights to pull us over. Paul was going 70 in a 65. No exaggeration. You read that right.

The officer, in his thick Texan accent, asks Paul to step out of the vehicle with his license. I sat in the front seat flabbergasted that all this was over speeding by five miles. Whopdidoo.

Two minutes later, Paul still hadn't returned to the car. I had been napping right before we got pulled over, and so I was still a little out of it. But my eyes didn't deceive when I turned around. The officer was patting down Paul, who later told me the officer said: "Now, spread your legs. I'm going to search you for weapons." Uh ...

After the cavity search, the officer approached my window and told me to roll it down.

Officer: You boys going home?
Me: Yes, sir.
Officer: What were you doing in Houston?
Me: Um. Uh. We were in town for WrestleMania.
Officer: WrestleMania? That's a new one. How long was you there for?
Me: A week.
Officer (satisfied): All right. Just let me see his registration there.

Now, we didn't end up getting a ticket, but that's not the point. The officer asked Paul a bunch of questions about what we were doing and if he'd been drinking. I think the copper was trying to see if our stories matched.

I shutter to think what would have happened if I had said Cubs-Astros game instead of WrestleMania. Actually, I was about to say the baseball game, but I decided to hear his reaction to WrestleMania.

Was he a cop? I guess we'll never know. I fell right back asleep. But seriously, 70 in a 65? I mean if you're going to do that, you'll be pulling over the very next car that passes when you get back on the shoulder. Was he trying to set the record for most weapon searches in one shift?

PARTING SHOTS
I announce to the department that I've discovered a new glitch with the snack machine.

Me: The nature valley granola bar is now $8.55. Sounds steep to me.
Bake: Yeah. But it's good for you.

I'm talking to Phil when I notice he's reading the new WWE Encyclopedia, which I was thinking about buying. Apparently, we got it in the office a few weeks ago.

Phil: I didn't want to show it to you because the thing would be useless. The pages would be all stuck together.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My top five memories of eating crawfish.

5) Dad and I at Dockside. 2008.
I think we made them regret the all-you-can-eat-for-$20 special.

4) Senior crawfish boil at Loyola. 2006.
Good times. I think I got my $20 worth.

3) The trifecta. 2008.
Last year, I pulled off a trifecta. I went to a crawfish boil Friday (annual family one), Saturday (at David's) and Sunday (at Derry's). Boo ya!

2) Every Good Friday.
It's where the following firsts happened: 1) me gambling. 2) me peeling crawfish. 3) me getting punched.

1) Team crawfish boil. 2000.
Somebody on our soccer team had a camp in the woods. We had a big party there one Friday night. I ate a little too much. And you can fill in the blank.