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A SOCIETY OUT OF BALANCE ATTENDS A SPRING GAME

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WAS THERE ANYTHING ELSE TO DO IN COLUMBUS ON SATURDAY? WE ANSWER THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DEAR READER: Dismiss the irony of someone who makes their living from this extremely misaligned set of values from the start. In fact, let's just agree on an extremely mature and postmodern take policy. This is not real, and is in fact a letter copied from a world that existed seven hundred worlds ago, and is no longer even something resembling a real comment. We're not here, this isn't happening, and the hot take isn't just dead, it's a fascinating corpse we prop up at the dinner table and call Uncle Inflammation.  Look at it! It's almost like a real thing someone tried to mean.

Now that we've done that, let's see what else you could have been doing in Columbus, Ohio this past Saturday, and see if it compared to the joy of sitting outside on a nice day and watching some simulated sport.

OrchidFestFuckYeah

HELL YEAH ORCHIDFEST IS GONNA BE SICK. Even if you have sex in the bathroom with a botanist and walk out with only the dopest freshly retired orchids, that revelry barely gets you to noon. We're sorry, Retired Orchids Sale, that's just the truth. The orchid scene has been pretty mild since the days of swashbuckling through Burmese pirates and Chinese warlords just to get a decent cutting of a Pleione Albiflora. Best option: buy orchid, sit in stands at game to expose it to vital sunlight and life-giving Cardale Jones rays.

Trains

If this were at noon we've got real competition, but it's at ten, and how long can you look at model trains? Our grandfather averaged about 90 minutes per model train show perusal, and that's if you got him a McRib and a coffee first. PROVEN SCIENTIFIC FACT: Senior citizens who eat McRibs attain a temporary burst of superhuman strength, because they were all raised in the golden age of chemical-poisoned meat. That's why you'll never deadlift a Luby's just to get the attention of management who still refuse to refill the chicken-fried steak finger tray. (Miss you, Gran-Gran.)

OhioWine

Oh, this. This just smells like sorority road trip tour bus EPA biohazard site. AVOID. AVOIIIIIIIID. What does the phrase "Ohio wine" evoke in your palate? Hints of heavy metal on the palate, a finish of pine-scented car freshener, and--wait--is that a Keystone Light finish on the nose with a touch of cigarette ash? We went to a winery in North Georgia and it all tasted like what a muscadine vine would piss out if you made it a person, gave it a job at a tannery for thirty years, made it smoke unfiltered Marlboros, and forced it to sleep in a cold smoker with eight pounds of salmon. It was pretty good, for wine-piss from a theoretical North Georgia Swamp Thing-type creature.

So as you can see, there was nothing else to do in Columbus on Sat---

BYEBYEBYE

--oh god, He was right. If there weren't 100,000 people at this, Graham Couch was so, so right.