If you ever find yourself in WhiteHELL, Michigan, turn around and go home. Or make a sudden turn in whichever direction is applicable and drive yourself straight into the lake with your windows down, drowning yourself slowly. Whatever you do, fer chrissakes, DO NOT turn right on red.
WhiteHELL is a beautiful place for friends to get married, but aside from that, it's really no place for decent people. After a long day of wedding preparation assistance, sustained by little to no food or drink, we drove wearily onto the main strip at about 11:30pm looking for sustenance. We made that fateful right on red and Officer Porkdick was on our asses like a fly to a turd. Stupid questions ensued, such as "What you been drinkin tonight?" and "There a little bit of Jack in that coke?" You know, the kind of stuff cops learn in baby cop school. You gotta throw em off, man! Then they'll confess that they drank 1,000 beers and you'll get a big new badge and your own arcade in heaven filled with nothing but Terminator games.
So Officer Porkdick called some backup to cover the rest of us, who sat waiting in the car as our starving driver performed a breathalyzer. Officer Hampants shined his flashlight in our eyes and even though he was right there, I gazed at the backseat passengers, their cute little hungry faces, and I thought, Damn, if any one of their little heads was full of peanut butter I'd crack it open on the curb in about half a second and just go crazy, I don't even caaaare anymoooore.
Luckily, Porkdick made a wrong call on this one, as our driver blew a negative six million or something. By now, he told us, the only thing open in WhiteHELL, the nation's asshole, was a Pizza Hut. FINE.
Those Pizza Hut people, man. They made our nights. It's almost like they were placed there just to counterbalance the shit that is their town. The girl we ordered from was pleasant and friendly even though we had a big order which only grew as the rest of our crowd arrived. When the pizza chef brought out our hot pizzas, we screamed our heads off in excitement and scared the hell out of him. But he still offered us plates and cups and a giant roll of paper towels when we told him we were headed back to cabins by the lake.
So, why Yelp a Pizza Hut? Well, why not? This Pizza Hut was there for us in our hour of need. Everyone else in that town had basically bent over and displayed their buttholes to us for an entire day. Besides, I've been to Pizza Huts in otherwise normal places where the guy in the back is too busy picking infected scabs out of his new tats to put your pizza in the oven, and the girl who takes your order clearly spends her time pulling out her own hair and eating it. So this was not only a nice surprise as far as Pizza Huts go, but like a ray of light from heaven in the otherwise dark and decaying rectum of over-privileged, vacationing, middle-aged white America. read more
