Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

I have spent the last few weeks tirelessly laboring on a thorough Yelp review for a local Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen. I feel my work is important enough that I would like to share it with my blog readers as well. However, since I know my readers are busy people, I've cut away all the fluff and excerpted the most salient material here. I apologize if some of you find this intensely disturbing. I should have known I was in for a rough time when I pull into the Popeye's parking lot. There are no parking spots within easy walking distance except for a single space directly in front of the restaurant. Now, normally this would be ideal, but the space is clearly marked "20 Minute Parking." So great, now I'm in a race against time! Asking me to divine the future and somehow predict how long I'm going to be at Popeye's is a fool's errand, so right from the beginning I'm acutely aware of the fact that I'm going to have to rush my meal and watch

This image I snagged off of Google has only a tangential relation to this article, but I liked it, so here it is. From time to time, certain events occur that are worthy of note but aren't exactly the intricate, complex sagas that people base great works of literature around. However, just because they are brief and relatively inconsequential does not mean that they are not worthy of record. Now, my memory isn't exactly the world's greatest , so I'm fairly certain that incidents fitting this description have occurred roughly 17,000 times in my life, and I have forgotten 16,997 of them. As such, before the last few melt away into a Memento -esque haze, I figured I would share them with you in blog form. Hopefully they entertain you as much as they have entertained the homeless drunks that hang out behind my local 7-11. 1. My friend, collaborator and secret lover Garrett Steel and I went to Jack in the Box on one of our typically unhealthy escapades, this time to s

     I recently posted the following on Facebook. Don't worry, it's not family photos:      During war time, bombs get dropped; such is the nature of war. Tragically often, said bombs cause damage far beyond their intended targets. Such was the case one time, with a certain McDonald's, a bastion of unhealthy comfort food in a volatile area. Errant ordnance reduced this greasy palace to smoldering ruins, and it was small comfort that the debris-laden air smelled like french fries for hours afterwards. They say if you visit this site in the middle of the night, you will find a lone man there. He is a chubby fellow clad in black and white, an outfit that recalls old-timey prison garb. He sifts, heartbroken, through the charred remains. "Rubble, rubble," he sobs mournfully. "Rubble, rubble."      On the surface, this seems to be merely a strange joke, perhaps a bit long-winded considering how slight the punchline is. Yet it is also indicative o