The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald – Part 3


Catch up on Where is Ronald McDonald? Part 2

Chapter 3: A State

There I stood, in the middle of a restaurant in Santa Martinez that I knew somehow to be both an Indian and Thai restaurant simultaneously in the same space and time, with a cellphone in my hand and not a clue of who to call. No name, no number.

Where the feeling of recognition would spark in my head, a mild rush of dopamine as a reward of being a good boy and using my power of recollection, there was now a dull pressure, like that of a sinus headache preceding a low pressure system or as if someone had removed part of my brain and replaced it with cotton.

In the next 2 hours, I would find that both of these thoughts were fairly accurate as to what was actually happening to me.

The phone in my hand vibrated, followed by an unmistakable melody: the “I’m loving it” jingle that McDonald’s reportedly paid Justin Timberlake six million dollars to sing. The phone was ringing. I looked at the screen. It was blank. Without hesitation, I answered.

The Superb: “Hello?” 

Caller: (the same cavernous background was present in this call) “…Yessssssah”

The Superb: “What am I looking for?”

Caller: “….” (sounds of chains rattling)

The Superb: “What is the point of this? I know you know.”

Caller: “…what are you doing?”

The Superb: “What do you mean? Why am I here in California? Is that..”

Caller: “NO.” (in this moment, the reverb on the other end of the phone coalesced like water into a drain for one moment of clarity as he spoke this phrase. He screamed while not screaming). I’m not talking to you. There is another.

The Superb: “Another person in the room with you?”

Caller: “…746 Holly Dr. Come…on….innnnnnnnnnnn.” (caller hangs up phone)

I pried the phone away from my ear, my arm completely petrified to the side of my head. As it dropped past my shoulder, the sounds of the restaurant began to seep back into my consciousness. I took a moment to collect myself and handed the phone back to the man behind the counter.

“Done already?” he said as he looked at me completely befuddled.

“Yes…thank you. Would you happen to know where 746 Holly Drive?”, I said.

In that moment, it was as if someone flipped a switch somewhere behind the scenes. Everything became very….automated. The man’s pupils dilated and his movement became extremely precise. He left his position behind the counter and walked towards the door.

“Follow me and I will take you to….746 Holly Drive.” he said in a voice that was absolutely not his own. At that moment, every person in the restaurant, customer and kitchen staff alike, stood and walked behind us toward the door as if they were on a rail. We exited the restaurant and a moped rode up by itself, balancing perfectly and stopping on a dime in front of us. The man swung his back end completely upwards and planted it on the motorcycle as if he was a poorly animated character in a mid-2000’s video game. His face looked like a husk with black fires burning in the eye sockets. “Hey come on aboard now come on aboard now com-“. His head twitched to the side and the black fire splashed from his eyes and onto the pavement. It burnt a hole in the pavement to reveal a shimmering prism below the road.

At this point, I had enough of my presence of mind back to realize that none of this was grounded in the reality I had spent 29 years in. But now I was on the track too, and there was only one destination on this rail. I hopped on the bike with him and gripped onto his greasy red t-shirt. The customers and restaurant workers lined up in front of us in the street in three row. Raising their arms in the air, the two outer rows bent unnaturally at the waist sideways towards the middle row, who had flipped themselves upside down standing on their necks with their faces staring at us, spreading their legs apart to meet the arms of the outer rows. They were forming double arches.

“YOUR DISPLAY IS SHAMEFUL. PREPARE OF RELEASE.” My driver rev’d the engine, shifted into gear, and barreled through the middle row, leaving a trail of broken and bloody meat. As we roared down the street, I turned in time to see one of the chefs quickly shoveling the roadkill inside the restaurant.

“NOW WE ARE ON TARGET.” he bellowed as we took a sharp turn. Something felt like it had clicked inside my head.


To be continued…





Why do you want to know my leg strength?”

