posted on July 30, 2013 00:00
A column has been spreading across the local social media-scape this week from our friends over at buzzfeed.com, listing “Signs you’re from St. Louis”. It’s well done and humorous, while also inspiring.
Having the originality of a Station Manager on the local AM dial in the last decade or two, I’ve decided to rip this off with my own take on some very different signs, the flipside – if you will, that you’ve been here in the greater St. Louis vicinity for a while…or how I know I have anyway.
You incessantly bitch about it, regardless of the fact that you can get just about anywhere you work at a pace of about a mile per goddamned minute, often less, seldom a bit more. If not, it may finally be time to weigh the benefits of time and gas money against meth fumes, the freedom of parking in your own yard and your son being able to drive himself to prom…on a 4-wheeler.
Other even half-assed cities I’ve been to would splooge across their dusty dashboard at the thought of a 40-minute roundtrip commute each day. Trust me; we’ve got it good on the roads.
Though you may not have dipped far enough south for Club Imperial (“The Wiggle”), you’re likely quite aware that The Queen of Hearts is much more than a sometimes pretty good hole card and an always awesome Juice Newton song around these parts.
And, depending on your age, you may also have been told by your fucking Dad that it was simply a “bar and grill with really good burgers” while he killed time in there between your baseball tournament games.
Our definitions of both “good” and “burgers” were clearly different.
Remaining in the lovely category of titties, if you are a St. Louis man over roughly 35-years of age, there’s a good chance that one of your teenage buddies once discovered that a rather large black man at the top of the stairs of Main Street, in Washington Park, Illinois, couldn’t give 2-shits less of the fact that you had hairless armpits and donned Umbro’s and a fucking Loony Tunes t-shirt (true story…and you know who you ARE!), provided you had $10-to get by him and “you WILL be having the ‘Macho Mug’”.
Twenty dollars wasn’t chump-change to a teen in the early 1990’s, but a bare set of tits and that fine retro-bush made 3-4 hours of pay for admittance alone well worth the tradeoff.
Made for TEE-v
A joyride from National City, through the East St. Louis stockyards and into Brooklyn, Illinois on a late weekend evening was not only ill-advised, but felt like being onset for “The Wire”, well before “The Wire” came into being.
Three words: Un…Fucking…Believable
Baseball – Part I
You proudly wear your Cardinal gear on vacation and business trips, as if anyone in Florida or Philly give a fat fuck, and are somewhat dumbfounded by their lack of interest in conversation about how dominant your franchise has been for decades.
For the truly delusional, this overflows into sporting said gear at actual sporting events…in other towns…when the Cardinals AREN’T EVEN THE OTHER FUCKING TEAM ON THE FIELD!
Baseball – Part II
Much how 87% of local females had ZERO clue who David Freese even was before October of 2011, that same percentage of the entire city now would entertain selling their own children before hearing of logical trade talks involving him, despite the fact that you can’t remember a meaningful hit he’s had SINCE that aforementioned October, when he admittedly pretty much single-handedly won the World Series.
(“What have you done for me lately” ~ Janet Jackson)
Bonus STL points for those who argue his status as a top tier 3rd-baseman.
You know who this is ---------------------------------------->
Your reaction to a nationally recognized, local news story, polarizing and often gruesome, hopefully AFTER cringing a little (though often not), is to immediately connect the dots in your twisted, narcissistic head and find the minimal degrees of separation you have from the fucking monster of a perpetrator, and then “brag” about it online.
“OMG!! That dude that like murdered his family after ‘chili-dipping’ a nun and tossing like 15-homeless people off of the Eads Bridge once asked my cousin’s best friend – so it was really like MY best friend too – I mean, neither of us have seen her in 20-years – but you know, doesn’t matter – he ONCE ASKER HER OUT ON A DATE…and she said ‘no’…when they were ten.”
“So, anyway, I – LIKE KNOW HIM!”
High School Heroes
Above and beyond the obvious “what high school did you go to?” you can also rattle off their most heralded alumni.
For example, if you are answering “Fox” to said question at a local pub tonight, you will immediately follow that statement, deepening the voice with pride, with “home of Rusty Wallace, Mike Wells, Dana Loesch and K-Mother Fucking-P”.
While Hodak’s and Gus’s Pretzels are truly fucking fabulous, you have faked excitement on MULTIPLE occasions when acting as if you actually enjoy going to Ted Drewes, Fast Eddie’s or Crown Candy Kitchen.
Frankly, they’re not that goddamned special and you also cannot definitively tell me which member of your social circle so adamantly convinced you that they were…or you’d kill them.
It’s a fucking B.L.T., people, it’s not chemistry.
You spend months before the big seasonal float trip finding the coolest (read “douchiest”) hat to canoe in and the vilest of t-shirts – that can only be worn on float trips.
This was my personal favorite…and yes – I wore it----
If you just woke up from a 13-year coma, and are privileged enough to have been directed to my ramblings, there’s STILL a fairly good chance that you can, with the aid of only blind luck, acupuncture and your foggy coma-memory, name 77% of the current on-air personalities…and I’ll spot you Charlie “Tuna” (yes, he’s still alive…and fucking AWESOME!).
Opinions Are Like Assholes
Finally, if you grew up in this area, an equal amount of you will be pissed off at a majority of my list as will be amused and completely onboard. You will undoubtedly have your own items, familiar to completely different demographics, yet equally relevant, though likely less cynical.
You know what the Arch is for?
You put a big rubber band around it and slingshot the “618’ers” back to one of their “Ville’s”…KMFP-out!
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