In 2006, before the Wokes took control, I sat at the bar at Buffalo Wild Wings, wrist deep in mango habanero sauce. I paused my feast for a moment to say goodbye to another regular, who walked back through the doors a minute or two later with the corpse of a child in his arms and a sheepish grin on his face.
“I thought I had enough room to go backwards!” he said to owner Zane E. Wild, sitting against the wall in his usual spot.
Wild waved dismissively. ‘Give it to me. Do not worry.”
I nodded approvingly. The system worked. Wild’s house wasn’t fancy, but everyone went there, including the hordes of street boys who swarmed the parking lot every night. What kind of system would we have if Wild couldn’t solve a hedgehog murder for his clients? A system without a soul, I would say.
This kind of gay corruption is good for the city. Precocious children begging for chimney sweeps and often bursting into riotous songs can ruin a restaurant’s business. A downtown area needs places like Buffalo Wild Wings for run-of-the-mill Joes like me, widely read columnists who regularly appear on local TV shows.
But Wild and his house are gone, more victims of Woke Wokeness Gone Woke. While reasonable citizens like me can accept low-level corruption as the cost of doing business, the Wokes have the rabid zeal of revolutionaries when they complain about non-issues like “vehicle murder conspiracy” or “child grinders in the Buffalo Wild Wings basement.” ”
How are non-Woke Wing Warriors like me supposed to survive in this environment? Besides, what do we believe in? Frankly, our beliefs seem rather squishy, almost purposefully malleable, so they can be adapted to the topic of that week’s column.
Well, actually we believe in a lot of beautiful things, and yes, we believe in good governance, but in a rather abstract way.
For example, should it be legal for drivers in St. Louis to plaster the sidewalk with the gory remains of children who look like extras from News items†
That is the basis of our system. It doesn’t get much easier than that.
Bill McLOLin is a self-proclaimed Boomer influencer from Clayton, Missouri, and a huge fan of Bill McClellan’s latest opinion piece for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch† If you want more of his work you’re out of luck, but maybe read these guys stuff.