Profile: Typical Florida Man

Height: 5’11”

Body Type: Reminiscent of William H Macy

Memorable quotes: “I wish I could go back to the beginning of the season; put some money on the cubbies”/// “Orangeade beats Gatorade any day of the week”///”If we win, we’re stealing the other team’s mascot”

Profession: Herbalife salesman turned baseball coach

Leg strength:<<<no data available>>>

Story: Coach Jimbo sure knows how to motivate some athletes. His success is a testament to how far you can go as a coach without knowing anything about sports. His pre game pep talks and questionable ethics have helped him take several middle school and minor league teams to the crescendo of their careers. Although having little interest in athletics and no prior experience, when the Madison county middle school soccer team needed a new coach, Jimbo responded. Remarkably, he led them to a perfect season. There was a lot of speculation regarding how he did it. Several sources saw him passing out partially unwrapped fun size snickers to the opposing team before some of their games. Some have accused him of drugging them with non-non-drowsy children’s benadryl to slow them down, but Jimbo claims that the snickers were fully sealed and un-tampered with. Regardless, he certainly made a name for himself among local middle school sports fans and soccer moms alike.

Soon afterwards, his career received a major boost when he was called in to coach the AA league Montgomery Biscuits. He had a loose understanding of the rules of baseball prior to this, but after watching Sandlot, the Rookie, and Angels in the Outfield, he got a pretty good handle on it. Of course, you can always count on Jimbo to use some unconventional coaching methods, and his stent with the Biscuits was no exception. early in the season, he began applying a rubber compound to the bottom of the players’ cleats that would supposedly make them run faster (He had also watched the movie Flubber). Analysts remain doubtful as to the possibility that this method had any effect, but Jimbo had another successful season and said he couldn’t have done it without Robin Williams.

Jimbo recently arrived in the village and is making efforts to start a new Triple-A league baseball team. However, limited internet connectivity has made communication with the commissioner difficult. He has also found it a challenge to recruit players from nearby settlements as many have cited concerns about the activity of the beasts. Jimbo remains undeterred: “We just need to go talk to James Earl Jones and ‘the beast’ will leave us alone.” Godspeed Coach Jimbo.

2 Chainz Goes Shopping

Image result for 2 chainz


2 Chainz stared in amazement.

“We can tell you like what you see” the worker chirped enthusiastically

Chainz snorted. “See”. This was an experience, not limited to mere sight. Never had a thing tickled every sense the way this one small item was doing currently. Never in all his journeys,  various dalliances, or meticulous decadence hunting had he happened on anything that assaulted his pleasure center the way this artifact of happiness was right now. He could smell vanilla. Chainz had never been happier he walked into a Claires.




A Guy Gets a Package

He was the most excited he’d been in ages. The sun seemed brighter. He grabbed the package off his doorstep. It was finally here. He couldn’t run fast enough to his kitchen table. His box cutter already there. It had been waiting there for six to eight weeks. He opened the box. He pulled out it’s contents carefully. He ran his hand over the plastic casing. Finally his collection was complete. This had been the hardest one to get. So many botched attempts, but now it was his. All his. He opened the case…”Noooo” he cried out. He shook the casing in disbelief. Nothing came out. Nothing was there. He buried his hands in his face and wept. It was empty. His fourth season DVD case of Moesha was empty. Outside he could hear rain.

Ladies, Meet Single Men Now!

Seducing beautiful woman looking at her lover with wine glass.

Ladies, we know how hard it can be to meet eligible bachelors in today’s Hustle-Bustle Machine. Therefore, we at The Superb would like to help you make the connection (LOVE CONNECTION) that will lead to unending and eternal happiness, or at the very least an interesting weekend. Take a look at these fine candidates all running for the office of your heart.

Jonny Lang


Hey, girl. This is Jonny Lang and I am totally interested in having a relationship-type situation with you. Though, I must issue some caution: Ol’ Jonny has been known to catch the fever now and then, and when Jonny does that, it gets weird. But not for me. It’s just how I like it.

Yup, Ol’ Jonny’s a loose cannon. Sometimes I’ll play one chord and stare at the wall all day. Other times, my body requires more beef jerky than water to operate, and then I throw up everywhere. But the times when I get my girls up there to watch me play….oh yeah. That’s the right time.

See, you gotta be chill with me bringing in my 90’s girls in here, or Ol Jonny’s gonna have to walk. And then you’re gonna see my butt, and you’re gonna know where I make poop out of. Praise God and love me, honey. It’s the only way to fly.

