American Madness

Intelligent Criticism in the Service of a Better Nation

Waffle Hunting

Posted by Kevin Reifler | No Comments

I was in Greensboro, North Carolina when I noticed the man wearing a Waffle House camouflage tee shirt.

I asked, ?Is that from the Waffle House that makes waffles? Or is this a new code word for AK47s.?

The Waffle man laughed, put his gun down, and said, ?yernot from roundhere, ryoo??

I pulled out my Berlitz English/Hillbilly dictionary and quickly scanned roundhere.

?No, actually I?m from upnorth.? I figured that if I slammed two words together like he did we would develop a mutual camaraderie and respect and he might not raise the gun again.

At that he laughed, spit, and clapped me on the head with a meaty hand. I wiped the ground chuck from my hair (people don?t wash in Greensboro, I guess) and headed to the nearest Waffle House to investigate what I thought must be the latest Southern craze: Waffle Hunting.

There are almost 1,500 Waffle Houses in 25 states, so I figured that one must be close at hand. And there, right by a truck stop on I-40, stood the Waffle House logo raised to the sky.

I pulled in next to a truck owned by a man who looked a lot like Elmer Fudd.

?Hewwo, awe you hewe fow da waffle hunt??

The sun sparkled off his light bulb shaped head. I put my sunglasses on and asked why he wanted to hunt waffles when there were so many just inside the Waffle House.

?Dewe awe? Weww, that’s too easy. It’s waffle hunting season, and we’we going to find us some waffles.?

?Good luck sir,? I offered, and then moseyed right on in.

The hunters were lined up on those counter seats that spin round and round for six year olds and adults who have not taken their Ritalin. They sat square jawed, rifles at the ready, waiting for the first waffles to appear.

?What are you all planning to do,? I asked one of them whose neck veins were not pulsing.

?As soon as th’ waffle is put on th’ pick-up counter, we all start blastin’ away until it’s daid. Yo’ gotta ack quick an’ start shootin’ befo’e th’ waitress picks it up. Waitress shootin’ is a felony in 23 of th’ 25 states thet haf Waffle House franchises.?

By this time I was getting real tired figuring out what everyone was saying. I sat down and ordered some non-Waffle fare: Bert?s Chili and a glass of Alice?s Iced Tea. I wanted a waffle but figured the butter and buckshot variety would be a might chewy. I sat with my chili and waited.

Finally, Snoop Dogg came through the Waffle House door.

?How arizzle you all doizzle It’s tizzle to eizzle somizzle grizzle wizzle I am so excizzle I just flizzle in from L.A. to hizzle somizzle.?

I had no idea what he said, and no one else did, either. So they started shooting at Snoop, who quickly backtracked into his pimpmobile and was gone. Then they turned to me. I thought I had blended in, but my New York Mets Cap and General Sherman Fan Club teeshirt must have given me away.
I decided that I would confuse them with my great Swedish Chef impersonation.

?Vell, I moost be-a gueeng. I hefe-a tu retoorn noo tu ceefilizeshun. Thunk yuoo fery mooch fur letteeng me-a vetch a reel leefe-a veffffle-a hoont, und I’ll gled tu menshun ell yuoor nemes in my pust oon EmereecunMedness.cum. Furtoonetely ell yuoor nemes ere-a JeemBub su thet mekes my leeffe-a a lut ieseeer. Bork Bork Bork!?

I left the stunned Waffle Hunters in their spin around seats. They watched me go, amazed that the South was being invaded by rappers and Swedes. Elmer Fudd still sat in his truck, eyeing the parking lot for waffles or wabbits. Life is sure swell, I thought. Or as Snoop Dogg might say, ?Lizzle is surizzle swizzle.?


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