If I Can Make It There, Who Cares

Guess what I hate?

I’ve been a defender of Chicago for many years. Friends and loved ones would be all like, “I hate Chicago,” and I’d be like, “Good hot dogs! Um…Reckless Records!” But the tides have turned. Chicago, I hate you.

Whatever. It’s mostly that I was thinking about, like, the world…and stuff…the other day, and I realized that out of all the places in the whole world that I could ever go, I don’t ever need to go back to Chicago. Why? There’s not a single reason, ever.

“Worker #3116, what about the Pitchfork festival this weekend?”

Well, for one, I hate festivals. Festivals are for assholes. It’s even worse when the festival is in a city that everyone knows is kind of lame, but which they are too scared to leave for something better. Chicago is the Boston of the midwest, and you know what else sucks: Boston. Not to mention the fact that the Pitchfork festival is basically going to be Lollapalooza in track shorts and a moustache. Blech.

“Worker #3116, what about the big city bustle with a laid back attitude.”

No, and no. For one, there is no big city bustle. What there is is a bunch of people wandering around, feeling like they should have somewhere to go because it’s a big city, but then remembering that they don’t, because THERE IS NOTHING TO DO. And as for the laid back attitude, that is called laziness, and it comes from eating a lot of ribs and acting like you give a shit where the blues were invented.

“Worker #3116, what about all the traffic on the Dan Ryan so that it takes a million years to get anywhere?”

True, that is awesome.

“Worker #3116, what about all the fat mediocre people with sausage moustaches and the general feeling of being in a city-wide frat party?”

Right. That reminds me: Chicago, eat my butt.

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