Cross-posted from my Facebook page.
Soooo my father is a complete fucking idiot.
He and Barbara call to see if I want to meet them for brunch this morning — to which I said yes. B. says they’re going to the Monkey Wrench where they play live Bluegrass. Although, she said that we’ll be getting there after the live music is over.
Which is great! Because I fucking can’t stand Bluegrass.
I arrive at the appointed time and the place is packed with what looks to be a bit of a wait, and of course. . . . there’s live Bluegrass being played on the stage. Worse, its being played on the two stringed instruments I hate the most — a banjo and a fucking mandolin — and my father. . . my father has approached this sort of homeless looking guy sitting by himself at a 4 top and who is A COMPLETE FUCKING STRANGER and has asked him if we can join him for brunch since the place is packed and Dad doesn’t want to wait to be seated!
And the guy hesitates and says “OK, I guess”. Because we’re in Louisville; where no amount of social idiocy is frowned upon and is always readily accepted by the teeming masses of dim freckle-bellies and mouth-breathing paste eaters who infest this town.
And the table is right in front of the banjo and fucking mandolin player.
And the homeless looking guy who we’re now having brunch with is best buds with the banjo and fucking mandolin player.
So I couldn’t even bad mouth the music — which, if you were to have poured sulfuric acid into both my ears. . . that wouldn’t have hurt as much as sitting down front listening to a banjo and fucking mandolin player play Bluegrass.
Oh, and the food was absolutely vile. Greasy disgusting and burnt. I mean how do you burn greasy food? Doesn’t the grease lubricate it and keep it from charring?
Oh! And I almost forgot the very best part — the homeless looking guy we’re now having brunch with? His son shows up. So now we’re taking a 4 top and making it a 5 top. And he’s got feathered hair that goes all the way down his back and one of those atrocious fucking neck beards so popular among the DNA challenged around here AND. . . . AND . . . wait for it. . . wait for it. . . . he’s the lead guitarist in a Judas Priest tribute band.
I shit you not.
And my fucking lunatic father — who knows I’m a total fucking misanthrope who absolutely HATES making small-talk with strangers AND that I can’t be in the same room where Bluegrass is being played — least of all Bluegrass on a banjo and a fucking mandolin, turns to me and says, “Isn’t this great.”