Abdullah the Butcher House of Ribs (and Chinese Food)

Nestled deep in the hood of southwest Atlanta is a soul food shrine known just as well to the local brothas and sistas as it is to hordes of hungry rasslin fans around the world. Located in a former 7-11 on scenic Fairburn Road, this is none other than the gut busting, artery clogging, greasy finger lickin empire known as Abdullah The Butcher House of Ribs and Chinese Food.  If you’re not too concerned about the possibility of getting jumped by marauding bands of thugs who congregate in the abandoned gas station parking lot across the street, then this eccentric eatery is well worth the trip to the city’s seedy outskirts.

Playing on the regional fervor for both mouth watering rib tips and greasy cantonese cuisine, the Butcher and company consistently turn out a menu that rivals ghetto smoke houses and roach infested chinese take out stands everywhere. They air commercials sometimes on the churchy channel and they’ll even do some catering if you if you like.

But just who is this Abdullah, you might ask? Only the baddest black man to have ever stepped inside of a professional wrestling ring. Weighing (or waddling) in at 360 Ibs, Abby the Butcher was often billed throughout his career as “the Madman of Sudan.”  Amazing audiences with an act that resembled a meat-cleaving mongoloid from the Muslim world, he was most famous for digging a fork into the foreheads of his opponents. Inside of the restaurant, there are framed photos of him doing just that. I thought these made for a fantastic visual while gobbling down my rib dinner, complete with side helpings of collard greens and mac and cheese.

Even my friend Jenny (who is so cool, I often forget she is a vegetarian) had to sample the goods in the Butcher’s bloody buffet. Though she recalls that the ribs she ate were coated in fat, she did comment that the sauce was “very delicious.”

“I tried to order the chitterlings,” she remembers, “but I was disappointed to learn that they were all out.”

All missing chitterlings aside though, there is much to enjoy in Abby’s place.  Most notably the portrait of him, which hangs in the grand style of a Middle Eastern dictator behind the  counter.

Not to mention, the scores of 8X10 autographed photos from his many friends in the wrestling industry. These are the pictures that cover just about every inch of wall space.  Among them, I happened to notice the face of my favorite anti-drinking activist and library book enthusiast, none other than The Great Ox Baker.

Unfortunately, while Abdullah was not there to greet us personally during our visit, we hear that he is often known to lounge in his eatery, and is more than happy to amuse visitors by placing quarters in his forehead, where the scars are deep enough to accommodate spare change.

Such experiences are hard to come by at places where healthy food is served. Consider forsaking your organic panini bread sandwich for a day and paying this place a visit.


A Plethora of Potties

Like my dear friend El Guapo, I am fond of a plethora. Along with Jefe, I was schooled in what the word meant when I was around nine years old.

As I learned in Three Amigos, everything in life is better when it arrives in an excess amount. This applies as much to piñatas as it does to other party favors and this principle makes as much sense to me today as it did back then.

Never in my travels, however, had I witnessed a plethora of potties. Especially potties that were painted to look like other things. Not until I visited the Montgomery County Fair in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Here, hand-crafted crappers were in abundance. So plentiful, in fact, were these potties, that I had to document the experience.

This first number sort of confuses me. There is supposed to be a “boogie” taking place, but all the barn yard animals appear to be stationary. This could be on account of where the barn is located.

Not sure why this piece of cherry pie had to look more like a giant turd filled with blood. Though it does have Breyers ice cream on top.

These three beanie passengers have all boarded the porcelain bus. The hood is sealed in case of speed bumps. The windshield wipers do not serve any real function.

This is the Kid Rock/American Bad Ass of toilet art. If I was a girl with a tramp stamp I would probably take a ride on this hot seat. Pull the plunger in order to break.

You don’t have to be Captain Kirk in order to want to log into this hover craft. I wasn’t convinced at first that this was a commode in which “no man has gone before.” Though through my research, I found that these potties, were in fact donated. Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want to decorate my own toilet.

Or someone else’s for that matter…

God Loves Ugly

The above statement is not just an album title from Atmosphere. It’s a genuine fact of life.

I was reminded of this on the DC Metro, when a friend and I intervened to stop a drunken hood rat from randomly attacking a visiting woman from Chicago.

“If that crazy girl hits me one more time,” the woman said, referring to her wobbly, weave-wearing assailant. “I don’t care how drunk she is, I’m going to punch her in the face.”

“You’d have every right,” I said. “She deserves it.”

Thats when, seemingly out of nowhere, a bloated belligerent girl(?) set in on me. It was hard to make sense of what she was saying at first, but it appeared she was angry because (in her opinion) I’d encouraged the tourist to punch the hood rat.

