I was never best in state until I was lying in state and intestate.
My wife and myself explored the coast like butter seeking out every nook and cranny of an english muffin. After all, we had an entire week to kill.
It took a while but a few things dawned on us. The “coast highway” consisted of two deadly and skinny lanes of pavement at most points along the way. When you first rolled up on the coast the highway was of little concern. “Golly,” we said. “Look at all the coast and shit.”
By day two the highway was irritating me on a subconscious level.
By day three I hated the fucking thing. “We’re starving and it’s time for dinner. Wanna go get something to eat?”
“God no,” I replied. “It’s fucking not worth it.”
Who wants to risk certain death just to cross the street for a crispy bean burrito?
The other thing we noticed is that we thought we were just visiting the coast. It turns out that we’re actually in the apex of quality in the center of the universe.
The signs (literally) were subtle at first. How quaint! A place on the coast that sells clam chowder.
Holy shit! Really?
And look. The say they have the best clam chowder in the state. Isn’t that cute.
Stepping out on the sidewalk, I noticed that the place next door also had the “best” in the state.
Methinks me smells a rat. And it’s mixed in with the clams.
Our senses heightened (except for taste) we began to notice these signs everywhere. Like every 10 feet. Each little city along the coast highway, a carbon copy of the one we just left and the next one up the road, had several places that claimed to have the “best” clam chowder. “As seen in the New York Times,” added one.
All in all it turned out to be 420 places we saw that had the best clam chowder in the state.
My observation? At least 419 of them are fucking liars.
By the way, this is the “best” post on WordPress today. Enjoy!