It’s not often you get to drive through Ohio and bear witness to humanity’s shortcomings. Who drives through Ohio. But when you do make it to the state that’s fatter and not nearly as tall as you think, the experiences stick with you like Cleveland and it’s crippling 40 year recession. However, to begin, one must admit that Ohio does have some interesting shit, namely food. Last night I ate at Melt Bar and Grilled and enjoyed the Wet Hot Buffalo Chicken:
Oh my gosh, this is one of the best sandwiches I’ve had. But like any good high, there’s an equivalent low not far behind it. This morning, I woke up, made it 30 feet to the bathroom in about 4 steps, slammed the “Play Like a Champion Today” sign above my bathroom door, and mounted the throne with unapologetic fury. What was to come is for my private enjoyment only. However, I’ll note that you would not be wrong to make the comparison to Moses parting the Red Sea. Don’t drink the water in Lake Erie for a while.
I’ve always felt that the great people of Ohio suffer from bouts of hubris, although not NEARLY to the same extent as Bostononians. Fuck you, Boston. Your city is tiny, your infrastructure sucks, your welfare system is in disarray, your reliance on sports is laughable, and your loss in prominence to New York brings me boundless joy. You did this to yourself. Anyway, the whole “O-H…I-OOOOO” thing has to be stopped. You’re tying your self importance to a FUCKING PUBLIC COLLEGE SPORTS TEAM. Don’t you have anything else on which to hang your hat?…
Well, add insult to injury because I came across the following the other day:
The people (and unfortunately, voters) of this state manage to find a new way to embarrass themselves each time I visit. It’s like they’ve hidden an RFID tag on my car and each time I enter beneath the:
the citizens of the state jump in a group chat and figure out how they’re going to humiliate themselves next. When they’re not shaming themselves, they’re abusing the welfare system like it’s NBD. Here’s a guy on a rather unique vehicle that had a handicap sticker:
I don’t know about you, but the handicapped people I know tend to not throttle around on the back of a motorcycle in a leather jacket and matching boots.
OH SNAP!!!! I nearly forgot. Fuck me, I’m always forgetting to celebrate feminism on this blog. First the woman’s march, then the woman’s strike, and now this:
They’re called secretaries. Get it right or pay the price (HUGE throwback to Salute Your Shorts from the early nineties here; I expect a handjob from at least a few of you after making this connection). Speaking of bad names:
What do we have here? We have an article on a state senator named Frank Artiles (aka Fart Projectiles) written by a undoubtedly blonde-haired Hitler youth who got her “degree” in journalism from Camp Flowers. Keep student debt levels exceedingly high, major in journalism.
Thought I bumped into Kurt Russell last night:
Before I forget, to all my bad hombres in finance who’ve begun to create the next generation of financiers, there’s a Powerwheels-like Rolls Royce that you need to get your children, now. Don’t let your children fall behind in this new global economy. Buy them the Rolls, forbid them from anything to do with journalism or Boston. They’ll be better people for it.
And finally, we arrive at the end of this aimless rant. Arrested Development. Likely a hair above (Stan Sitwell’s always had a wild hair to buy this business, it’s the only hair he’s got…what, he’s an alpaca!) Seinfeld, and on equivalent ground with the original (but revised format) British Top Gear. Here’s an Arrested Development reference you’ll all appreciate:
“Your father says he wants me to go all the way to Fallujah. I thought he meant the sex act, that’s so popular with your generation” – Lucille Bluth
Musings and Malarkey 
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