The Sucktucky Saga deepens. Yes, my presence in rural Murkuh seems to breed...y'know, I'd try to jerk you off and tell you that it breeds creativity, but you'd see through that unsupportable bullshit in a heartbeat. It breeds boredom. I'd like to tell you a little about what I'm doing here, because there are some epically fucked-up stories associated with this enterprise; some of them might entertain. But I don't trust the random currents of the universe. There are simply not a lot of DCish smartasses hanging out near the highway in rural Kentucky incident to doing the sort of work I do, and it's the sort of discussion that would allow the wrong people to find out that I have opinions. I'm sure that most of you understand, and if you don't, fuck you, I don't actually give a fuck what you think. I may have given away too much already.
Things I can tell you:
-P.J. O'Rourke said it first, but the best kind of car is, in fact, a rental car.
-By the way, that's the last worthwhile thing P.J. O'Rourke ever wrote, and it first appeared in the National Lampoon in 1979 (the cite at the link is erroneous).
-There are exactly six Starbucks between Cincinnati and Knoxville on the I-75 route. Precisely none of them are in the approximately 100-mile space that begins 10 miles north of Knoxville.
-That's why I only flew into there oncet.
-Shit, that probably narrowed down the geography too much.
-There are three sit-down restaurants in the town in which I stay. Okay, that's a lie. There are three sit-down restaurants in the town in which I stay that are not named Cracker Barrel or Waffle House. Of the three, one scares me. Culturally, I mean. I'm sure that the beer bottles are clean enough if you wipe them off, and there is no American food that frightens me from a culinary/gustatory perspective (someone will call bullshit on this, but she's already pissed at me for saying something nice about P.J. O'Rourke).
-Culturally why, you ask? There's no kind way to say this, so I just will. There are some really hard-looking women out here. Up in the college town, much less so. But out here? Wow. Life ain't kind to these people. They frighten me. Even the docile ones. This is because I am, in a technical and totally non-spiritual sense, a member of the ruling class. It's unfortunate that I fear this place, because it's a barbecue joint. I'm trying to find the right Sherpa for this expedition.
-Speaking of Waffle House, it's fucking awesome. It is the most reliable chain restaurant in our great land. It's the one thing that justifies my repeated treks to America.
-You do know that a greasy breakfast is the most important meal of the day, yes?
-Question for Sasha: Who would you most like to torture: P.J. O'Rourke or Norman Mailer?
-Okay, okay, I lied. Yes, I'm spiritually a member of the ruling class. Duh. New here, or what?
Anyway, I'll be spending parts of just about every week here for another couple of months. Look ye forward to more Free Associatin' With Landru. Just be thankful I haven't returned to that asshat format where I interview myself.
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6 comments:
Frankfort? Been there. Been to coal mining country too. Got out alive.
Yeah I call bullshit. There's lots of stuff you won't eat.
About The Joint, pull on a jeans and a tee shirt -- no, dork, don't cover it with a shirt that buttons --
What? You didn't bring jeans? I'll bet there is a Wally World somewhere nearby where you can buy something like Wranglers. You can rent a PO Box and keep them in there until you are finished with your visits. No need to wash, you know.
Then you walk in humbly telling them how your mother (bless her heart) used to tell you about places like this when you were little and this reminds you of your late mother. (No, you can't use your dead dog in this instance.) Ask for help. Get them to tell you what to eat. You'll be fine.
And you can even wipe the top of the longneck with your tee shirt. You wimp.
As for your question? Slam dunk but a copout nonetheless. P.J.O'Rourke. Because he isn't dead and has placed himself in front of my face within the past three months. (The copout is the dead part.) Also Mailer was smarter and more of a man of his time, obnoxious though that was. O'Rourke is smarmy, thinks he is smarter than everybody else -- oh yeah, so did Mailer -- and doesn't have the courage of his convictions that Mailer did. He wants to pretend to be likeable. What a totally disgusting being he is.
The sad thing is that there was a time, a time you referenced early on, that the had the possibility of turning out ok. And he chose not to. So O'Rourke, no question.
Any more deep philosophy from the heartland?
Glad to see you aren't dead yet.
Now I'm going to ponder whether to experiment with a cane or whether my friends will give me too much crap. And if I do, whether it should have a dagger inside. It's a day for philosophy it seems. The word is 'mists.'
Aaaand yes, I think you've said too much.
"hkwni"
Sasha: when you have a cane, you always have something handy and sturdy to beat people with. Where's the downside?
word: humpedi
As much as it hurts me to admit you're right, I've got to agree with you about O'Rourke. He underwent a politics-change operation while I was in college, and almost overnight he devolved from one of the funniest guys alive to just another plastic sack of feminine hygiene wash. (No offense intended, ladies.)
No offense taken. We don't use feminine hygiene wash,do we Ilse?
And,Ilse, I see your point about the cane. Kind of like hockey players who all carry a weapon.
Word is pitall. Landru you have the best words of anybody.
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