The Buffa-Ho Blog

The Buffa-ho and the Buffa-bro…. are fat.

You can blame all sorts of things, from inclimate weather, to the absolute necessity of a Labatt blue (light) in the left hand, and in the right? An extra hot chicken wing.

Yes Buffalo, you promote and create this idea that it’s ok to be fat and stupid, because that’s how things that don’t hibernate in the winter act. Bears are dumb.

Wait, bears hibernate.

You drink.

The best part is somehow you think going out in a gray hoodie, cargo jeans from Old Navy, and work boots will get you laid. And thing is…

they will.

Somehow, your red face, light goatee and baldhead make you desirable here in Buffalo. In any other city, you’re white trash, a walking social mistake. Can you imagine a guy like that getting girls in Los Angeles? Portland? Austin? New York City? Fuck, let’s go international: Nigeria, France, England, Spain?

No, fat fucks do not get laid, unless it’s socially acceptable, or it’s genetically engrained into the local population to PROMOTE being fat, stupid and unhealthy.

Let’s examine a general diet of a buffa-bro:

Breakfast:

-       1 large Tim Horton’s Coffee, Double-Double (2 large creamers, 2 large helpings of sugar) and a toasted bagel with cream cheese (any type will do) OR a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwhich! YUM

Lunch:

-       Subway? Mcdoald’s? Burger King? Mighty Taco? Taco Bell? It’s got to be quick, because all the guys [not] working on the highway are hungry.

Dinner:

-       La Nova, John’s, Just Pizza, local pizza joint? Duff’s? Whatever it is, your kids want half cheese only (your daughter is suddenly the youngest vegetarian ever, fucking liberals!)  It’s Chicken Wings, Pizza and that fresh 30 rack of BLUE! WOOOO!!!!!

-       And hockey. I don’t know how it’s part of the Buffa-bro diet, but it’s absolutely necessary…like, they don’t eat without it on. Or other testosterone pumped activities. You know…healthy guys playing sports while you eat…except the Bills; they’re as overweight as you.

No dessert, pal. You girlfriend tried giving you some head, but your Prostate is acting up again, and you can’t get a hard one. No dessert, you drunk bastard. Maybe try peeing before you pass out nex- oh never mind.

Allentown: Where Buffa-Bro’s go to die.

The local Buffa-bro lives an uncertainly long or short life, making what we refer to, as “The Great Pilgrimage” somewhere between it’s 18th and 65th birthdays.  Weary from the trials of the great Chippewa Strip, or newly transplanted from the Crack infested Niagara Falls at a nubile age, we find the Buffa-bro on its last party legs, journeying slowly to its final resting place: Allentown.  Two blocks north of the “Chip Strip.”

Yes, this longer, quieter strip of unique “lounges” is as classy as buffalo gets for bars and restaurants. It has all the standard requirements that Buffalo desires: over-stuffed bars, groups of disfigured patrons pushing against each other like it’s the halls of high school all over again ( I guess gratuitous male-to-male contact outside of gay bars is what is the in thing to do atll the time between “Straight” men.)  It has places to puke (the street and the floor of the Pink) bartenders who know more about that elusive Apple-tini from Applebee’s than actually mixed drinks like an ACTUAL martini, giblet, and don’t understand more than “redbull vod”, “cran vod”, and “gin and tonic.” It has it’s very own Jim’s Steakout! The pinnacle of buffalo cuisine! Not to mention the local Canadian classic: Blue or Blue light. In Allentown, you can get a Stella Atrois, but you can also get two Blue Lights for the same price. It’s your call, Buffa-bro, it’s your call.

It’s not all bad, I mean you could hang out with your alcoholic father and his co-workers at Mother’s or Stillwater, walk by boutiques full of dresses you could buy your girlfriend if that money didn’t go to your ex-wife’s child support.  There are places for your little brother’s band to get his first and only gigs, and places for you to get wasted and listen to your teacher’s band and maybe if you’re lucky your girl won’t hit on him and his late night tuba skills. It’s not like you can compete, he’s got your grades, sweet tuba skills, and all you can do is an oil change. You don’t even give oral, not that I would either, it’s a small town and I’ve heard the same things you  have.

I mean, this is it. Allentown. This is as classy and as adult buffalo goes, unless you go to Lewistown or some shantytown like Newfane and hang out on the outskirts of civilization. But then the inbreeds will eat you, and the buffa-bros and ho’s are full of the much desired “empty carbs” inbreeds need to continue reproducing with their 2^nd cousins. Stay in buffalo, buffa-bro’s and buffa-ho’s, your Mom’s house in Amherst or Grand Island is as close as you need to get to the “Redneck North.”

