Excerpts from an internal staff memo:
NOTE: I MUST HAVE BEEN REALLY REALLY THWARPED IN CRIPPLEVILLE FOR THIS BILE TO SHOOT OUT. IT HAPPENS. SHOULD NOT BOTTLE UP THE RANT. AND I WON'T DELETE ITS IMMEDIACY. PROST.
"I'm considering burning down a hugely popular festival of consequence this weekend. Foodie-Cartopia. Like mushrooms after mist. Here in Portland there is a nuclear explosion known as FOODCARTS...sss-sss-sss... Started innocent enough with a cute little truck colorfully decorated DIY commie vibe hummus felafel doughnut free-range chicken nipples on a stick. Now they are a rash. Great unique funky foodstuffs open until 5AM. PODS, they are called, clusters of carts/trucks. And according to a respectable harumph harumph business owner buddy -they are all cash, no codes, no health inspections, no restrooms, no paya da taxes or da rent. The food can be killer-good. Fabulously killer delicious good. NY Times loves the Portland food-cart scene. BOOTSTRAPS ENTREPRENEURS. There is a huge festival under the bridge down the block this weekend. The thing is...as good as the food is...really really good...good fucking foods...they serve peoples of colors. They serve Jews. They serve dykes. And fags. And Transluciterians. Almost everybody eats. Here's the rub. Most of these quirky, hip, groovy, out-side-the-box freedomers don't take my kind. And I've asked nicely if were it be OK. Ramp it, please. Ummm, we can't afford it. Or we don't have to, we read the law. (''reasonable accommodation'' small biz exemption clause). Who cares, eh? The dude wearing a tutu gets a deep fried monkey pie. So STFU. They know they're skirting the ADA and hush...here's a coupon. PROPER ETIQUETTE TO NOT BURN IT DOWN? I almost have to monkey-wrench this party. Edward Abbey would do it. Hunter would do it. What size laminate should I size? For my porkpie. 3"x5"? Smaller? Graphic is a given. I gonna hafta liquor up hard to thrash an INDY post-420 groove-fest. Serve child-molesters fine cupcakes but I'm a rabble-rouser. Silly Greenville kids wanting to eat at the lunch counter. Just throwing out a few hay-makers to hear what they sound like... I could fix this the hard way. Maybe I will. It be tempting to lighter-fluid match the dam industry, so easy...
I fought long and goddamn hard so I could get into a fucking restaurant. Me and Bob Dole. Bob Dole. So I could sit at the fucking table with my friends and family and strange beautiful women. Now some asshats come along and rip up the fucking ramp that I busted my ass to build. Fuck. I just don't think I have the energy stones to burn down really good food. Affordable delicious food. I did my time as Gimp Anarchist Activist pre-ADA. I've got a goddamn FBI file from my days with crazy cripples staging protests against Greyhound and some nation's Capitol fiascos. Where are the lazy cripple young Americans? Egyptian kids aren't playing fucking xbox. Here's there chance to piss people off and affect change for the good of all. Are little old ladies in walkers and wheelchairs not deserving of a free-range weasel waffle with wasabi pineapple dipping sauce? Nope. Only the cool, groovy yoga pants-hipstas pushing their $2K dog/baby SUV-strollexus who can step up to a dumpy ecoli-happy Winnebago for veal-newt tacos on a stick get to be the in thing.
Maybe I should just send this with some clean-up and added adjectives and stingy verbs and shit. Rat bastard cock-smoking SOBs. I just want to eat fucking Poutine like any other properly aligned Oregonian. On a stick. Used that one twice. Must be another hand-held food delivery generalism. Generalism. That's not even a fucking word."
