Two Bits

May 28, 1999

Just about every time I write a Two Bits column, I claim that I am about to present a great innovation, discovery, or Earth shaking revelation. Well, this time I mean it. You will all learn something new and shocking about Two Bits Man himself. Unless you already knew it; in that case you can just skim the article for puns. For the rest of you, I can only warn you that your perceptions of the Universe are about to change.
I am not the read Dread Pirate Roberts.
Er, I mean I am not the real Two Bits Man. I myself am sometimes amazed at life's little surprises. You see, there is not one true Two Bits Man; a few select (willing) writers share the privilege (burden) of writing this unique column (rambling tripe) for every issue of the Technique (explicative deleted). Whenever one of us gets what is, in his or her judgement, a really good or funny idea, he claims this issue and expounds on whatever it is he wants. For the last couple years I have had the rare pleasure of being able to write for a college paper that expects my brand of humor. Well, they tolerate it anyway.
Sadly, I graduated last quarter. I've still slipped a couple issues of Two Bits in the last quarter, but it's starting to look like this will be my last issue. One of the other Two Bits Men (one of which is a woman) suggested that I make this issue my swan song. I hereby refuse to do so. Have you ever heard a swan singing? Neither have I. They look to me like bleached geese with charcoal on their bills. I don't know about you, but I think geese are loud enough without splashing bleach on them.
Instead I am going to attempt to begin a grand new Two Bits tradition, right up there with the founding of TBRI, the Two Bits Research Institute. Since paranoid delusions are almost always good entertainment, and fit in well with the Two Bits kind of humor, I'm going to suggest we every once in a while throw in a Two Bits conspiracy theory. I even have a catchy name for this new series: the heX-Files'. We could make a killing in t-shirts.
To kick this thing off, I'm going to reveal to you a conspiracy I've been studying for years. A conspiracy so devious and sinister it threatens the entire American way of life. It is the French plot to destroy us with their cursed Waffle House restaurants.
Yes, of course they're French restaurants! You don't think I'd just make this stuff up (ahem), do you? You don't believe just because you've never thought that something odd was afoot at Waffle House. I can change your mind on that one.
When was the last time you saw a Waffle House go out of business? Have you ever? Of course not; they never do. They pop up like weeds and they live forever. At the intersection of Highway 29 and Indian Trail, east of Atlanta, is a restaurant. Over the years, it has been a Bojangles (they went out of business), a Church's (which went out of business), and several other different restaurants (which all, individually, went out of business). About four years ago, however, a Waffle House moved in. Somehow, it's always packed.
There are other examples, like the infamous interstate exit that has two Waffle Houses, one on each side of the street. Even MacDonald's can only dream of such successful market saturation. It's like some kind of culinary cancer, and it's just as dangerous.
In case you don't recall the last time you went to Waffle House, I'll just refresh you: greasy everything. Not just some pitiful cheese and bacon on a burger greasy, I'm talking scattered, smothered and covered. This place is an incredibly potent fat delivery system and, as I've already discussed, it's spreading and it won't die. Why does that make it a conspiracy? Just look at the implications.
As street corners, and then street middles, are continuously converted into invincible Waffle House restaurants, the American economy will become dominated by the creation and consumption of Waffle House food. That's a lot of potatoes, bacon, eggs, and (of course) oil. The country's population will be divided between farmers and Waffle House cooks/servers. We'll also all be buying the farm (so to speak) at the age of 32 from heart attacks from eating the food. That's where the French come in.
Several studies have shown that the French live longer than Americans, thanks to wines that they drink. Wines that, if rumors are to be believed, don't even come in a box. With all these heart attacks going on, we're going to need a lot of doctors. However, we won't be able to home-grow our own doctors because they'll all die of heart attacks before they make it through med school. The French will swoop in with their special longevity wines, immune to the Waffle House food, and take over the U.S. medical profession. They will have succeeded in reverting the U.S. to an agrarian society while snatching up the best paying jobs available. They'll hoard their wines and scoff at us with nasal vowel sounds and silent consonants.
Don't believe me? Next time you go to a Waffle House, order a glass of French wine. If I'm right, they won't give you any.

Copyright © 1999 by Gregory S. Scherrer, Editor and by the Student Publications Board

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