But you’re not much of an upgrade, so it’s not like the transition would be difficult, and you’ll probably get that every present 3^rd DUI before you get to Lewiston.

Stay in Allentown, really, it’s such an understated and classy place compared to the mile-a-minute thrills of the “Chip Strip.” Seriously, you have a Jim’Streakout what more could you want? Class, actual lounges that don’t have to resort to making you relive in public the music you hated with “90’s music dance party?” I mean, it’s not like you do anything more than spaz out anyways, learning how to dance to Beep bop jazz or doing more than an urban booty shake on your buffa-bro (the only move you can make with cellulite ass, I can see the fat lines) while he makes a Jersey Shore reference, the now classic “Arm Bump” (I think it’s copyrighted, I’m not sure) to his herd of Buffa-bro’s staring at the dying old man’s arm delicious candy…well, delicious candy in the sense of the lollipop than you brother dropped on the cat and re-wrapped for you kind of candy.

It’s not like you can handle class, as much as you want to, buffa-ho’s and bro’s, you want it, but you can’t fit in your prom dress anymore, and that’s not classy, either are jeans and  top clearly out of fashion and picked out from one the many dying strip malls: You’re 40, get a black dress, it’s slimming and sophisticated even if you’re not. Most fancy foods are EXOTIC and EXPENSIVE. Welfare and Food Stamps doesn’t cover that, neither does a management position at Delta-sonic.

I guess you’re stuck with 90’s night and underage girls in Allentown.

Woo-hoo.

To the Buffa-ho/ about Buffa-bro’s

You’re all I have. And you really bring out the asshole in me. So, I guess I’m just an asshole because of you, Buffalo and everything inside of you. Really, I’m resorting to blogs to gain your attention, how sad is that? It’s not like your general population (or the general population. Period.) Reads anything more than Twilight. And if they do, I’m sure you didn’t digest most of the words they read in that book anyway. You know, general population of Buffa-ho’s and buffa-bro’s, you could use those same words you read when speaking to someone, one of these days.

Speaking of talking, I noticed your voice, Buffa-ho, is somewhere between “Valley Girl,” “Jersey City,” and flurry of “uhh, what?’s.” I’m going to call it “trashy.” you sound Trashy and I can’t take you seriously.

But it’s not your fault, intelligence isn’t looked upon highly in Buffalo, most of the guys here can’t understand anything beyond “GO BILLS,” how much beer they can drink (that’s mathematics believe it or not!) And how much that DWI is going to cost them anyways and what their rights are on the ticket…if they can read.

Trust me, I’ve been there I’ve been that guy, you know, the Buffa-bro… I live in Buffalo remember? It is sort of like living and Africa and thinking you’re not likely to get HIV. It’s pretty sad how much I have done that is in generic Buffa-bro style. This is me trying to get rid of the stench and the habits. But I’ll probably go on drinking and awkwardly stand around groups of guys wearing skinny jeans and over sized flannel shirts with the facial hair of one young teenage boy (combined) while we all look around apathetically, at all the sweet, sweet, over tapped ass we surrounded ourselves with tonight.

Of course, if I didn’t want that, I’d throw a shout out to my AFFLICTION shirt wearing brothers. The worst part of these pseudo-Jersey boys, is that they are mostly Polish. and they hate pasta. And they don’t slick back their hair in any uniform way, because they only get the same hair cut from high school.

But Buffa-ho, let’s get back to you. You know what really bothers me more than your habits, or your irresponsibility, or your laziness?

Your false sincerity.

When you cry crocodile tears about your last man-pole leaving you with yet another kid, and your girlfriends have left you on the Chippewa strip, and your shoes have broken and you want sympathy, but really you’re DRUNK and I can’t take you seriously, because without the drink, you lack any emotional setting beyond BITCH, buffa-ho. I didn’t break your shoes or leave you on the street. Your friends did. Your Buffa-bro gave you a kid, not me. Stop crying. Those are your bad choices in friends and relationships. Not mine.

Also, it’s cold and I can see your vagina hanging out. I like the vagina, but it’s really gross when it’s stuck between cellulite. Also, don’t get pissed off because you eat nothing but Jim’s Steakout every night. That’s why you have cellulite and that why you can only get divorced absentee fathers of five that smell like the guy who rides the single fucking rail in Buffalo, for fun. His AFFLICTION shirt/Flannel shirt cost him more than all the drink he pumped into you tonight.

buffa-ho, you’re in not position to hate.

Neither am I, but I have a camera, and a blog.

and I’m sober.