I must take exception to Big Jonny’s description of my hometown in the vile post below. “Graveyard with lights,” indeed. The actual phrase, as employed in the late Seventies by Rusty Mitchell, former food editor for the Gazette Telegraph, is “cemetery with lights,” although she occasionally used the slightly less pejorative “suburb without a city.”
But things have changed in the past three decades, and today Bibleburg residents can easily find a church or two on every corner, cheer as flak-jacketed cops thump peace activists in the St. Paddy’s Day parade, or casually discriminate against an ominously swelling population of various disgruntled minorities, including a handful of Democrats. Chain hog troughs ring Super Sprawl-Marts like portly courtiers surrounding a syphilitic king, and every city block sports a traffic signal, none of which is timed. Instead, an emaciated speed freak controls each and every signal through banks of video cameras and toggle switches, and he will see to it that it takes you at least a half hour to back out of your driveway and a half day to make it downtown, even if you live there. This is why natives treat red lights as advisory only, and why tourists die in droves.
Meanwhile, Big Jonny and his henchmen descended upon Chez Dog on Tuesday bearing powerful thirsts, fantastic tales of prowess in battle and bibulousness, and thumbs-down reviews of the Clarion Downtown hotel, which apparently lacks food, strong drink and high-speed Internet. Fortunately I had a couple sixers, a half-dozen bottles of wine, a pair of pizzas the size of 29′er wheels and a little China White to take the edge off their ravenous appetites. Otherwise there could have been mayhem, and the neighbors are already grousing about how property values have plummeted since “the Irish” moved in.
More of the same awaits tonight. The Drunkcyclist mob has discovered that Bibleburg is home to a number of establishments whose menus depart from the standard wafers-and-wine theme, and I am to be tour guide.by