Hey Al Roker, Who Asked Ya to Critique our Blizzard?

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No, we didn’t handle it very well, and we don’t need anybody pointing that out. (Photo by BeaverDamUSA.com blogger and transplanted Yankee Mark Grissom.)

I’ve been seeing and hearing lots of people from the north offering their opinions on the way the south dealt with Snow-pocalypse earlier this week.

What I apparently missed was us asking for your opinion.

It’s been a big deal to you guys, apparently. Even Al Roker came down here to in person criticize the way the Georgia politicians handled the mess. Hey Al: If the weather people had given us a heads up, maybe we could’ve tossed some salt around. Explain this to me: How can you forecast a hurricane a month in advance when it’s merely a little puff of wind 4,000 miles out to sea but no one can see a blizzard marching toward Atlanta like General Sherman?

And hey, at least Georgia’s governor didn’t purposely close down the interstate just because the mayor of Possum Gulch didn’t support his re-election. Down here it takes an act of God to grind our traffic to a halt. In New Jersey, it just takes a couple of bureaucrats and 3 emails later, poof! Gridlock on the George Washington Bridge.

Of course, New Yorkers can drive in the snow. That’s because all the roads there are one-way streets, flat, straight, and the top speed is 4 m.p.h. Good Lord, anybody can do that. Call me back when you’ve done Atlanta at 5 p.m., on Friday. And one more thing. Don’t come down here pretending you love the cold weather. I was in New York City a month ago when it was probably 20 degrees, and you people were scurrying around and whining like Justin Bieber in the drunk tank. It’s 6 degrees here as I write this, and the “cement pond has done gone and froze over.” I would give anything to be back in NYC where I fondly recall a balmy 25 degrees.

And if winter is no big deal to you, why do half of you spend the winter in Sarasota? All December long, every southern interstate is cram-packed with a caravan of Buick LeSabres from Ontario with a little old lady doing 50 in the left-hand lane. You’ve seen her: big goofy sunglasses over her eyeglasses, looking like she’s either about to look at a solar eclipse, or she’s on the way home from having her eyes dilated. Blinker on. Box of Klennex in the back deck. For Heaven’s sake, if she does break out in to spontaneous squalling, how is she going to reach them? Of course, it is fun to pass them and yell “Where’s the beef?”

So Al, and all you other Yanks who thought we looked stupid in our 2-inch blizzard, well we probably did to you. But this summer, when it’s 100 degrees, 100% humidity and 0% chance of rain in sight down here, you’ll look pretty stupid to us crying about it being 85 in The City. Remember, our snow will melt. But you’ll always have Snooki.

Pero’s Pizza in Atlanta

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By Coach Billy Jack Hoover

As you all know, Mrs. Coach Billy Jack Hoover, Chely Sizemore and I took a little trip to Florida a few weeks ago. I decided to get away, loosen up a little bit. Chely tagged along because she wanted to sample some fresh clams.

On the way back home, Mrs. Coach Billy Jack Hoover took a notion to swing through Atlanta to see her fourth cousin who is a concierge down at one of those fancy hotels on Peachtree Street. In case you don’t know, a concierge is somebody who finds somebody to scratch your back if you tell him it’s itching.

I was itching for food instead (see what I did there?), so Chely and I dropped Mrs. Coach Billy Jack Hoover at the hotel, and we went looking for something to eat.

We ended up in Buckhead, which is one of the fanciest parts of town. After driving around for a while, Chely slammed the big 4-wheel-drive in Park at a little place called Pero’s Pizza. It was kind of dark in there. Mrs. Coach Billy Jack Hoover would call that “ambiance.” I never knew exactly what that meant, but any time somebody says “ambience” I always end up having to hold up the menu funny to see it.

I’m more about the food, anyway. We started with their famous bruschetta and some fried mozzarella sticks. The appetizers were good, but next time I’ll skip them and just get a bigger pizza. For the main event, we shared a Pero’s Special which is pepperoni, mushrooms, sausage, onions and green peppers. Of course Chely had them add bacon to her half. I won’t bore you with the details. Just go get you some right now wherever you are.

I did almost cry though when I found out that we were too late for their lunch buffet. It’s probably for the best, though. I would’ve probably just made a fool out of myself if I’d been there for that. (I can mess up some good ambience when I tie on the old food bag at a pizza buffet.) As it was, I was glad Chely was driving. Heck, I was thinking about the pizza so much I almost forgot that we had to go back downtown to pick up Mrs. Coach Billy Jack Hoover.

So if you can stand the traffic and all the peculiarities that make Atlanta Atlanta, go to Pero’s Pizza. Tell them Coach Billy Jack Hoover and Chely Sizemore sent you.

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