Few things bring me more joy in life than eavesdropping on people on the Metro. Especially if those people are crazy drunks conversing with Canadian tourists about the looming threat of other ethnic groups taking over.

And so was the scene this morning when a 40ish black guy, wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, had this slurred exchange in the row in front of me with a bunch of white Canucks (redundant?) in town to see the District.

Man: [Leaning across the aisle] Excuse me, ma’am, is that your child?

Mother: [Surprised] Huh? Y-Yeah.

Man: Can I offer you a word of advice?

Mother: W-what? Sure.

Man: You need to make sure he learns another language when he grows up. There are three times as many Spanish-speaking people in this city than blacks. They takin’ over.

Mother: Okay.

Man: Yeah. So, you need to make sure he knows Spanish, because he’s gonna have to deal with Spanish-speaking people.

Mother: Mmhmm.

Man: You don’t have to do this today, but soon, soon, go to a book store and go to the instruction section and you got to ask them “WHERE THE SPANISH-SPEAKING TAPES AT?”

Mother: I’ll do that.

Man: Good. That’s good. If he can learn Spanish, he’s in good shape. I never got the Spanish, so I can’t deal with them. Once they take over, he’s gonna have to. [Now sounding like he's talking through his teeth] And, and, once he gets the Spanish, you know what you got to do next?

Mother: What?

Man: Learn him some Chinese. They got 1.5 billion, million people over in China. IN ONE LAND! We as Americans gonna have to deal with them sooner or later. I know you saw the Olympics. They comin’ up in the world. Women over there, they’re only allowed to have one baby. That’s crazy, if you ask me.

This went on for another 10 minutes during which I nearly pissed myself about five times. The drunk guy took five minutes just to get the freaked out Canadian husband to admit where he was from. (The guy would only saw “Not here” until his defenses were clearly worn down by the drunk’s persistence — a tactic I’ve used on many an occasion).

Anyway, your Meast this week is Plaxico Burress’ 40-caliber Glock.

Some might say it’s inappropriate to give an award named in honor of Sean Taylor to a gun on the anniversary of Taylor’s death. We do so not to make light of Taylor’s murder, but to highlight the fact that it was not the implement used in the killing that it is to blame, but the intentions of its user. Guns are not the enemy. Sure, they can be used to kill innocent people, but they can also serve the purposes of good, like when they go off randomly into Plaxico Burress’ leg.