Herb Bentley


We’ve got a ten car pile up on I-75 coming out of Lexington. Looks like if you’re coming southbound, you’re gonna need to hop off well before the Scott County line. Also, the ongoing construction project on the inner loop of New Circle has shut down one of the lanes, causing a massive headache for anyone trying to get to Richmond Rd, you’ll want to build at least 15 minutes into your travel time for the day. Also, I’d like you to know that I am currently very available, and I prefer women in committed relationships that I can destroy. I don’t know what it is, maybe it has something to do with my dad, I have no answer for this. I just know it excites me more to see a ring on that finger and kids waiting in the car. This is Herb Bentley burning clean Shell gasoline, SkyWatch Traffic.

Hiro Takahashi

japanese guy smoking

(Hiro sits on the hard plastic subway seat, taking drag after drag. He holds it in for at least 35 seconds and exhales seemingly more smoke than he inhaled. Was he storing extra smoke in his lungs? He puts out the cigarette on the seat next to him. This isn’t the first time he’s sat here. It’s evident by the numerous plastic welts in the seat from countless dead cigarette. The seat looks like the surface of a forgotten blue moon in another galaxy that only a few have seen. He glances over his shoulder at you. The disgust you feel is instantly transmuted into something else…an excitement. The smoke rolls from the alchemist’s mouth, slithering up the sides of his nose and behind the black frames of his glasses. In that moment, his brown eyes seem to illuminate through the smoke. He is the UFO in a foggy corn field, and you are the corn farmer being taken away from everything you know. There is terror, but there is also a curiosity drawing you in closer and closer, yet you remain in your chair, mere feet from the new object of your runaway passion. It can’t be contained, it should never be contained. But as you rise, so does he, because the train has stopped, and he is gone. And all that is left in the lingering aroma of his tobacco and the smoke of a fire burning deep within.)


Happy hunting, ladies!

-The Superb

Villagers: Kents McTugly


“My very long life has been leading to this moment.” – McTugly

Profile: Old As Grapes

Height: 6’3″

Body Type: Terrier Cruise

Memorable Quotes: “For me, Plate Tectonics was the great Rubicon. Once crossed and all available counts taken, I had changed. My little kingdom of experiences reborn.”///”The world is but a quiet answer and when my attentions settle and the horizon appears as one sheet over me, I can hear the echo moving again. Just I heard it before, slowly, down the street.”///”Excite me, BABY!!!”

Profession: The Terryformer

Leg Strength: <<<bar none>>>

Story: Along with seven others, Kent is considered an Ancient Worthful, one of the few in The Village who have surpassed 120 years of age. He has four doctorates, two in his primary field of geological science, one in Latin American literature and another in chemistry. That he has managed to accomplish this at all causes some to view him with a sort of reverence. He was born to a poor family in the south and received little in the way of decent public education, as his teachers in school where an exceptionally dexterous breed of Pilgrim Falcons who were able to carry old educational 33 1/2’s from one room to another. Kents’s teacher, a world weary bird named Carrot, took and interest in Kent and saw his great intellectual potential. He would extra talon marked vinyls to his home after schools so he could learn more about the great industry of Corn Solids.

After graduating, he started his long trek through academic life in various prestigious institutions such as Princeton, UCLA and DJ Preggor’s Home School for Rock-anomics. The latter case was where Kents started to take interest in pseudoscience. He had observed ishifts in intellectual opinion on Plate Tectonics and continental drift. When I asked Kents to explain the theory in a way I could understand he said: “Imagine a Mega-Turtle with multiple interior shells that change the exterior and it hurts the turtle. That’s the earth.” Once he had grasped the theory, he carried with it doubts about the intellectual integrity of the scientific establishment. Thus, he began to explore the pseudosciences for answers that the establishment would not entertain.

“I saw where human meaning and material law met and got handsy with each other.” he said. “I could perceive, however dimly, that our minds and the physical space we inhabit or inextricably linked, like Lance Bass and space or blue cheese and Cobb salad.”

After the experience that people in The Village refer to as The Remembering, Kents realized what purpose he served in the scheme of things in The Village. He assumed the role of the great Terryformer. “My whole life had been leading to this.” he said, his glasses perched near the end of his nose, his chin tilted in.

