Fall City: Last Refuge of the White

About twenty years ago, a city died.
It was called Kent.
South of Seattle, Kent was once a bastion of real white trash. You could almost summon the back wood yokel beat of Alabama on a hot day.
But those days are gone. Kent has been ghettoized by that bastard Greg Nichols and gentrification, for good or ill, moved the Seattle streets to Kent.
By no means do I applaud white trash and poo poo any other. But that distinctive Kent way of life is now gone: Eagles for Jay Z, Tough Skins for FUBU, and Hardware stores for nail salons.
But one city has kept the trash white: Fall City.
Just outside of Issaquah, you will find a quaint town of 1,638 people that are more than willing to be your friend, if only to sell you meth or tell you about the local bar that used to sell meth and now "Would rather you eat than drink in it" in pure disgust.
Yes, Fall City is showing the signs of cleaning up the Appalachians, but the heart of Lawrence Welk still beats on.
A golf course sits outside of the town and that is what brought me out there. We decided to explore the town's bars after an hour of driving balls into right angles.
The first bar we entered was the Last Frontier, which boasts a log cabin style complete with an outdoor deck furnished in what look like acorn shells. The bathroom is a tribute to the old Bowling Alley days of good old pictures of naked or half naked women. In this case, a picture of Michelle Quan with breasts the size of dirigibles. Outside there's a condom machine and an outhouse set up to complete any biker's night after a long day contracting for "the man".
As the bikers poured in, we realized how queer we now looked compared to the men of leather. That should make no logical sense, but here in Fall City…
We had sat by two women, but soon they were joined by a man, then three men, then there were enough men to drive the point home: we weren't getting laid.
The man who showed up first was the most vocal of the lot and began telling the story of his buddy who had found out his girlfriend's son had been shaving his pubes with the man's beard trimmer. This sounded like a good old fashion yarn to begin with, but then the gravity of the man's voice changed when he began to worry just what his buddy was going to do to the pube shaving kid.
Pretty soon talk started moving from how funny this was to how tragic it was going to be if the man decided to harm or even kill the kid.
They kept referring to the man as the Bond Man, as he had plenty of bail bonds open on him.
Then, we were warned not to get jokey about the situation, as he had told it to us as an aside, because his buddy would probably stomp us.
An hour later the man never showed up and it was assumed he was in jail for killing the pube shaver.
After another pitcher, the man's oration went from pube shaving to politics and we were informed on everything from Obama's Momma pants to Al Gore's carbon offsets.
As a liberal, I supposed I should be more pissed, but I haven't been too happy with Obama lately, however my reasons are a 180 from his.
What really pissed me off was the man was a contractor, and as any good American knows, contractors are the lowest scum to walk the planet.
But, far be it from me to pass judgement on a man who is making National Geographic jokes about the President's wife.
Yes, it gets that bad in Fall City.
I casually made a bet with my friend to see how long it would take for the word "Nigger" to come up.
About 20 minutes.
We soon left.
The next bar was…like I said we were two pitchers in, so I don't really remember. However, the first thing we heard when we walked in was "She's gonna get raped."
I looked out the window and sure enough, there was a young woman with tits that could cut glass walking by.
"Excuse me?" I asked the waitress.
"She's gonna get raped."
"Why do you say that?"
"Look at her. Walking around with those fake tits sticking out. You know she dances in the city." The city, I believe, is anywhere outside of Fall City. "She was in here with her Mom. The Mom was teaching her how to massage her tits."
"Her Mom had fake tits too?"
"Both of them. You have to massage them when you get them or they'll turn hard."
"Ah." I ordered Budweiser in a bottle and got a can. My friend was getting drunk and I feared he would push the wait staff too far as he ordered nachos and made fun of the fact that they were microwaving the chicken.
I went out for a smoke.
Two bikinis came walking down the street, followed by a maelstrom of hooting and hollering.
To which the girls replied "We're only 16!" To a man who was probably in his 40s.
I returned to the bar and my friend was eating his nachos and commenting on how the chicken tasted like dog.
I leaned into him and said "Don't push it."
This did little to nothing in the way of shutting him up.
The waitress then told us how McDonald's hamburgers didn't taste right in Mexico and how a local told her it was because it was dog.
I then explained that I had heard once that dog tasted like pork.
"So does human." Came from the end of the bar.
It was the local drunk woman who had been in there most of the night drinking what looked like red wine and vodka.
"You've had human?" I asked.
"No, but that's what I've heard."
I squinted, shook my head and asked "From who?"
"A guy."
"We gotta go." I said to my friend.
A jello shot later and I was on the road.
Will I be back to Fall City?
You bet.
Will Fall City be opening a Red Robin and a Hot Topic?
You bet, but I'm sure Duvall will still be around to attract the last of the white trash.