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A Mysterious Package

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No, I'm not talking about the new alternative lifestyle bar by the Mosque at Ground Zero where HenryJames is a silent investor.

I received something in the mail on Tuesday.

I thought it was the new HD camera I ordered to document tailgating excesses, Trips Right's Prima Nocta rituals, Sooner inbreeding in the Cotton Bowl parking lot, and the general malfeasance of our running game.

I tore open the package expecting to see this:

But that arrived the next day.

Instead, this was my unexpected present on Tuesday:

Yes, that's a 3-piece UCLA cheerleader outfit, Westwood slut RTF major not included.

It wasn't just salt in the wound -- it was a gallon-sized deposit of mediterranean sodium chloride scored in the femoral artery, recently torn open by the UCLA Bruins with an assist from Greg Davis. A brief laugh sputtered into guttural moaning, as visions of faggy deuchebags in baby blue sauntering confidently down San Jacinto dropped me to one knee.

A multi-text query to the most likely suspects was quickly answered. The accomplices were a Purdue grad and another friend who never graduated but didn't feel it was necessary because he's a "filmmaker". I instantly granted him an honorary degree from Colorado State so I can return the favor when they lose to Colorado School of Mines next year. Time of online purchase? 2 a.m. Saturday night, with a BAC likely hovering around 2.6.

Other than the obvious use as a Halloween costume (UCLA Lohan zombie), how do I turn this into a constructive event?

I could burn it and send the ashes to Belmont, signed Scipio Tex.

I could give it to the wife and treat her like a UCLA co-ed in one glorious three minute act of mock retribution.

Or I could just leave it to my fellow Barkers to determine the fate of this inglorious ensemble.

Free tote bag, obviously, to the winner.