The Villagers remember how chaotic everything used to be. Someplaces, there would be a house on top of a towering column of earth 87 feet high with a sheer cliff on every side. Other places, there would be gardens and farms in the shape of skate parks. “Quite dire. Quite dire.” he would mumble reflexively. Kents took his unimaginable knowledge of the earth’s geological composition and forces and applied it took driving a bulldozer around for 29 years.

Before started his great Terryform project, he assemble The Village leaders and drew and ideal town map. Everyone deciding where square foot of land should reside. But, the Village leaders stipulated to Kents that in transforming the landscape, he should not require any one to abandon or rebuild their places of work or residence. So, Kents would use his insane mind to gradually move each built structure from place to another with the earth itself, very very slowly.

Some people may imagine this sort of grunt work to be intolerable to a fabulous intellect such as Kents. But, he explains that applying all of his years of learning was something more akin to a martial art, harnessing all energies and applying them fluidly to a single point, a bulldozer.

As he worked his way from the exterior the center of The Village he began to discover relics and icons that he has only exhibited to a chosen few. Although shrouded in a degree of secrecy, the general opinion is that he has what people are calling “The Shroud of Turin but for Philip Seymour Hoffman”. The scientist working in collaboration with Villenhaus Laboratories have requested to analyze his findings Kents has flatly refused, swearing that he wants nothing to do with them.

Kents has since retired from his post after remapping The Village. He still goes out to correct Tectonic disturbances which seem to effect The Village more greatly. He lives in a humble cabin near the outskirts of The Damps. He will sits outside, reading Borges and smoking a corn pipe filled with alkaline stones.

The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald – Part 2


Catch up on Where is Ronald McDonald? Part 1

Part 2: Santa Martinez


Using my meager blogging budget, I booked the next flight to Santa Martinez, CA, a dusty suburb of San Francisco, located in the East Bay area. I’ve visited Santa Martinez before, back in 2007 while working for my previous employer, though I have this odd memory of the name of the town being Martinez instead of Santa Martinez. Regardless, memory is a tricky thing, and this would only be the beginning of it’s trickery.

When I arrived in the town, it was as I remembered it. Very quaint and quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, but very peaceful. One of the first things I did when arriving in the town was seeking out the Thai restaurant that my boss and I visited when we came almost a decade ago. Unfortunately, when I located the restaurant, I was disappointed to find that the original Thai proprietors had sold the establishment and it had since become an Indian restaurant. The disappointment had affected my appetite, so I decided to move ahead with my purpose in coming to Santa Martinez: find Ronald.

I had very little to go off of. The operator had only told me that Ronald would like to be left alone here, which in itself, was clearly intended to get me here. It was at this point that I froze. I had been so caught up in the excitement, and genuine terror from the phone call that I never stopped to think if I was being set-up. Did the McDonald’s people expect me to follow this clue? Was it an obvious red herring that completely undermined my aspiring hopes to be a decent journalist? Did I even talk to McDonald’s? Why did I think I could afford a $600 ticket to California right now? Had I even told my wife? All of these thoughts hit me like a sack of bricks that had been plummeting from the stratosphere ever since I stepped on the plane. What was I doing here?

Suddenly, I felt very dizzy. I checked my phone to see that I had 56 missed calls from my wife and 200+ text messages. All from my wife. This was a problem. She had no idea where I was, and I had no doubt at this point, the cops were looking for my body. I had to call her, but at that moment, my phone died. I had not charged it, and had no bag in which I would have carried a charger. I just jumped on a plane and flew across the country with absolutely nothing except what was on me at the time I made the call. I had to find a pay phone or borrow a cell phone immediately before my wife lost her mind. I decided on the Indian restaurant. As I walked inside, the smell of curry nearly knocked me to the floor. A flood of memories swept through me that I entirely forgotten about. Eating curry and talking about the complexity of relationships with a man that….I couldn’t recall. But, this all conflicted with what I knew was true: a Thai restaurant in too big of a room with, honest to God, 5 tables in a 1000 square foot room. This Indian restaurant was the same architecturally, no question, but with many more tables. I could tell I hadn’t eaten while in my fugue state, so I decided to sit down and have a bite after I called my wife.

