By Mayor of Ponce
It’s Opening Day, and I’m not OTP nor ITP- I’m burning rubber ON the perimeter, up 285, aka The Pascual Perez Memorial Highway. Since the good guys are opening up on the road in Milwaukee, I scoot past I-20 like it’s the cole slaw on a three meat plate at Sonny’s. I gotta get to where it’s safe and clean. The home to apple pie, Chevrolet,.. and BASEBALL. You know where I’m talking about- Thomas Willis Cobb County, son!
It’s noon fifty Central time, and we got a first pitch in a few minutes. No problem, 285 is pretty much a super highway from the Jetsons and rarely is there traffic. Except if there’s a funeral or something and everyone in the south pulls over because we’re very respectful and understanding people down here. I’m just a couple exits from the cradle of civilization, The Cobb PKWY…
SON OF A B-WORD! Some idiot must’ve died. Tail lights. I wanna tomahawk chop whatever jerk has a funeral on… Nope. Sorry. It’s just normal 1 pm Monday traffic on the Pascual Perez. I apologize.
No worries, there’s an internal sensor in my body that knows the closest ‘Bee’s at all times. I blow through a few red lights in the CID, 2-wheel a corner, and boom… there it is… Home. Frantic and busting with excitement, I’m just gonna be able to make first pitch of the 2014 Braves season… THIS IS OUR YEAR… THIS IS BRAVES COUNTY… swing open the doors about to see my dawg Julio burn a fast ball over the black paint on the plate… AND THE FUCKING CUBS-PIRATE GAME IS ON.
No matter, this is Braves County. There’s about 12 tv’s in here, so surely one will have the good guys bustin’ up on those dirty, no-good Brewers. Nope. Womens NIT and FOX News. I down a 22 Brewtus (didn’t want to be rude) as I form my letter in my head to the Applebee’s upper brass; and I’m gone like a Saturday night rail of Peruvian marching powder in front of Dan Uggla at Peachtree Tavern.
I’ve got to find some real American cuisine, none of anything off the ‘Bee’s 14 page menu of sissy boy high filutin salads and apps. I need some salt of the earth type folks. Where would a real champion go? Someone who could sit in a tree all day in camo with a high powered rifle and wait for a big ass buck to slowly graze by and kill it with his own hands that were holding a high powered rifle with supersonic scope…
“Hi! Welcome to HOOTERS!”
Home, gentlemen. I pony right up to the bar and I swear to Kenny Chesney, they were all over me! So many babes coming over, genuinely excited about me being there at 2:30 on a Monday afternoon. I felt like Larry Wayne Jones Jr himself.
Just as that baller ass song from my senior year comes on Hooters Radio, “Hey now, you’re an All-Star..”, A damn sorry ol’ Brewer ropes a double into the left field corner to take the lead, 2-0 Bad Guys. But that’s all right, I got Budweiser Light, Taylor, and Lisa soothing my pain. “How have you been, baby? You working hard?”, as she gazes into my baby blues. I’m being serious, this chick is into me.
Just then, sensing the competition for my boss player affection, ol’ Lisa touches my knee, “Are you tired, you look stressed, honey”. Well shit, Earth to Lisa, the Cobb County Clobbers are down 2 runs to some ‘tard team in lard country. But she doesn’t know, she’s just concerned over her new #1 guy. And I’m not gonna lie, it felt good. She’s got me feeling like I’m munching a cheeseburger with cheese in Margaritaville. And I like mine with lettuce and two cute tomatoes fighting for my love. And boner.
A couple more Diet Budweisers and I realize I’m in fact not in Margaritaville- these mugs are apparently 24 ounces and I’m actually just drunk at a Hooters Cumberland Mall location. Time to make my move on one of these sirens and seal the deal. I’m Chipper Jones, we’re at Shea Stadium, and these lil’ shorties are hanging curves…
SON OF A MOTHER F WORD. Turns out… These chicks HAVE BOYFRIENDS. Could’ve been more useful before I left a 78% tip and bought $286 in Cumberland Hooters merch. What the fuck am I gonna do with 6 car tags and 5 oversized B.U.M. sweat shirts.
And out the door away from these gold diggers disguised in hoochie pants and what do I spy? Just over the yonder glistening in the afternoon sun. Home.
“Hi! Welcome to Tilted Kilt!”
It’s an authentic Irish Public House with pale young ladies in traditional school girl outfits. It’s culture, and Cobb is damn swimming in it. Most eateries on Cobb P-K-Y used to be a former Bennigan’s, Pizza Hut, Tire Depot, or future Tire Depot. But not The Tilt, this place is pure class. I’m not sure, but I think it was flown in piece by piece from the homeland. At least that’s what I’m telling everyone who sits beside me.
I’m feeling good, got a couple Kickin’ Chickens (Wild Turkey and Coke) in my belly, got my team on tube with the sound up, talkin Old Navy chinos and cargos with my new boys around me… and one of the Bravos grounds into an out. That’s ok, plenty of ballgame left. The idiot Brewers seem pretty excited about a routine grounder…
JESUS H. WAR ON CHRISTMAS… That was the last out of the game. Braves lost.
Fuck Tilted Muffin Tops- I’m outta here. I need to unwind. Need to relax. Need to go see my girls Lisa and.. nope. Bad idea. I kinda burnt that bridge after the bartender wouldn’t hand them the phone when I called up there to give them a second chance. I need a vacation from this ball season. Whats that glowing in the distance? How about a quick trip to say… Italy. Or as I call it, My vacation home.
“Hi, welcome to Olive Garden!”
Ahh, It’s so nice to unwind with some O.G. house grapes in my wine glass after a grueling game. Just then and “urban” couple from Douglasville chowing down on unlimited salad and extra gluten sticks try to make chit chat, “You must think we on a diet…”
I just can’t deal with the bridge and tunnel crowd right now. Not while I’m on vacay. Especially when the guy had a Washington Nationals on IN BRAVES COUNTY. I need a vacay from this vacay. Some far off land of mystique and fish tanks. Across the Parkway, almost getting murdered by an SUV racecar sponsored by Salt Life and a stick figure family, but I made it. Bang a gong, brother, I’m home. Between a Super Nails and Title Max, it’s a spiritual place of another world…
“Hiy! Howr many? You here fo pick up??”
It’s Lee’s Golden Budda Chinese Restaurant #7. Cobb has so much culture. Theres no place like this on the earth. Lee’s Golden Budda Chinese Restaurant #1 isn’t like it. Lee’s Golden Budda Chinese Restaurant #2 isn’t like it. Lee’s Golden Budda Chinese Restaurant #3 isn’t like it….
I drink half of some beer with a giant cat or turtle or ferret on it and I’m done. Too much culture. Too many heart breaks. And I’m too far from home
That cat/turtle ferret beer’s oriental powers must be kicking in because all of a sudden I’m on the side of the highway taking a selfie with a Down’s Syndrome sign spinning Uncle Sam who’s trying to get me to sext the Lord and Savior.
I’ve gotta get home, kick my dog, and send some passive aggressive texts to girls. No worries, I’m in Cobb County, the center of the free commy hatin world. I’ll just hop on some sort of futuristic train that moves masses of people around the city…. Like a MARTA or something…
Shit. FUCK. COBB. COUNTY.