There’s a “white genocide” conspiracy theory that alleges other races are working to exterminate and replace Caucasians. It’s complete bullshit, of course. But I just spent forty-five minutes in the goddamned, motherfucking Hofbräuhaus, and if other races are listening, I’m pleading with you: for the love of god, REPLACE US. I just watched five grown ass men in lederhosen attempt to perform a polka rendition of “Come On, Eileen,” followed by Van Halen’s “Jump.” ON A FUCKING TUBA. That is a uniquely white on white crime. And the only fitting punishment is extinction. Just let us die. This shit must end.
Saw this at the corner of my block on the way to work the other day. Don’t go after that balloon, Georgie. You don’t wanna see what’s on the other end of that string.
A bright and shiny Happy Birthday balloon on a string sticking out of a storm drain. Presumably being held by Pennywise.
It’s an intersection and there was oncoming traffic. There was no escape!
It occurred to me that maybe someone had planted it there to see who would be brave enough to go get it. Then it occurred to me that maybe that’s exactly what Pennywise wants me to think.
I was watching a British television show and I spotted a poster for Southgate House. Not just a Southgate House. It was specifically labeled “Newport, KY.”
I had to rewind it twice because I was certain I was reading it incorrectly. I even memorized the episode number because I was so floored to see a small local venue from a small Kentucky city show up on the set of an English sitcom.
In case you’re not familiar with The IT Crowd, it’s a very sci-fi/geek friendly show, and it is absolute comic gold. The episode in question is series 4, episode 4, called “Italian For Beginners.” It’s easy not to see because there’s a lot going on in the episode, and all of it is hilarious. But if you keep your eyes peeled, you will see the poster in the IT office, near Roy’s desk. You can see most of it when Roy is talking about the mysterious fire, but wait until Jen stands just to the side of the poster and makes fun of Moss. You can see it very clearly. It may be visible in other episodes as well, but s4e4 was the first time I noticed it.
Previously on Tales From Newport!, we witnessed a dangerous criminal biker gang incite panic in the streets outside of Smitty’s Cafe, a local bar less than a block from my house. And now that wretched hive of scum and villainy has been demolished by an overdosing driver who passed out behind the wheel and drove his truck THROUGH THE FRONT WALL. Unbelievably, he was the only one hurt. Traffic on my street, as you may well imagine, is currently a raging BITCH.
Dear troglodytes at the Newport Kroger gas station: it’s only gasoline. It’s not special. It’s not even on fucking sale. Do you think they’re going to run out? Maybe you don’t know this, but gasoline is not hard to get. Our country has a specialized infrastructure in place to help ensure that you can buy yourself a big wet assload of gasoline, in your choice of octane, pretty much anywhere, at any time of day. So why the ever loving FUCK are you dickbags jockeying for positions around the pumps like wildebeests around the summer’s last mudhole? It’s fucking gasoline. They’re not rationing it for the war effort. Did you bring your gas stamps? You gonna do your part to help beat the Kaiser? No. Because you are buying gasoline in Kentucky, and you’re acting like the one inch of snow we’re about to get is the fucking End Times. You live in northern Kentucky, assholes, you goddamn well know that one inch of snow is nothing. Nothing! We don’t even stop wearing shorts for one inch of snow, you cowardly fucking lemmings. What are you, Ohioans? You’re from Kentucky. Fucking act like it.
deutschbag (dɔɪch’ bæg) n.: male patrons of the American Hofbräuhaus locations who behave as if they are partaking in cherished and manly German traditions which women find attractive, but are, in actuality, customers of cleverly disguised sports bars for geriatrics.
My friend Juergen from Germany writes: “Where can I apply?” Well, Jeurgen, being an actual German, I don’t think you’d make a very good deutschbag. One of the key characteristics of a deutschbag seems to be that they are only pretending to be aware of German customs. I don’t know anything about actual German customs myself, but I’m positive there aren’t many being observed amongst the deadeyed patrons and chronically depressed staff of Hofbräuhaus Newport. In fact, almost everyone seems to spend their time there looking for a waitress so they can actually have a beer, and whining about whatever sport of the week is playing on the two enormous fucking televisions they’ve installed. I can’t remember the last time I got my food while it was still hot, and even the poor bastard they’ve got playing an accordion on stage looks like he’s ready to put a gun in his mouth. As a real German person, I think you would find Saturday nights at Hofbräuhaus Newport to be pretty goddamned depressing.
I know I vowed never to return to this shithole. And I meant it. But in the spirit of transparency, I’m posting that I broke that oath. My seventy-something year old uncle looked at me with enthusiasm and asked if I’d go for his birthday. I didn’t have the heart to let him down, so I said yes. Immediately upon pulling in, the very sight of the completely useless and superfluous parking lot attendant reminded me of what a shit magnet this place has become.
UPDATE: I just had a hamburger and French fries. With a huge side of disappointment. Don’t be jealous. I know we didn’t nuke the Germans in WWII, but if there was ever a justification for it, it would be my last five dining experiences here. But, in truth, I can’t blame Germany. There’s nothing German about this place anymore. It’s just a shitty sports bar with sauerkraut.
