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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