One of my least favorite horror movie tropes is when the main character of a movie KNOWS about the monster or serial killer threatening everything he holds dear, but despite having compelling evidence nobody believes what he’s saying and writes him off as crazy.

Oh, he saw bunch of pale-looking goth guys with fangs hanging around a creepy looking house on the edge of town? Black cape and coffin sales have skyrocketed at historic levels? Townspeople seem to be disappearing and reappearing every few days with strange bite marks on their necks? There’s nothing to worry about! Stop being crazy! We need Halloween dollars!

There are always going to be people in horror movies who doubt what they’re being told, doubt what they’re being warned about, no matter how much evidence is pointing to a swarm of Draculas ready to wreak havoc. Of course, at the very end of the movie the protagonist finally convinces everyone about the Draculas, garlic and holy water are rounded up, and everyone is saved.

Sadly, I’m not sure there will be such a happy ending for what’s facing Philadelphia.

I’ve tried, I’ve really tried, Philadelphia. For the last several years I’ve warned all of you about the menace that is Diner en Blanc, the most idiotic social event Philadelphia has to offer. I’m like Kevin McCarthy in 1956’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers, running along a highway like a madman trying to warn anyone and everyone about what’s coming this week.

“YOU HAVE TO PAY MONEY FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF WEARING ALL WHITE AND EATING OUTSIDE! YOU HAVE TO BRING YOUR OWN FOOD! YOU HAVE TO LUG YOUR SHIT TO A CONFIDENTIAL AREA OF PHILADELPHIA AND PRETEND YOU’RE NOT BOTHERED BY THE HUMIDITY! IT SERVES NO PHILANTHROPIC PURPOSE AND EXISTS ONLY FOR SOCIAL MEDIA CLOUT! MY GOD PEOPLE, DOESN’T ANYONE BELIEVE ME THAT SOMETHING THIS STUPID CAN BE HAPPENING EVERY YEAR?!”

But nobody cares. Nothing is being done to stop the menace on our doorsteps. Philadelphia is being ruined one white place setting and rotten stuffed pepper from the South Street Acme olive bar at a time.

“Yummy, this one has a slightly pungent taste to it! That must be the cheese! Not the fact that it’s been baking in 110 degree heat and 5000% humidity on the blacktop of this whimsical Philadelphia parking lot. Oh hunny, take my picture with this gentleman with the handlebar mustache riding the penny farthing! What mirth!”

I just… I just can’t anymore.

A quick reminder for the uninitiated –

Diner en Blanc is a “high class” social event invented by the French in 1988 as a way to somehow make picnicking an even less enjoyable prospect. You know it’s international and CULTURED AS FUCK because it’s real title is “Le Diner en Blanc.” LE?! It’s THE in Philadelphia, alright fella? As in, Diner en Blanc is THE biggest crock of horseshit designed to dupe hardworking but slightly brainwashed Philadelphians out of $63 a pop.

And just a gentle reminder that this doesn’t benefit a damned thing in the city. Our schools are a mess, our highways are crumbling, our pets’ head are falling off, but this is the one event that can shut down the city for an entire and gives NOTHING BACK. No charity, no foundation, no cause. All of the ticket sales go to… what exactly? Where is the money going? Is it going to next year’s Diner en Blanc? A self-fulfilling and self-funding Lovecraftian horror? Is it being shipped back to France to keep their citizens FLUSH in weirdly thin cigarettes and mustache wax? WHERE IS IT ALL GOING?

And unless you think I’m overexaggerating this point, I’d like to point you to the official rules on Philadelphia’s Diner en Blanc website:

Oh hey, you want to raise some money for the shitty Philadelphia public schools or to help the homeless in the city? GO FUCK YOURSELF. Take your shitty white-pleated chinos, the $25 Van Heusen men’s dress shirt you bought from Kohls for 65% off that you sweat through an hour ago, and get HELL OUT. This is all about the memories and your own personal social media clout, you selfish bastard, not about improving anything. Oh the ennui of it all!

It’s not even fun! It’s not! You pay $63 a ticket for the privilege of lugging your own crap through an urban wasteland to eat the tepid, lukewarm food your significant other didn’t pack properly next to the site of the I-95 collapse or wherever the hell the event is this year.

And my god, the smell of thousands of people wearing white, all with horrendous swamp ass. I can’t imagine. Probably smells like a rancid combination of patchouli oil and Chris Christie’s seat at Cowboys’ Stadium.

And guess what? You want to bring a nice, cold beer or hard liquor to the event? Try again, loser, because this is a CLASSY event for CLASSY people. Just try to bring bourbon in, we double dare you. A 5’4 security guard named Kai will escort you out so fast it’ll make your head spin.

Oooh lovely! Sip your champagne out of a melted plastic flute! Hmmm, cancerous! You know what? Last I checked this is America, and if I want to drink beer or a half-full handle of Appleton Rum in a parking lot and call it a “staycation,” than that’s my prerogative.

What else can I say that hasn’t been said for the last three years? You either hate this event or you go to it every year and clap your hands along to the guy riding a unicycle playing a cover of Fun’s “We Are Young” on his lute.

The people who think this is a great idea are those who also feel the need to ask this type of question on the Diner en Blanc website.

What type of umbrella is acceptable? WHAT TYPE OF UMBRELLA? This is what people at Diner en Blanc are worried about? The event’s gestapo potentially kicking you out for bringing THE WRONG TYPE OF UMBRELLA? Donna S, I’d say any umbrella that keeps the rain off your head is what’s acceptable. If the event organizers give you shit for not bringing a bleached white parasol festooned with emu feathers, than maybe it’s time you take a long, hard, cold look at yourself in the mirror and what you consider to be a good time.

It’s all pointless. It really is. I’ve tried to tell all of you what a spectacular waste of time this is, but nobody gets on board. THE DRACULAS ARE COMING, PLEASE SOMEONE LISTEN TO ME. I’ve got my garlic, I’m just waiting on all of you to do the same.

But again, and I’m just throwing this out there like I did for the last three years, the solution to all of this is Diner en Heights at my house. $10 gets you a red solo cup with keg access and at least two slices of pizza from Ralph’s on Station Avenue. Judging from the popularity of the idea last time, we’ll move it out from the backyard to the street. Don’t worry about the neighbors, they’ll be as piss-drunk as the rest of the us.

See everyone there. If you wear white you will not be admitted.