ehhh, the rot has been spreading for awhile. my ex-wife is from one of those tiny little places way up past Steven's Point where people will sometimes even identify as Vikings fans (gasp! i know, i was shocked and offended the first time i saw it, too.)

yeah, if i'm being honest, Wisconsin isn't all that different from the weather here in West Virginia - i grew up within spitting distance of Lake Michigan, so it was always a little cooler and windier than even a couple miles inland, but both essentially have only two real seasons. the difference* of course, is that…

wait until we get a couple drinks in us and start arguing about the merits of Sheepshead VS Euchre, especially when some of the Sheepshead people start in with their called-ace horseshit and don't even get me started on Two Black Queens, which is just overpowered bullshit. JOD partners 4 LIFE, yo!

and drink some beer to stay hydrated, for crissake!

don't worry - they'll play off their ass for another month or so before the whole goddamn bunch shit the bed sometime in August and then struggle to maybe just barely get into the postseason like they have for, shit, decades it seems.

well… DAMMIT. (i left Wisconsin before Scott Walker was a thing and Did Not Know They Did That.)

huh - i thought it was East Coasters who couldn't get into the Ivy Leagues, slumming at the UW. the ones who used to call us "townies" and get their ass busted when we'd drive down to bar crawl our way down State Street…

Mickey's Tavern on Willy Street in Madison is the only time i've ever been tempted by a Bloody Mary - they put so many olives and pickles and whatnot in that pint glass, it looks like half a salad. (i was really hungry and the girl who ordered it would only share the olives, not the pickle but i just can't handle…

reasonable people can disagree but i loved my Lincoln Towncar waaaay more than the Cadillac i replaced it with. the Caddy had a slight edge in the options it included but in all other ways (performance, handling, maintenance, longevity and just pure looks) the Lincoln was my preference.

you can't use Budweiser on a good Wisconsin brat - MILLER. or Pabst. or Schlitz or Huber or even the Beast, f'r crissake. (no, seriously, that Budweiser shit is made from rice. "A Can of America" my ass.)

it's all snouts and buttholes.

THAT description is pretty much the perfect brat delivery vehicle - i don't know where she found them, but my mother-in-law found exactly that type of bun for our wedding cookout last fall.

when i was a reporter i used to have to drive past a cannery that, about two or three times a year, would can saurkraut, with mountains of cabbages piled up outside the plant for better part of two weeks and the most foul aroma you can imagine polluting the air for miles around.

one of my childhood chums raised goats - those ornery bastards made for some of the most delicious tacos i ever had as a kid.

a summer or two back, i was visiting my folks and there was a grocery store in Manitowoc (Copps? Festival? don't remember which…) mixing in mushrooms and wild rice with a chicken brat - i'm not much for the fancy brat varieties but, damn, those were good brats.

my favorite way to use up leftover brats is to saute up a bunch of onions, green peppers and mushrooms, deglaze the pan with a dash of beer and then add in chopped up brats - simmer just long enough to warm the brat chunks up and season with a little chili powder and cumin. then serve in either leftover, slightly…

i grew up in Manitowoc and that sounds awesome.

i don't like andouille (it just tastes like liquid smoke to me) but you're not wrong about some Wisconsinites having a hard time with spices - i'm in my 40s and still break out in a sweat eating at Mexican or Indian restaurants. and i'm the equivalent of a Tappito guzzling maniac compared to my family - my old man…

i had a similar situation with chorizo, except for how i'm not a woman, wasn't pregnant and think it absolutely was food poisoning - "misery awaiting death" is pretty much the very description i would use.

played near, but not too near, a huge pot of chicken booyah boiling over a bonfire in a burning barrel.