…Or at least let the Army keep you from killing yourself.
Also, a friend and I saw Richard Lewis perform this weekend at a place called The Funny Farm. He did a 10-minute bit about what a shitty name that is for a comedy club. And then he did his Richard Lewis schtick for another 45-minutes before promptly cutting out. We felt kinda ripped off. But I’m too embarrassed to say how much I paid for the tickets.
Speaking of getting ripped off, did anyone see that James Cameron/Jesus special last night? Let us know what you thought. Personally, we like this interpretation better: Jesus Clones!
As a newbie to the Southland, I’ve tried my hardest to assimilate without putting my Yankee foot deep into my expletive-spewing mouth—’cause apparently that’s unladylike… or some shit like that. Surprisingly, it hasn’t always worked. In fact, I’ve already formed several opinions and prejudices about my new home in Atlanta, GA.
Biscuits = Good; Grits = Bad
Lauded as a Southern specialty, biscuits are, in fact, even more finger-lickin’ good when they’re not accompanied by a red bucket of chicken. And they’re delicious anytime—with breakfast, as a side dish or even as late night munchies. I’m still waiting on lab results to find out what’s in white gravy.
The same cannot be said of grits, which, as far as I can tell, are just a conduit for butter and/or cheese. Even the French wouldn’t eat this mushy, oddly textured paste. I would understand people digging this stuff if all Southerners were the toothless hillbillies seen in history books of yesteryear (and on The Simpsons), but this is the new South, people!
Moving Violations
The drivers in this fuckin’ town are insane—they offer no mercy to casual motorists, crossing streets (on those rare blocks where there are actual sidewalks) is like a game of Frogger, and I’m fairly certain they’re drunk most of the time. Oh yeah, there are no hand-free cell phone laws in Atlanta. Good luck, motherfucker.
Moreover, Atlanta has its own traffic rules, the most significant of which can be broken down into a simple formula and some mathematical values:
1. Atlanta Speed Limit = Posted Speed Limit + 15 mph
2. Points for hitting pedestrians = 1; points for hitting anyone on a scooter/Vespa = 5; points for hitting anyone on a Segway = 10.
The Hills Have Eyes
This is fuckin’ hill country. If you’re not going up a hill, you’re probably going down one. And chances are, you won’t see other motorists until they’re mere feet away from your front bumper. Pretty fun to drive on, otherwise. And good for walking to alleviate possible Biscuit Ass*.
Northern Charm Gone Bad
Generally, unless you’re comfortable with your local companion, you probably shouldn’t refer to their ethnicity and/or religion as “cracker-ass cracker.” I know, this is tempting after sipping on some fine Southern whiskey, but trust me on this one.
They keep me way too busy here at Super Deluxe to ever attend Miss Daisy’s Finishing School in my spare time (though perfecting a curtsy was part of my job orientation), so I look forward to more anthropological inquiries and interaction with the locals. Until then, I’ll be perfecting my peach cobbler recipe whilst jamming to Lil’ Wayne. That’s just how we do in the dirty dirty.
* Fat ass due to mass biscuit consumption.
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