I asked the waiter behind the counter if I could borrow his phone. He was a young Indian man who smelled like an Abercrombie and Fitch store as a living thing. His phone even reeked. As I put the phone to my ear, I noticed the older woman in the back staring at me, in what I can only imagine was a look of disbelief. I had too much going on to consider what social taboo I had just violated by asking to use a young Indian man’s cellphone, but I had no time for pleasantries. I dialed my wife’s number. The phone rang and rang, and went to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I can’t take your message…”. I took the phone from my ear, and glanced at the screen to see what i had goofed up when dialing the number. Nothing. The number was exactly what it should be. I ended the call and tried again.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I c-“. I looked at the phone again. Same number.

I approached the young man and asked if he had a landline I could use. He exhaled sharply and took me to the backroom.  A beat-up rotary hung from the wall. I picked up the headset and rotated my wife’s number into the phone. As I reached the last number, I realized something very terrifying.

I couldn’t remember my wife’s name.


To be continued…


Dylon’s Places of Interest: D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania

My name is Dylon. There are many beautiful places to see in this world. Some of these are more extraordinary than others. Some do not allow you to take pictures of them with earthly photography. Others are not photographed because I was streaming music on the way out and my phone died.



D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania


D Hill. Spring, around 3 PM

If you were to head out to the hills of Ackermanville, Penn, approximately 30 miles past the newly constructed Sheetz, a farm can be found. The name of the farm is “Roy Rogers Farm”, but not named after the famous singing cowboy, but instead the fast food restaurant native to the Northeastern United States.

“They came up and bought up most of the land to use for throwin’ out old deep friyers and storing plastic chairs.” says Herb Jim, the patriarch of the Jim Family who has been living on the farm for over 7 years. “A bug had ate up our orchard, and our seaweed harvest wudnt doing good at the time as you couldn’t grow no seaweed on the land, so we sold the land to keep the bread on the table…except for this.” He said this to me as we sat at his ancient kitchen table. He finished his coffee for 45 minutes, had a bowel movement, did something with a wooden window frame for another 45 minutes, and then he showed me something truly breathtaking.

Herb led me through the graveyard of rancid deep fryers and rickety, busted Roy Rogers plastic chairs. “They…umm, keep tellin’ me they’re a comin back for um. The raccoons have claimed um now.” As we entered into a cluster of woods centered in the field, Herb took his hat off, and wiped his weathered, 60-year old brow. His handkerchief was flithy. “Just right up right just here.” I thought he was having a stroke and we kept on through the brush.

We came to a crick. Herb , breathing heavily, took a full 36 minutes to regain his composure, then he called me over. I wondered if I had been led along, if Herb was leading me to an early grave in chunks at the bottom of an abandoned grease trap. Instead, he pointed to a fully grown oak and told me “Poosh on it”. I looked Herb directly in the eye with visible anger.

“No, Herb. I’ve had enough. You are too old and gross to tell me what to do. You’ve wasted my time as it is.” I was annoyed and my shoes were full of raccoon feces.

“Just poosh.” Herb gestured towards the tree, coughing violently as he spewed mucus into his tattered flannel shirt. Giving into this simple Pennslyvania man’s wishes, I approached the tree and “pooshed” on it. Nothing happened. Herb chuckled and spat out a yellow mass the size of a box jellyfish into the bushes. “City boy, pooshin on trees.” Herb continued past me, giggling and gurgling at my foolishness. What a fool I was to fall for his idiot farmer games.

As we breached the woods, I, at last, saw what I had come here to see. Large stone monoliths scattered all about the hills, all of them in the shape of what appeared to be a large capital D. Some in perfect rows, without a degree of variance in placement. Others knocked around, broken. Some placed far away on distant hill.

“Here’s all this crap here.” Herb said, as he ripped a gigantic fart that erupted through the woods causing every bird to flee in fear.

Despite this man’s complete and total ignorance, I was in a state of shock. Some of the D’s looked like marble and were as smooth as butter. Others were prickly and red-colored, painful to the touch, almost as if they were electrified. It was then that I noticed a pattern: all of the D’s that were in a line together were smooth and pleasing to run my hands across, but the ones knocked on the ground with corners broken and chunks of stone torn out were almost vibrating.

