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Ol’ Robbo was poking about in the fridge this evening in preparation for cooking up Sunday din-dins (breaded pork chops for Youngest and Self, feesh for Mrs. R), when he came across a pizza box that Youngest had brought home from somewhere or other.  The box lid reads as follows (and I swear I’m not making this up):

THIS IS NOT A PIZZA BOX **

THIS:

Is a Fresh Start

Is a Second Chance

Unites Communities

Has Someone’s Back

Helps Those In Need

Stands For Inclusivity

Feeds and Nourishes

THIS IS SPREADING MODNESS

Cor lumme, stone the crows.  Do these people ever shut up?  (And I’m going to guess that the bit about “inclusivity” does not refer just to weirdos who put pineapple on their pizza.)

Of course, I’m really not going out on a limb in surmising that such an advertising campaign isn’t aimed at stuffy old fogies like me who the SJW types would sooner send to the gulag.  As for Youngest? Well, she spent a good part of dinner ranting about the unsustainability of long-term federal entitlement programs, so you may judge for yourselves.  I doubt if she even noticed the box lid.

I haven’t yet asked her about the quality of the actual pizza itself which, of course, is the only thing that really matters.

 

** Narrator’s voice: It is a pizza box.

UPDATE: Ol’ Robbo got noodling on a little thought-experiment.  I roll my eyes at this sort of progressivist virtue-signaling, but if the pizza is actually good, I probably wouldn’t care that much.  So what would happen if, say, Chik-Fil-A started printing Gospel passages on its napkins?  Imma guess the reaction from the other side would be somewhat……different.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Since, as predicted, Ol’ Robbo’s reminiscences regarding his misspent yoot in the Texas Hill Country immediately below seem to have gone over like a lead balloon, how’s about he doubles down with a little Virginia Piedmont pedantry?

I was re-watching “The Howards of Virginia” (1940) last evening.  It’s really not a bad flick: Cary Grant as a Virginny frontiersman orphaned as a boy by Braddock’s Defeat who somehow or other grows up with Tom Jefferson, marries into Tidewater society, and has his life torn apart by the conflicting currents of the Revolution.

Anyhoo, the very beginning of the movie features a map of Colonial Virginia in which Albemarle and Amherst Counties abut one another.  This caught the Robbo attention because they don’t these days.  Nelson County sits in between them.  I’ve been driving up and down Rte. 29 among them for thirty years and know the terrain very, very well.  (It is said or used to be, by the bye, that when the moon comes over the mountain in Nelson County, it comes in quart jars. **Cue banjo musick**)

So I looked it up.  Turns out Nelson County was created out of northern Amherst County in 1807.  Amherst County itself was created out of southern Albemarle County in 1761.  (Albemarle, in turn, was created in 1744.)  Since Braddock’s Defeat occurred in 1755, then, that map wasn’t entirely accurate, at least for the beginning of the film.

But then again, the whole thing was shot in southern California on locations that look nothing on earth like Amherst, Albemarle, or the Shenandoah Valley (where the Howards take up residence) so I suppose I can let such a minor discrepancy pass.  **Flexes Nerd-Fu Powers**

Incidentally, the Albemarle County Sheriff’s Department has the distinction of being the only law-enforcement body to ever actually issue Ol’ Robbo an in-person speeding ticket.  (Photo traps don’t count.)  They popped me late on an evening way back in October, 1991 as I was making my way back from visiting Mrs. R at Sweet Briar to my then-apartment in The People’s Republic of Charlottesville.  However, I came mighty close to getting tagged in nearby Madison County a few weeks ago when we went to visit Eldest at Sweet Briar, as I sailed straight into an ambush going well over 10+ the speed limit.  However, the cop couldn’t pull out until the fellah behind me had passed him.  The fellah behind me was speeding, too, so the cop snagged him instead of me. Fortunately, Mrs. R was asleep in the seat next to me and missed the whole thing.  I never would have heard the end of it otherwise.

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