fuglasville.

you only consider me a snob, because you deem your lackluster taste acceptable. 

now of course, this statement has nothing to do with you (people reading this blog). i would not dare to insult your intelligence or taste by comparing you to the people who live in the godforsaken town, you know, the one where i currently cease to thrive. i’m about to tell you all about this charming (sarcasm) city that i live in, but please note that the following summation will only contain factual information gathered from city archives and first-hand accounts. 

my people (parents), the german/american indians were attempting to escape from a place of academic persecution (medical school) in order that they may raise their beautiful, naturally blonde-headed indian princess daughter in a land free of such scholastic demands, when they came upon a land filled with platform flip flops and mullet haircuts. the matriarch of the tribe had always wanted to be taller and thus fell in love with this land of platform flip flops and the chief had indeed experimented with long hair in high school/college and so instantly gravitated towards the mullets in the illustrious city of fuglasville, georgia. many years passed, which do not matter because the naturally blonde-headed indian princess does not remember them and it was before she learned of shopping malls and vodka, and fuglasville began to change from the land of ultimate promise (platforms/mullets) to a miserable place to be. oh yeah, and somewhere in there the family welcomed a tragically unattractive, dimwitted, midget child who would reek havoc upon her parents in later years with her childish antics, overdrafted bank accounts, general irresponsible behavior, drinking habits and inability to find a single job and/or move out of the house (loser). a shopping mall was erected (har har, wiener) in fuglasville, it sucked and was later overrun with a child gang, comprised of 8 and 9 year olds toting guns and stealing yo bazooka bubblegum (bitches) and currently houses stores no one has ever heard of which sell either airbrushed tupac t-shirts or pink john deere trucker hats/georgia gurlllllz license tags. fortunately the indian princess was able to escape the horrible town for a brief 5 year period in which she built her alcohol tolerance to mystifying levels and rarely attended meaningless classes. then one day, on her own accord and not because her parents forced her to under penalty of the dreaded “move home or we’re cutting you off”, the beautiful, successful, scholarly natural blonde decided to move back to fuglasville to help her elderly parents. she now spends her time as their personal servant, slaving over their dinners and begging for money to survive. the poor princess finds a small amount of solace in the fact that atlanta exists a mere 20 miles from her prison and that individuals in varying parts of the state/country offer weekend escapes in their wigwams. the whole thing it quite sad.

now on to some indisputably accurate information about fuglasville. there are 5 types of people who inhabit this shithole. they are as follows:

1. rednecks
2. white/trailer trash (who vary only slightly from rednecks in that they live in trailers, duh, and have long since sold their shotguns and pick-up trucks for the supplies necessary to start their own meth labs)
3. black people
4. people who think they are rich and live in nice houses (who in actuality are in debt up to their eyeballs and live in shitty/poorly constructed cookie cutter houses with brick facade in needlessly pretentious neighborhoods with golf cart paths. these individuals also wear brighton jewelry, have never heard of lenox and drive tahoes)
5. my family (who vary only slightly from the people who think they are rich and live in nice houses in that they take dave ramsey classes, live in houses built and stuck in the early 1990’s but of sturdy materials, wear david yurman, live part time at lenox mall and drive pieces of shit land rovers which break, on average, every 5 months)

bad fashion, bad taste, bad music, bad roots, bad cars, bad bars, bad shoes, bad hair, and bad shopping are just a few of the things that douglasville does best. so, if you’ve ever considered your life or current residence less than satisfactory, why don’t you call me up and take a tour of this desolate wasteland (not being dramatic)? i’d love to show you some of the hilariously unsatisfactory things this fine city has to offer!