“My god, man. These are living things!” I exclaimed, throwing my coat on one of the hurt. “Do you realize what this means?” Herb looked at me with a look so incredibly stupid…I find it difficult to explain without raising my blood pressure.

“THESE ARE LIVING STONES! This is a new lifeform, Herb!”. I was now caressing the smooth stone. The broken ones were far to painful to touch and left a weird banana-scented film on my hands.

Herb continued in his labored breathing, pausing just long enough to swallow some air to clear out his anus. “I dunno. They’ve been here a while. When I was youngun, they was over there on that there hill. Since then, they’ve moved over here. Not sure what they’re after. Dudint help me none.” Herb was sweating fat and grease and fat.

I glanced over at the hill where Herb had said they had started. I could see the faint outline of a rut in the ground that got barer as it neared the stones. Some ruts traveled off to the side to a pond. There were D’s in the pond, all stone as well. Would they drown? Did they breathe?

“Herb, I don’t know what to make of any of this. I was expecting Stonehenge, but I got something much more. Where do I begin with any of this?” I was at a genuine loss for words. Everything in my life up to this point seemed so small compared to this.

“I dunno.” Herb said, pulling at his tight, tight ugly shirt. His breathing was the worst thing I had ever heard, even Richard Ashcroft live. My attention was completely drawn to his pockmarked face and stupid dull brown eyes. What an imbecile, to have this momentous discovery in your own backyard, on the farm that you own, and do nothing with it. What a idiot, idiot, stupid man. I did not care much for him at all.

“Herb, why do you keep this field? You clearly care nothing about the fact that you have sentient rocks living on your property. Why didn’t you sell it to Roy Rogers Inc?” I had not noticed up until this point that my hand had curled into a fist, my fingernails digging deeper into the flesh of my palm. “WHY DID YOU KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF?”

Herb replied with a fart that, I swear to you, caused a duck to scream in the woods from fright. I couldn’t handle anymore of it, so I left. I left Herb in the woods and I drove my car really fast out of his stupid gravel driveway.

I still dream of those rocks. I went out one night one my own to try to find them, but I couldn’t located them. They allowed themselves to only be found by the one man who could never appreciate them on the level that I could, who could never tap their potential and what it means for us and our future.

Beauty is wasted on the stupid. Stupid…stupid Herb.




Garth Brooks on Partnership with Frito-Lay: “It’s What I’ve Worked Towards My Whole Life”


Walk into any grocery store’s chip aisle and you may see a familiar, unmistakable silhouette. That’s right, a likely approximation of Garth Brook’s body shape on that bag of Fritos corn chips you’re buying. What you’re seeing is the culmination of nearly 20 years of agonizing hard work and dedication to Garth’s craft.

“I’ve been after that coveted Frito bag since I stated playing honky tonks in Tulsa. All of my heroes had made it there. Who doesn’t remember Hank Williams on Barbecue or Willie Nelson on Big Scoops. Those were my idols, still are, and if I couldn’t get on that Frito bag, what’s been the point of any of this.”

Garth, or “g” as he is known these days, has been lobbying hard for the esteemed front of the bag for over 2 decades. Fans of his will remember times at his shows when he would stop the show to call Frito-Lay headquarters on a phone and have everyone in the audience scream “we want g for Fritos” over and over again.

“These calls happened nearly 3 times a week.” says Henry Polcheck, head of marketing for Frito-Lay. “Long voicemails of indecipherable mob screaming. For a while, we thought were being haunted, but no, it was just Garth, coercing his fans into chanting a phrase over and over again into a Panasonic handheld phone on a stage. They would do this for hours and hours. Sometimes, he would refuse to play them music until he felt the message was appropriately delivered. But they loved him for it.” And that was true. His fans nevertheless wavered in their support for Garth and his passion.

“If g wants it, it must be so.” says Jimmy Lovell, leader of the Garth Brooks fan club, g Force. “What he’s given us as a people is so tremendous and beautiful, if anyone deserves to be vaguely represented on a chip bag, it’s him. Garth Brooks taught me to live. I had my first religious experience watching the video for The Thunder Rolls. That’s when I realized that this world is not what anyone thinks it is and that there are old and angry gods waiting to lay waste to it, and enslave us for their amusement. Once Garth opened it up to me, I was so appreciative to be set free from the imaginary Puritanical shackles, giving in to pure anarchy and ill-fitting cowboy boots, that the only way to properly convey our appreciation is to spread the Garth message far and wide, and the best way of doing that is by putting a body very similar to his on corn chip bags that will be seen in every Sunoco from here to Orlando for a limited time only.”

