Fuck Ohio!

I learned a valuable lesson this weekend on my sojourn to scenic Columbus, Ohio: I’m never going to back to scenic Columbus, Ohio. If you’ve been looking for a nice place to settle down and pursue a life-long dream of euthanasia, then, by all means, Ohio is the place for you. Though I only saw one city and its surrounding areas, I’m fully prepared to pass blanket-judgment on the state as a whole – could Cleveland or Cincinnati be that much better? I doubt it. The city of Columbus and the majority of its residents I encountered had a fog of despair and general malaise about them, so much so, that many seemed to take on similar physical characteristics – vaguely matching ugliness.


Not to say that everything about my trip sucked – there were a couple high points: Kahoots, a wild place to eat and even wilder place to pound 20 shots of Jager. The DJ, Jason, was a good guy, and kept shouting out my name to the unimpressed, ugly audience. Also, The drinks at most of the bars were ridonkulously cheap (because most of the customers, I assume, are ridonkulously poor) – it’s tough to argue with a $1.50 beer. Oh, and Darryl, who allowed us into his home, where we ate his food, drank his drinks, set his yard on fire, cooked snot to his awning, sodomized his large plush dog, and stole his girlfriend’s panties as we left. I heard his girlfriend was upset about the panty sniffing, but, c’mon – how else was Thomas supposed to get hard for the plush dog?


Unfortunately, that’s about all Columbus had going for it. After that, the list of negatives pile up like used tires in the front yard (not an uncommon sight, I should add). For starters, Ohioans are a violent breed. Most of them could snap and start smashing chairs on your head at any second with no advance warning. A fine example of this can be found in my story from a low-rent shitkicker bar called The Ruckmoor Inn. Wow, such a den of depraved, sloped-forehead, blue-collared trash I’ve never encountered even here in New Jersey. They had what appeared to be someone’s living room rent-a-furniture from 1991 serving as bar chairs. It wasn’t cool in a retro way, or in a slummy way – it wasn’t even dirty in a quaint, homely way. It was just a plain shithole.


So anyway, I was minding my own business, working diligently to finish my $1.50 Bud Light so my friends and I could make our escape, when a large black girl sat down next to me and started asking about porno (someone had told her I was a pornstar – great icebreaker, by the way). We chatted while I finished my beer, and then her large, bald-headed, black-as-Wesley-Snipes’-gums fellow calling himself Antonio approached, and started offering his pharmaceutical services.

“Hey man, you need some coke?”
“Not really, no.”
“C’mon, it’s tight shit – knock your face right off. I like you, so I’ll give it to you for $40 a gram. Cool?
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Damn, only $40 a gram! My house is 10 minutes from here. Gimme the money and I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”
“Uh, do I look like a fucking amateur to you? No. If you’re gonna peddle drugs, bring ‘em here and show ‘em to me, otherwise, my answer is no. By the way, have you seen my huge Confederate Flag belt buckle?”



Obviously, I was drunk at the time so this isn’t an exact transcription of the dialogue between me and this huge-armed, manual laboring gorilla – in fact, it’s not even close, but I’m sure I wasn’t really inciting this guy. He was getting pissy because I wouldn’t get suckered into his bullshit drug deal, and because the fat black girl was rubbing my pasty Caucasian leg instead of his. All of a sudden, this shithead decks my obnoxious buddy, Anton. Knowing I didn’t have a chance against this raging orangutan, I stand up and begin to play peacemaker – bad idea. I couldn’t even get “Dude, chill the fuck ou—“ before he wound up and fucking CLOCKED ME in the jaw. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve taken a punch or two in my time, but this was, by far, the hardest I’ve ever been hit. I actually went airborne – cartoon-style. I got up, tried to clear my head, and proceeded to make a fake run at him (as if I could’ve done shit against this behemoth, hah) but the shitkicking owner of the bar intervened and kicked me and my friends out before any of these rednecks could reach for their knives. Yeah, he kicked us out, even though Tiny Lister was the one throwing punches and selling fake drugs.


This isn’t a case of sour grapes because I got my ass kicked. I can be a huge prick, and I know when I deserve to get the shit kicked out of me, but this was not one of those times. Anyway, I advise all of you to avoid a shithole called the Ruckmoor Inn in Columbus, OH, but, if you do happen to find yourself there, say hi to this guy (best picture I had, sorry):




There’s more that sucks about that state, but if I start thinking about it now, I’ll slice my wrists. I’m leaving for Munich, Germany, today to celebrate the Jewish High Holy Days in the Fatherland.


My next update will be from the land of beers the size of toddlers -– maybe that’ll make me feel better.