Fuck you, Real Housewives of South Boston! This project was born down on A Street and raised up on B street.
Recently, the Staker’s critics have been engaging in somewhat of a feeding frenzy. I can call it that because we don’t get your standard, run-of-the-mill internet trolls on this blog. We only get people who actively dislike us specifically. And I love that! It means that I’m getting my point across.
To offer a little background, the Staker has garnered Shack heat for making the following two innocuous assertions:
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.
Dear New Neighbor,
I know you just moved to South Boston and you find that the night life is pretty good. However, when you step up to the bar please, please don’t wave your money in my bartender’s face, because they hate that. When I’m eating my steak tips and mashed don’t elbow me in the back. Say, “Excuse me.” We will let you order your drink(s), then back the f^#* off.