Toledo Tales

Guest editorial by Brian Danziger,
food economist

You know, the folks at HomeTown Buffet have been real nice to me, in spite of the fact that I put away at least $140 worth of food for every $12.99 all-you-can-eat ticket I purchase. They never roll their eyes or make snotty-ass comments under their breath when I show up, unlike those jackasses at Golden Corral.

But look: I'm 'bout to thrown down on this here buffet, y'all, and it would be best to stand back when I hit that bee-atch full force.

Now, you understand I'm a smart eater at the buffet. I stay away from the bread and stuffing and mac-and-cheese that weighs you down with inexpensive bulk, and I plow my face into the baked chicken, sliced ham, and fried shrimp. You know, the fine-dining and high-class shit.

And don't get within elbow room of me when they start carving up the Cajun sirloin, 'cause I can scarf that motha faster than they can chop the shit with a machete.

I also have what I like to call my "secret strategy" at HomeTown Buffet, which involves a half-dozen of those quart-sized plastic bags hidden in my coat, my pants, and my toque. Each of those bad boys holds about two plates of shrimp cocktail or fried chicken, and I can usually walk out of that joint with four or five big-ass meals for the next day.

Yeah, I see some of those self-righteous pricks making smart-ass comments, but remember this, dickweeds: I get my money's worth out of this place, and if not for me, the buffet price would probably be about $9.99.

Boo-yah!

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

The Yoders: Warming Their Hands by the Dream Fire

As the nation’s automotive woes continue to take a devastating toll on the Rust Belt economy, one family has taken a progressive step towards reducing their energy costs this holiday season: they’re burning their dreams for warmth.

“It was a tough decision for me and the missus to make, Billy, as I’m sure you’re aware,” explained Rick Yoder, 43, a Maumee-area HVAC installer. “I had always wanted to play bass in a local cover band, and my wife Traci had wanted to open her own salon some day. Sure, it stings to see our dreams literally go up in smoke, but it’s good to know we can cut our propane use back and fight this foreclosure for a few more months.

The Yoder children, taken by the spirit of Christmas giving, have also chosen to sacrifice some of their dreams for the betterment of the family despite the desperate pleas of their parents.

“Mom told us not to [throw our dreams on the raging bonfire], but us kids decided we need to do our part too, so we don’t, like, lose our house and die,” explained a somber Haley, president of her fifth grade class. “Michael’s not very coordinated, so he gave up his dream of being a famous baseball player. Beth can’t stand the sight of blood, so she tossed her veterinarian dream on there. And me—who ever heard of a fifth grade class president going to college anyway?”

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that your recent layoff and the uncertainty of the economy means that his "time is just about up."

"They act like I don't know what 'foreclosure' means, or as if I'm too stupid to figure out that Mom crying all the time doesn't foretell doom," Hopper muttered. "And when I see the kids bawling and Dad saying: 'he'll be in a better place,' I can put two-and-two together. Fuckers."

Hopper said that the "moment of clarity" occurred during a recent episode of NBC Nightly News.

"They had some two-minute tear-jerker about the recession and its effects on families, and all of a sudden Mom leaves the room, honking like a gut-shot goose," he said, pausing to scratch behind his ears. "Then it hit me: 'this family is totally fucked. Totally fucked.'"

At the moment Hopper said that he is weighing his residential options.

"Look - I' still young, and I know how to act cute and fetch and all that shit," he said. "But you ca bet your ass I'm not going for a ride in the car with these fuckers any time soon."