Garth is often baffled by his extreme fan devotion. “Haha, yeah those guys, I dunno know what they think I’m all about. They’ve always got these shrines up at my concerts and try to sacrifice things there. They keep telling me I’m a herald. I don’t know about that, man. I just want to see what I can safely assume is my body lit from the back on a bag of chips in my cupboard. I want to know what my heroes felt like when they would walk up to someone who’s casually eating a Rueben at a Rueben party holding a bag with themselves on it. I just can’t fathom it.”

But it may shock some to here that Garth has come close to being on a bag before. “Right after my cover of Shameless, Frito-Lay offered me the Doritos bag, which I would have taken, but they explained to me that if I took the Doritos, I could never qualify for the Fritos bag. That was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I passed up the Doritos, and they gave it to Tracy Lawrence, but I think he’s singing in a church somewhere in Atlanta now or something, so we see where that got him.”

Garth had another brush with Fritos when they offered him the role off permenant spokesman for Fritos Racerz, racecar-shaped Fritos that eventually became Flavor Twists. “I was extremely excited at first, but as I thought about it more, I decided to hold out for the regular bag, and good thing I did!”.

“We offered to give him Racerz after his “g force” murdered a bunch of stray dogs on our building.” explains Polcheck. “The chips originally intended to feature Jeff Gordon, but at a certain point, the safety of our employees became a serious concern. Jeff Gordon’s people were only killing themselves in their own homes. So, we offered it to Garth, who did consider it, but decided to pass since  a race car isn’t a guitar and he hasn’t figured out a way to ride his guitar yet.”

Despite all of these setbacks, Brooks has finally achieved his dream, and so has his fan club.

“IT IS FINALLY DONE! WE HAVE ACCOMPLISHED IT! THE HERALD HAS STRUCK FORTH! FEAR FOR THE COMING YEAR WHEN ALL WILL FALL! COME GORG! COME JEEIRB! PLAY STANDING OUTSIDE THE FIRE! WOOOOO!”. screamed Lovell as he shook three dogs in one hand at Garth Brooks during a concert right after the release of Brooks-branded Fritos. His g Force group has expanded by leaps since Garth made the bag, as this figures prominently into their prophetic message they have been sharing for the 12 years they have been functional. Now, half of his concerts are full of shirtless, dog-mad individuals who have formed a cult around this simple Oklahoma boy.

“Yeah, the shows are getting weird since the bag came out.”, Garth admitted at his show, kicking away a bag of Fritos stuffed with bloody meat of some sort. “I don’t know what to do about it, but I tell you what, this ain’t going stop me from enjoying this moment. I finally did it, guys!”.


-The Superb


With what little light there is, I use it to make out a nervous figure. As he walks over to the stool nearest me his feet jut out wildly and they nearly clip a chair twice. He orders something and then he turns to me. His demeanor seems to demand familiarity, although I have no recollection of the man. It appears he’s setting up shop where he is. I reach for my coat. Only, as I do, I hear him speak quietly, almost to himself.

“Allow me to even try to introduce myself.”


A hand is extended, meant for me.

“Let’s see here… I’m Bandana Jim. You guess why yet?”

He twists slightly, his backside turned over so I can see the red cloth emerging from his jeans pocket.

“Yeah… since I was only 3 years.” he said.

“Nice… nickname.” I said.

“Listen, I’ve only got a few more minutes so won’t you hear my story first before you coon out of here?” he said, sensing my restlessness.

“Sure…” I said perturbed, checking my phone and setting it back on the counter top.

“Well, okay then. It was 1951 the year of LORD and I entered the world, a fully formed human baby.” he said, poking my chest. “No problems… and then I was born into the most Catholic family you can possibly imagine. Flash forward to more recently and my faith and career changed when I became retired forcibly due to an on-the-job injury that I caused on myself due to trying to stack up too many steel girders on top of each other with a crane.”

He waits for my gaze, grinning.

