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There are two institutions that have been a constant throughout my entire life which I've always been able to hang on to when the Orwellian PC storm kicks up its chilling, alienating, anti "folks like me" winds. One would be Fresh Air Barbecue between Flovilla and Jackson, Georgia; the other is the Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National.

Fresh Air put another restaurant in Macon, and the barbecue is not fit for a dog to eat. Also, the totalitarians at the health department have made them replace the woodchip floor with cement. If Augusta National invites a woman to join due to political pressure, then I think I'll just catch that plane to Tahiti for good, and swear off computers, newspapers, TV, and radio, not to mention conversations about contemporary life out in the world.

There's been a Fresh Air BBQ outside of Bogart for at least a decade, and it looked like it had been there a good bit longer than that. I never tried it, though.

But I always got a kick out of there sign, which had the words "Fresh Air" behind the pig's butt.