This is becoming more and more common. The bar on the corner has electric wheelchairs parked outside. You stay classy, NKY! Also, I just noticed that the one on the street is parked illegally. I’m tired of these geriatric scofflaws and ne’er-do-wells terrorizing my town.
I went to Free Comic Book Day at Arcadian Comics in Newport, KY. Monmouth Street. Arcadian is THE place to go on Free Comic Book Day. Most places have a limit of two free comics, and so does Arcadian. But if you make a purchase, they raise the limit to four. And if you donate $1 to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, they add one more. No other place I know of does that. Plus, they always have tons of free posters, magazines, swag, etc.
I like Arcadian, but I’m not regular enough to know the staff. While I was figuring out which free comics I wanted, a guy with an 1890s handlebar moustache started talking to me, and repeatedly called me “cupcake.” I considered that he may have been hitting on me, but I wasn’t getting a gay vibe from this dude. I was getting plenty other vibes. “Out of work lion tamer.” “Circus ringmaster at his day job.” “Failed steampunk mad scientist.” “Guy who definitely knows where to buy absinthe and laudanum.” But not gay. Nevertheless, he persisted in chatting me up, repeatedly calling me “cupcake,” and speaking more and more intensely. He was harmless enough up to that point, but he was really starting to weird me the hell out.
To let this guy know I was definitely not interested, I killed time in the checkout line chatting with the hip, super attractive, very friendly black girl behind me. All of those things – black girls, hip girls, very friendly girls, and super attractive girls interested in speaking to me – are rare in Arcadian. In fact, until that very instant, I had found NONE of them there before. And finding all those things in one package was akin to opening the Ark Of The Covenant and finding Elvis inside, drinking from the Holy Grail, with the Maltese Falcon stuck up his ass. She was charming. She was beautiful. And after 10 minutes of flirty conversation I realized she was, in fact, a dude.
So much for my plan to let Mr. Moustache know I wasn’t gay.
Speaking of our mustachioed madman, I had been keeping one eye on him while I was chatting in line. With the same growing intensity with he had spoken to me, he had moved on to other targets, and he was calling EVERYONE “cupcake.” I realized he didn’t mean it sexually; every human being, man, woman, and child alike, was “cupcake” in his eyes. Makes me feel a little less special now that I think about it. In any case, the place was getting more and more crowded by the minute, and the checkout line was getting long. So Mr. Moustache casually slid behind the counter and started ringing up patrons.
He fucking WORKED there.
Weirdness aside, it was a great Free Comic Book Day. In addition to free comics, Arcadian was also giving away candy bars and full size Thor: The Dark World theatrical posters. And every year they have a selection of newer titles they reduce to $1 for people who might want to check out a new series without shelling out excessive cash. I got an Uncanny X-Men #1 (cover price $3.99), Origin II #1 (plastic cover variant, cover price $4.99), and giant sized Superman Unchained #1 (cover price $4.99), all for just a buck each. And at least one of the staff thinks I’m a cupcake. This place is most definitely my new comic shop.
For the last half hour, two portly white trash women (I had to look to confirm gender) have been screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, just across the street. These classy ladies use the word ‘fuck’ more than I do. Did I mention they’re screaming right next to a church full of people? This could get very interesting…
They’re at the “Come’n git it! Come’n git it!” phase of the confrontation. Shouldn’t be long now…
Holy damn… ASTOUNDINGLY hot church brunette just came out of the church’s side door “to smoke.” She could be a model. Fuck, she should be a model. My quotes around “to smoke” is not a reference to her unbelievable sexiness, although it sure as hell could be. The quotes are there to indicate she was only outside long enough to light up, check out the action, then get on her phone. Pretty sure the cigarette was just an excuse to exit and call 911. The cops have surely been notified, which will ruin my fun utterly. Church hottie is hanging around just inside the glass door, presumably waiting for 5-0 to arrive. This is why I don’t dig church girls; no matter how beautiful they are, it seems they only live to block cock. What a shame.
And that exquisite woman in the picture above? Church hottie was even prettier. Not joking.
This woman is 150,000% more appealing than either of the jabbering howler monkeys involved in this altercation, but you get the gist.
For the sake of transparency, I don’t technically live in Newport anymore. This is taking place in a little suburb of Newport. But this has a definite Newportesque vibe to it. I think they may be Newport refugees. You can just smell the Newport coming off of this situation.
I was in my house watching through the window from across the street and I could still hear everything perfectly. It was LOUD. I still don’t know what started it. That must have been the quiet before the screaming storm. By the time it got loud it was all “What the fuckin’ fuck do you want me to fuckin’ do?!” and “You know whatchu fuckin’ done! You done fuckin’ did it!” There was no context, only fury and vulgarity. Reason and purpose had been burned away in the crucible of anger. Only hostility remained. It was a very pure experience, in an odd way.