“You’re just making things worse!” she said. “You’re a bad person and God hates you!” Her gut was overhanging from underneath of her Redskins sweater and her breath reeked of Bud Light. With all the scabbed acne on her greasy pale face, I thought I was going to be sick just looking at her.

“But not you,” I said. “God loves you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does,” she agreed. I could tell that even though this behemoth of a broad was three sheets to the wind, herself, she was confident in that.

As well she should have been. For she was truly repellent and therefore a credit to her creator. These are the people that God looks out for. The revolting, untouchable uglies. Like his own resurrected zombie son, they are all his devotedly defective children.

KISS my ‘stache

Recently I went to my first KISS concert with my friend, Aaron. It was the best. Everything I always hoped that it would be. Gene gurgled blood and spat fire. Paul flew over us during “I was made for Lovin You” and played guitar on his rotating stage. We left happy and a great time was had by all. The only thing was, I had this mustache… It was a handlebar that I’d had in some form or another since I was about fourteen, and I’d managed to grow it from a tiny Mexican looking scrub brush to a full on biker/gay leather daddy kind of thing.

“Don’t you want to lose your mustache before you put your KISS makeup on?” Aaron asked.

“No,” I said. “I think I’ll leave it.” Kind of a mistake. Because, while my sister completely transformed the both of us into our favorite KISS alter egos, I ended up looking kind of like a trucker with a fat face full of mime paint. For the most part, the majority of people in the KISS Army I encountered had only positive things to say about my face, so after a while I started to wonder if maybe this stache paranoia was merely in my head. Then after the concert, we encountered some guy in the parking lot who told me that my look reminded him of this guy. What a rush. I had to agree, the resemblance was notable.

While I no longer have my handlebar mustache today, I’ll never forget what it was like to have one with KISS makeup on.  The experience was unique and somewhat uncomfortable. Much like this video.

Sort of Awesome Sidewalk Art

This past Sunday, the mighty monolithic arts entity known as SCAD hosted its latest sidewalk arts festival in historic downtown Savannah.

The event was hosted in picturesque Forsyth Park, where, as in years past, each artiste (either a current scadling or alum) was given their own block of concrete to decorate in their own unique, personalized way.

Gotta love that word “unique.” But sure, lets go with it. Because I’ve never been much of a Picasso with a piece of chalk, and some of these sidewalk scribblers did a darn good job.

Here are my top ranking pieces

Nothing too new about this one, since I’ve seen lots of Star Wars kitsch before.

All the same, as someone who loves the dark side of the force, I would probably choose this as a runner up.



Similarly, I’m generally not too impressed by stuff that deals with the day of the dead. I do think the whole concept of “Dio Day Los Muertos” is pretty sweet, but with all the hipster girls I’ve seen with those mariachi skulls on their arms, I’ve become somewhat desensitized to this morbid Mexican holiday.

On the other hand, I kind of liked this for some reason. Maybe it had something to do with the shadow from the creepy live oak tree. Oh to be dead…This was the second runner up.


This piece was poignant, I thought, because really, whose doesn’t? At least a little bit? Plus, this really succeeded at establishing some community dialogue, which as I understand, is often the intended function of art. 3rd place.

This dog was smoking something. Not something I’d normally condone for a small animal but this made me feel like smoking something too. 2nd place.

In the end though, I had to give 1st place to the evil wizard. I realize that this isn’t actually the best of all the pieces I’ve presented, but what can I say, I just really like an evil wizard. I can also dig on the inverted pentagrams in the upper left. This is my winner.

Oh and the evil wizard, like the dog, is also smoking something.

Underrated Jews

America loves the Jews, and that’s nothing new, really. Between Seinfeld reruns, Larry David, and Bill Maher, there are plenty of hilarious Heeb options to pick from on TV. Yet, with all the focus on the usual favorites, there are a number of god’s chosen whom people neglect to acknowledge.

Here are some of their oft-forgotten faces.

Weird Al Yankovic: parody song writer (as seen with some blingin’ non Jewish friends.)

Barry Horowitz: professional wrestler.

Tiny Tim: Sang “Tip Toe Through the Tulips.”

David Hess: Played a Jew creeper in many different movies, including Last House on the Left.

Josh Silver: Keyboardist for Type O Negative. Looks kind of like Howard Stern with a beard.

Anton “Levey” LaVey: Writer of The Satanic Bible, Founder of The Church of Satan.

Al “Grandpa Munster” Lewis

 With this in mind, I make the following plea. Along with those six million others, please remember these Jews!