Retrograde-fil-A-Hole, Ga. - More or less, mild and crazy cause why guy Chick-fil-A President Dan Cathy publicly aired his anything but easily digested (to anyone with half a brain, and/or, perhaps, anything close to an overcooked 1/4 pounder, with cheese, and, of course, fries with that, otherwise lodged in their gullet, and/or, upon request, collectively sitting in someplace or thereabouts for most if not all of their nearest available trip and fall had to be there duration) full and complete support for "Biblical families" during one of his first, eagerly awaited, niche-based-tested/clueless flock of like-minded heavy thinkers-approved "Deaf Ears Only" interviews (otherwise recklessly demonstrated about his person during a well choreographed series of tug this/tag along taffy pulls, so to speak) since his earlier awkward comments (misspelled words and severely lengthy delays caused by too much mouth breathing not included) created a firestorm of controversy regarding gay marriage, and, surprisingly enough, whether or not he - or someone answering to the name of Milton Berle - "rang the door bell, didn't he?" But, that's another story.
Meanwhile, Cathy informed Buzzraldo Patel-Epstein of Atlanta TV station WXIA in an interview - reportedly to have been personally carried out and taken down (plus, subsequently used to mop up an unsightly spill, or two) via an otherwise inappropriately fondled supply of Colorforms, a you know what load of white (Surprise! Surprise!) construction paper, and, apparently, a 64-pack of recently purchased Crayolas, otherwise intermingled with an as yet to be determined supply of high end Chanel Stylo Yuex Waterproof eyeliner - that was apparently unleashed to a, more or less, disinterested on-line public at large (typically outfitted in slovenly fashion in a variety of ill-fitting pajamas, unwashed t-shirts, and/or no-name sweats previously worn by any number of female members of their own particular shameless families otherwise still in slouch proof possession of a wide load ass end) on Wednesday (http://on. 6 7/8's.com/YAWNhtv) that, well, you know, families, extra-large portions of non-nourishing food, and, oh yeah, checks that don't bounce, are decidedly important to "those of us who are concerned about being able to hang on to our heritage, and, of course, hired help we just barely pay, and never think twice about ever supplying with any sort of semi-livable - until death takes over - medical plan."
He also went on to add and subtract in willy nilly fashion even more of a lest we forget claim by confirming yet another full-tilt belief stirring around in his foggy (with a chance of drooling) mindset, when he said, "we support and totally dig Biblical families - especially their swords, loose flowing undergarments, and open toe footwear - and, thus, they've always been a part of all that. Our heritage, that is, even though it now is so was, if only just because."
Cathy made these decidedly jawdropping (see: mouth breathing) comments, while stunningly outfitted in a pale blue chiffon caftan from the Paul Lynde Collection, during his weekly ear lobe massage-a-thon provided by a bevy of hand-picked Bollywood extras otherwise known as Gita 1 through 12, at some point during this past weekend at an altogether poorly planned event - a dramatic reading by Oscar winning actor Christopher Walken of the local Pennysaver - at his family's palatial (somewhat temporarily marred, on the official beautiful home scale, by a '61 Mercury Comet on blocks in the front yard, and a monkey playing pinochle with a llama and TV/comedy club funny boy Jeff Foxworthy on the back porch patio) ranch-styled compound deep in the emptiest heart (and mind) of Georgia.
As earlier noted, Cathy previously created a you know what storm that quickly resulted in both a high degree of hot and bothered protest and, of course, a significant amount of carelessly exhibited infantile-like support all during this past (otherwise uneventful, except for moviegoers actually staying semi-awake during an Adam Sandler film, and, allegedly, one comic performing at the Comedy Store in West Hollywood who didn't laugh uproariously at his own outsourced joke concerning an erection that lasted more than four hours in the semi-privacy of their own left hand during a US Airway flight to Miami) summer, of sorts, due to his continuously unsolicited comments opposing same-sex marriage.
All of which resulted in long lines of strange but true believers of such see nothing but evil clap trap all around formed outside Chick-fil-A restaurants on a designated "appreciation day," while numerous over-the-edge/hop the fence opponents sucker counter punched with "kiss-ins" by same-sex couples generally overly well groomed, and not wearing socks, or not so you'd notice, or even expect, especially if you admittedly weren't already happy to be there.
Cathy's father, C. Amos Carson Skidmore (long rumored to be someone's - I'm not saying who's - had to go there inspiration for the eventual altogether human construction of the late Bea Arthur), started the Atlanta-based Chick-fil-A company in 1967, as an otherwise naturally induced (particularly with his already well conditioned - via plenty of behind the shed practice - left hand) in-house/in-family business enterprise built on the somewhat questionable legacy of his own great grandfather, Leo "Muskrat" Muscadotell's gotta to get up to bet down initial pre-Civil War start-up plantation-based company, Slave-whip-A-Day.
Meanwhile, any ongoing concerns that Cathy's ceremoniously it-canning of any previously undetectable compassion for somewhere out there folks eager to join an everywhere else world of heteros in their perpetually fun, and/or forever ongoing, soon to be divorced parade, of sorts, had to be shelved - along with any pressing (where it counts most) nagging worries centered around the current Chick-fil-A boss top dog's thought to be lifelong sense of gender confusion, due in no small part (expect the most obvious) to, not only to his somewhat questionable last name, but also on account of the fact that, for whatever reason, during much of his reportedly high wire youth, his totally insensitive father only addressed him as "Dora The Almost But Not Quite Magnificent" - until, well, either another round of drinks were served to him and his usual rat pack entourage of Maybe Yes Men, and/or, his just painted toe nails had dried considerably, following, of course, their colorful paint job supplied by a crack team of ultra-friendly fetish enthusiasts on temporarily leave from their respective apprenticeships at a variety of Atlanta-based "social clubs," and/or, state subsidized bureaus/establishments specializing in voter registration, faith oriented tattooing, and, whenever possible, after hours carousing of the all night till early morning kind.
Or, something like that, only more so.