As my hetero-life-mate, there are many reasons why I love Staker. I have known him for nearly 17 years, and I remember vividly the day we met in our little league coach’s apartment in the Old Colony Housing Projects. But of all the reasons why I would love this hairy little grease-ball, I would have to say that I love him most for his ability to piss people off, and attract more violent energy than a hillbilly wearing steel overhauls.
What can also be a tragic character flaw really pays off here on The Shack, and the amount of heat we’ve received for his March 11th post, Passing Judgment on Fenway Bark, has lead us to make new enemeies of Zeltsonic proportions (mainly because his post is number 6 when you Google “fenway bark.” That can’t be good for business. Oops!). Now we don’t really care if you take your dog to a spa, just like we don’t care if you go down to Bella Sante on Newbury Street for a botox and Brazillian. The point is that there are many more practical uses for the limited property here in South Boston.
The most striking thing about the reaction we’ve witnessed is that we seem to have reached a cultural Gettysburg here in Southie, between the freedom-loving, steak and potatoes, never-say-die local yocals (as our friend Alana likes to say) of South Boston (the north), and the slave-trading, seven-Lexus-owning, hovering-over-my-bar-stool yuppies of the south. It is for this reason that I – the foremost dog owner of Sugar Shack Southie – must place Fenway Bark on the Shit List.
Now you ask, “The Drizzle, what does Fenway Bark have to do with this cold war with the yuppies?” Well, children, it has to do with the fact that the schism seems to be clearly defined between the yuppies, who approve of Fenway Bark, and the natives, who clearly think it’s a waste. If this was World War I, Fenway Bark would be Archduke Franz Ferdinand. This is an argument between the Menino-nut-sucking yuppies who have no snow emergency parking etiquette, and the blue collar champions of all things not-giving-a-shit-about-Menino who just want to have a beer on sunday without hearing you cheer for the Jets.
One thing I did not realize was that these smallpox infested yuppies share as much disdain for us natives as we do for them. I mean, we complain about how they hover over our seats at the bar, but I guess they must complain that we take up all the seats (a fair trade-off I think; they get all the parking spots, we get the good side of the Farragut House). That being said, I really don’t give a shit. These yuppies are going to go one of two ways – and I am dead serious about this, I am not making an attempt at humor:
A. Something bad will happen in Southie, or the economy will finally hit them, and they will peel out like they’re on their way to the biggest antique auction ever. Or…
B. (And I really mean this) They will stay in Southie for the remainder of their days. Become instilled in the community. Raise their kids here. Then one day Black families will start to move in, the old-school yuppies will get pissed, thinking their property value will be ruined, and they will either become openly intolerant, or move out. In a way, history repeated. Srsly. I’ve seen the way they look at the Half-Haitian Dog.
But a word to my friends, the yuppies. Don’t think that we here at The Sugar Shack are merely troglodytic fossils who organize the annual street-hockey tournament. We know you. We’ve been among your kind and you haven’t even known it. We may be standing next to you right now. Wherever there’s a stolen sandwich board, we’ll be there. Wherever there’s a case of warm Sam Adams Light, we’ll be there. Wherever there’s a girl arguing with a senior citizen about whether or not he can save his space with a radiator, we’ll be there. We are: The Yuppie Avengers.
<3 The Drizzle