To the absolute lobotomized apes running this circus into the ground,
Dante Alighieri wrote, "There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy."
My late wife, Helen, and I used to go to Andy's Pizza back when they were in their old building. Thank God Andy's moved to a new spot and is still making a damn good pie, because trying to give your new "restaurant" a chance was the single worst decision of my week. I am an 82-year-old widower on a fixed income just looking for a decent dinner. Instead, you subjected me to a literal, physical descent into an unwashed, beard-oiled hipster underworld.
Here is an itemized list of your absolute, unapologetic incompetence:
The Illiterate Marquee (The Vestibule of the Futile)
"Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain."
Let's start with that architectural abortion bolted to the front of your building. I am reliably informed that your blinding neon eyesore of a sign cost some unknown, completely impractical fortune. A king's ransom! And yet, for all that wasted capital, the absolute brain-dead simpletons you hired couldn't afford a spacebar. "INFERNOBREWERY." It looks like a panicked typo hammered out by an illiterate baboon. If your management is too hopelessly stupid to separate two words on a marquee that cost more than my first mortgage, why should I trust you troglodytes to wash your hands before touching my food? Abandon all grammar, ye who enter here.
The Acoustical Asylum (The Circle of Wrath)
"I did not die, and yet I lost life's breath..."
The second I crossed the threshold, I was physically assaulted. You have inexplicably plastered every vertical inch of your walls with glaring flat-screen televisions. I had to rip my $3,000 hearing aids out of my skull just to stop the bleeding in my eardrums. I came to eat a meal, not to be deafened by the shrieks of unkempt, flannel-clad nitwits aggressively screaming at a sports game halfway across the country. Your dining room has the ambiance of a maximum-security prison yard during a riot.
The "Craft" Swill (The Circle of Fraud)
"Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans, resounded through the air..."
I approached the bar and asked for a regular, crisp lager. The bartender looked at me like I was speaking Aramaic and offered me some infantile garbage called "Donkey Teeth." I am an elderly war veteran; I refuse to look another grown man in the eye and say the words "Donkey Teeth" like a damn toddler. I choked down your hazy IPA instead. It arrived looking like cloudy dishwater and tasted like a pinecone soaked in industrial floor cleaner and strained through a gym sock. Dante wrote of the River Styx being a muddy, putrid swamp, and I am certain it tastes exactly like your draft list.
The Culinary Extortion (The Circles of Heresy and Greed)
"For the sin of gluttony and greed... they are battered by a heavy, cold, and ceaseless rain."
Your menu is a bloated monument to modern stupidity. "Cauliflower crust"? Cauliflower is a damn vegetable, you pretentious twits, not bread! It is culinary Heresy. Bypassing that rabbit food, I ordered a burger. It arrived looking like a gray, unseasoned hockey puck, flanked by fries that had the structural integrity of wet toilet paper. Furthermore, extorting people for this miserable garbage is outright robbery. I assume you have to fleece your patrons just to subsidize that utterly illiterate, absurdly expensive sign outside.
"And thence we came forth to see again the stars."
Stepping back out into the Ranson air and leaving your overpriced trash on the table was the only joy I found tonight. Thank the Lord the real Andy's is still around down the road to wash the taste of your incompetence out of my mouth. I'll stick to them until I pack up and move to Florida this summer.
I would rather drag my bare backside across miles of broken glass than ever darken your doorway again. Burn in hell.
A Thoroughly Disgusted Local Who Knows What a Spacebar Is read more