“And I woulda done it to, had I not gotten out admiring my work by leaning on it. So, y’know popped my spine slightly and I got a work-out-of-free card. Hah… My kids still give me a look like ‘What are you doin’ here?’. Anyway, it got bored and lonesome and then I got to getting involved in my community a little more. What can’t I ask for my country that my country has not already done for me, right? So, I hey, I got to my local LORD Shack and I’m wondering what guidance can I get from my LORD Man. Well, I go into his office and he says, ‘Have I ever thought about kids?’ I says, ‘Well, I guess.’ And he says: ‘You are gonna be Boy Scrouts’. And I’m like…”

He seems to be lost for a moment. I tighten the grip on my coat.

“Yeah! So, I become Boy Scrout Master. And I study up for Scrout leadership and LORD principles. So, I come up for Camp Cherokee over the summer. And first day and get there and I see these little guys and I get a tear in me, cause I’m thinkin’… they don’t stand a chance. Y’know? There barely speaking to me and they are all playing activities on there phones.”

(As I type this out, I don’t know whether to spell out “their” or “there” due to the way he said it.)

“And y’know, I just got to thinking. And one day I announced Boyplay: The First Boy Scrouts Coldplay All-Boys Cover Band.”

He takes a sip of his drink and I feel an aching sense of panic wash over me.

“And this idea is simple and LORD-based. What if we took boys, lost, tormented with day-screams and boy toils and inadequacies and gave them something to live up for… being Coldplay AKA Boyplay. And I got on my knees and thanked LORD. I did.  So, I applied this new principle as mandatory. All Boy Scrout members must pick a member and become him physically, spiritually and bodily. I remember one day, I walk into the cafeteria and here they are… mostly Chris Martin childs, eatin’ breakfast; hundreds of Boy Scrouts donning the garb of the world’s greatest popular music band. Of course, only one set of boys is the official Boy-Play Cover band. So, you can picture with me if you will…” he said. He reaches for and holds my hand between his own. “There they are… A set of LORD ordained Boy Scrouts playing only “Clocks” seventeen times for an audience of boys who look like Coldplay also.”

I try to withdraw my hand without making much of it.

“They get so excited. They are bouncing around in a mosh pit, just going nuts on each other. But, this is exactly what keeps our community drugs free and no gang-violence. They are drawing INTO the LORD. My boys love Moses because of Moses. They eat apple because the boys say as they take a big ol’ bite: ‘This is my daughter.’ Thousands of young boys… Listen, this programs is 1000% times more effective than football and school combined. It keep ‘em away from streets where the LORD cannot see them. This whole community is so full of LORD now, I can’t stand it. Good LORD, boys. Am I right? LORD on all sides!”

Now he stares, almost exclusively, at the ceiling.

“I’ve got to get to North Haverbrook and take my business over there for a while, just to get some balance. I let the winds do away with the ANTI-LORD in me. You can have too LORD and then you slam a kid into its own legs in the name of LORD. He doesn’t want that. Hah! Sometimes, I steam up so hard off the head, it’s like I’m a Steampunk Pervert Iron Man. Then I get out of North Haverbrook because it smells like soup and I get back to LORDING it up and down the interstate with my hat on. Soup is the Devil’s sex. Stew is the LORD fill. Wait… now… Have I told you about my recent investments?”

His weight shifts in his seat, almost invisibly, but enough for it cause an audible whine. His mustache trembles spasmodically with… delight?

“I’ve got 12% in and 40% down for the Boy Scrouts. LORD will bless me for this. One is for LORDCARE: The Only LORD Based Obamacare. They ain’t putting any vaccinations in my Boyplay and it costs thousands. Also, I’ve put a lot of the money in CARS. I can’t tell you how much my deductible is, because I have misplaced the envelope in my car. Man… listen, Satan better not change Monday again because I already labeled all of that older sisters Tupperware according to the days of the week and she can’t eat them out of order because then she’ll have lasagna twice and that would be embarrassing to me. And then I turn around to them inside of A VAN and I say to the entire Boyplay: ‘Who wants Aint’s?’ They love some of that. I just sit in the van while they get some of the smoked delights inside. It’s not my place to eat there. LORD know why.


-The Superb

Note: Co-Written with Anthony; adapted from a text conversation we had.