Look, I’ll be honest:
I didn’t need another reason to hate Portland.
It’s bad enough that every Oregonian has to bark at you like a retarded Doberman if you say Or-e-GON instead of Or-e-GUN. But Portland itself is a fucking disgrace. I’ve never been there, but I hate every thing about it.
Not that I need to visit. I’ve been to Madison and I’ve been to San Francisco. I’m sure it’s the same brand of hippie bullshit wrapped in a different colored blunt. Black, thick-rimmed glasses? Overgrown goatees with stubble on the side? Polyester shirts with flannel patterns?
Thanks, but I went to college and I left after four years for a reason. I don’t need a bunch of hippies with single-gear bicycles telling me that I shouldn’t use the word “gay” when they can’t even get their state to legalize gay marriage. I mean, if fucking Iowa is ahead of the liberal curve, where the fuck do you rate, exactly?
But today while I was reading the paper I saw this article: The Pride and Prejudice of “Local.” You can read it if you want, but the basic gist is that Portland restaurants pride themselves on using local products, but several of them are hypocrites, and some asshole named Bechard decided to punch a guy because his pig from Iowa won some stupid contest.
I’m sort of generalizing the finer points of what happened, but I only read the article once, and I refuse to read it again on the grounds that I am tired. I also don’t give a shit about this article’s main topic, what I care about is the ridiculous hippie details it lists about Portland.
Second paragraph, check this out:
“At [Mr. Bechard’s] restaurant in the nearby wine country, he strives to serve beef and produce only from farms he has visited. The ling cod he caught when he took his 10-year-old daughter fishing off the Oregon coast? It made the menu. The rustic shelves in his kitchen were, naturally, reclaimed from a nearby barn.”
Only using beef and produce from farms that you visited? You’re serving fish that you caught? Your shelves were reclaimed from a fucking barn? I know you want to be local, buddy, but who said that you had to be a fucking asshole?
That’s just the tip of the fucking iceberg. Let me give you some of the better excerpts:
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“‘I don’t even go to Stumptown,’ said Paul Sykes, who makes bike fenders and bottle holders out of wood. ‘I go to a more local place.’ ”
Fuck you buddy.
“Mr. Bechard has plenty of critics. They say that he can be volatile and pretentious and that his stand for local pork made little sense.”
And he’s from Portland, you say? Hmmm!
“Mr. Bechard says the pig fight has created a teachable moment for how to live locally.”
Yeah, jackin’ bitches in the face over a fucking pig from Iowa is gonna teach us loads of crap.
“A year ago he opened a restaurant called Thistle, 40 miles southwest, in the rich agricultural and winemaking region surrounding McMinnville.”
McMinnville? Fuck that.
—
My point is this: fuck hippies. I don’t know how the fuck this Portland hippie bastard managed to hurt anyone with his little vegan girl arms, but some mysteries are deeper than the Great Deep.
Anyway, one of my roommates complained that my last article was too long, and so I don’t have to listen him dance around like a little bitch for the next week, I guess I’ll this here. Here’s something I’ve been watching continuously the past four days. Hopefully you’ll like it. Or at least watch all of it. Whatever.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mQaIMYIvYU
