American Shithole #0 — Introductions
I fully understand I am signing up for something that will likely offer as a return, many self-righteous kicks to my junk, public shaming, little remuneration and probably additional junk punches for a closer. For example, I am sure I will rue the day I write about Al Franken, but you know, fuck it, I’m definitely going to write about Franken.
Of course, at the breakneck speed this country is barreling toward an inescapable permanent shithole event horizon, perhaps that article will be met with an “Al who?”
When Ali, Casey, and I were in college down in central Illinois, we lived in this great place just a block off campus. It was situated at the top of a hill overlooking the town smack dab in the middle of Greek Row, snuggled between the Beta and SAE houses—a modest, three-bedroom house with a front porch and back patio, and yard that made it ideal for barbecues and other themed or not themed parties.