If you know me, you know I’m a punk-ass/birkenstocks-toting Wisconsinite. I’ve closed Wolski’s. I’ve tumbled drunk over pastel chairs at the Union. Skipped school to go beat drums and scream at Scott Walker. Ridden on the back of Harleys over bridges. I’m half Brady Street, half State Street. We drink craft beer on porches, swim naked in lakes, and party hard in the streets. We brave the winters like bears and DIY better than anyone.
Harry Houdini, Stem Cell Research, Harley Davidson, Dungeons and Dragons, The Ringling Brothers, Willem Dafoe, your favorite shitty beer, and yes, cheese. Cheese that turns your face inside out. Cheese that goes right to your jaw, makes the smile hurt a little more.
It’s been like this as long as I can remember. It’s hard to imagine Wisconsin without shenanigans of some kind, especially political ones. Wisconsin has always been red and blue brawling drunk, like a fresh bruise around your eye.
But this. This was the hardest drunk punch yet. This was a knock-out. This gets you kicked out of the bar, everyone screaming at you on the way out. This is when the bouncer remembers your face. And when all the bartenders in the city warn each other about you, passing it along like $2 bills. This was a slow-motion shit show. You fucked up, Wisconsin.
Visit @cityofbridges_graphicnovel for post. It’s been one hell of a day. #justiceforWI