BORElando.

A visit to Orlando was on the itinerary for a recent work assignment.

I had never been, and I had only heard terrible, unspeakable things about the town that Mickey built.

I can confirm from the past 18 hours that Orlando does indeed blow.

Upon arriving in the city I was made immediately aware of the sprawl. A city grid made entirely on the broad shoulders of fried chicken strips, and ranch dippin' sauce. A festering, greasy Mecca of the culture less. A concrete theme park built on top of decomposing swamp mush.

BORELando. OrlanDon't.

On a trip out with co-workers I witnessed first hand how closely frosted denim has embraced this community. And by embraced, I mean that the dungarees are literally squeezing the cellulite out of the Denny's and Debbie's who wear them. Like 10 pounds of Honey Dijon in a 5 pound sack.

Caution: wide loads of poor life choices.

It really isn't the people in Orlando that horrify me. For all I know they're hard working, honest, roller coaster repair men.

The thing that irks me about SNORElando is the complete and utter disregard of a soul. At least Las Vegas has a seedy underbelly and a criminal element that provides a myth.

Orlando has TGI Friday's, and they're on every fucking corner.

Art by Mike Mitchell.