Phrembah (a potato-like mystery) (phrembah) wrote,
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
phrembah

The Horn-dog Apocalypse and why you probably don't know what that is.

Big new band:  Puce and Taupe, with the Alabama Shorties
(like Brooks and Done, see?  But Done fer good this time)

. . .

Nobody knowed the trouble I seed
Nobody knowed muh sahrruh
Nobody knowed the blood that I peed
Or that I might die tuhmarruh

. . .

Mitt Romney is not your friend, people!  He is a cardboard cutout they jiggle up and down in front of the corporation to make you think it’s a person.  He has all the anima of a fishing lure.  And all the genuine warmth of a scarecrow.

. . .

Tryin’ to make the Bible say something else?  Hell, I spent nary ten years, off ‘n on, in divinity school learnin’ how to make the Bible say somethin’ ‘sides what it actually says.

. . .

And, after all that, I was stuck home today waitin’ fer a plumber (or somebuddy jes like ‘im) an’ I hadda order in pizza ‘cause if I left, I could lose my place on the magical List deep in The Holy of Holies and end up living the water-free life through next week.

Anyway, that sparked memories of Papa John’s endorsement of Mitch Romney which caused me to order Pizza Hut instead, which made me think of Hermie “Horn-dog” Caine who used to be the CEO of Godfather’s Pizza.  Funny thing is, I actually like Godfather’s pizza.  Always did.  We had a dozen of them here in town for many years, then they all dried up.  (Whadya wanna bet that was when the ol’ Herm-dude took over?).  Anyway, for a long time, there was a driver for the Godfather’s on Cornell named David.  David was a little challenged, as they say these days, but (maybe because he was trying harder, and maybe because he had less else to do) he was extremely nice and extremely conscientious.  We got to where we would call and ask for David.  He would put our order in (ahead of everybody else’s, I think), and it would show up faster than pizza from anywhere else in town.  That worked for like five years.  Then they fired David and, a few months later, closed all the stores.  I’m sure it was part of a masterful move to cut costs and increase value to their stockholders while leaving their customers and employees nose-over in the ditch.  The Dollar is Our Lord.  Amen.

So, all of those golden memories prompted me to find out where the nearest Godfather’s is these days.  Try Tucumcari.  That’s, I don’ know, 150? 200? miles from here.  But that made me wonder about other sorely missed fast food of yesteryear, and (here comes the point of this ramble) as I bemoaned the demise of Alfie’s Fish and Chips in this area, I wondered, “Hey, wait a minute, maybe there are Alfie’s still left elsewhere in the country!”  Alfie’s that kept their heads down during the shitstorm and survived their personal incarnation of the Horn-dog.  Yes and no, it turns out.  Two people bought the buildings and fixtures and rights to the name and trademarks and shit when Alfie’s went belly up.  Only two.  Wanna know where they are?  I did.  They are in Vandenberg, California and Texas City, Texas.  Wanna know how far that is from Albuquerque?  I did.  The Alfie’s “serving” the greater Vandenberg area (actually located in Lompoc) is 936 miles from my house.  The one in Texas City, Texas (it actually sports a Texas City address) is 923 miles from my house.  That’s right, folks, depending on where I gas up to start my trip, the two nearest Alfie’s Fish and Chips stores are pretty much exactly the same distance away, which happens to be 900 miles and change.  The Universe has conspired to keep me from ever again enjoying my favorite fish and chips without going on some mad quest that would almost certainly burn the lease on my car and cost me a bunch of overage charges and gas and lodging bills; forget the cost of the actual meal.

I thought it was funny, though.  You want what?  Alfie’s Fish and Chips?  You poor fool!  You poor, poor fool!  Actually, I feel a road trip documentary coming on.  "Guilt Trip" bombed big enough that I won’t even ask my mom to go, but maybe . . .  Hey, when’s SXSW in Austin?  That would be cool.  We could time it to coincide with the launch of some semi-obscure rocket from Vandenberg.  Ooh, ooh, maybe something I actually tested a part in.  That would make it all poignant and angsty and shit.  “Will the rocket work and save America?  Or will it fizzle?  Or will it veer off course and kill hundreds of innocent skateboarders in Van Nuys?”  Oh, the humanity!  Is this how great cinema starts?  Really?

Shit o’ dear!  Guess what?  Tucumcari is between Santa Rosa and Amarillo on I-40.  Holy shit, we could hit one of the last Godfather’s to come through the Horndog Apocalypse without deviating from our 923-mile hajj to Texas City.  This is gold!  Pure gold!

Tags: brain fart, compelling chronicle, profundity extraordinaire, rant
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