Confederacy of Dunces

Let’s hope this is the final Briley wordWe couldn’t let state Rep. Rob Briley’s final words on the House floor go without comment here, in the column named for people like him. After preaching to the Capitol Hill press corps about irresponsible journalism, he had this to say: “We used to talk about the politics of personal destruction,” Briley said, before launching into what he called a “coded” message—something about poets and kings—that no one understood. “That’s no longer what’s going on. It’s the publishing of personal destruction.”

Who would have thought? The coverage of this little gem had us agreeing with state GOP flack Bill Hobbs and Tennessean columnist Gail Kerr in the same week, a rare convergence of events that makes us wonder if the end is near. Hobbs’ take on the now infamous farewell address, in which the boozing adulterer lashed out against reporters and bloggers for having the temerity to write facts, went like this: “That’s right, the alcoholic ex-legislator who trades his wife and children for a fling with a lobbyist and now slams information publishers for having the audacity to publicize it, will practice law in a section of downtown Nashville named for its historic connection to printing and publishing, and also famed for its booze and strippers.”

Standing. Hands clapping.

Then Kerr: “First, outgoing Rep. Rob Briley chose to use his final moments in the legislative spotlight to preach to the press about personal responsibility. Yes, Briley. The man who took his personal life public in a flurry of sordid moments. Among them: accusations of adultery with a lobbyist, a car chase that topped out at 100 mph, a DUI, and a disappearing act from a treatment program that left his family and friends pulling their hair out with worry. Freedom of the press, he said, comes with responsibility. So, one might argue, does fatherhood. And marriage. And having a driver’s license. And being elected by voters who believed in you. But never mind all that.”

There’s not much left for us to say, except that we’ve got our own coded message for Briley: Take your poets and kings and get the hell away.

Ass spanker bluesBradley Armoster can’t catch a break. Not long ago the Memphis truck driver was arrested in Fairview, Tenn., for unmercifully spanking a white man who dropped the N-bomb in his direction. (“Spank the Honkey,” April 3.)

After serving a two-day sentence for the offense in April, Armoster went back to work, making long hauls on U.S. highways.

Now, after another mix-up with the police, and accusations that company gas money was making its way to his pocket, Armoster’s truck company, Express Trucking of Memphis, has let him go.

Armoster says that he was arrested in Georgia because his license had been revoked as a result of an unpaid ticket he received in Kansas last year. He spent three days in jail and, when he finally made it back to Memphis, his boss told him that his gas usage didn’t square with the gas money they’d been giving him. He was fired.

“They’re treating me like a goddamn criminal, like I done robbed a bank or something,” he says of his bosses. “Goddamn lowdown, dirty sons of bitches,” he adds.

Armoster denies stealing a dime from his employer, saying that his truck has just been burning more fuel than usual and that he’s got a document from a mechanic to prove it.

Now without a paycheck or driver’s license, Armoster must find a way to get back to Williamson County for a scheduled meeting with his parole officer. If he misses the meeting, Armoster could go back to jail. He’s convinced that after the Scene story was published, those who wanted to exact retribution for his honkey spanking became emboldened.

“It’s a get-back thing,” he says of his recent arrest. “They’re thinking, ‘Let’s get that son of a bitch back,’ ” for only serving two days in jail. Armoster is angry but seems sure that he’ll prevail in the end. As for the cops he says are constantly dogging him, “They can kiss my black ass too.”

Drunk with powerIn a way, it’s oddly appropriate that Tennessee’s Alcoholic Beverage Commission, whose overzealous practices we chronicle in our cover story this week, likes to go after low-hanging fruit.

After receiving an anonymous tip, those ever-vigilant ABC investigators along with Metro police raided Harry Krantz’s Clarksville Pike farm in Joelton last week and discovered 350 gallons of wine stashed in his barn. Eliot Ness would have been proud.

It didn’t take long for Krantz, a 63-year-old farmer-turned-fermenter, to break under questioning. Investigators say Krantz admitted he had made wine for years, and that he eventually began selling the grape libation in plastic milk jugs for $25 a pop. Hey, it probably goes down better than Yellow Tail.