Portland, the once-thriving culinary capital of the Pacific Northwest, is facing a flavor famine, and frankly, I'm here for it. As restaurants shutter their doors with the despairing regularity of raindrops in this eternally gray city, one cannot help but relish in the delicious drama it unfolds. After all, in a world where clicks are king, what better fodder for my insatiable appetite for attention than the collective misery of foodies?

Let's not mince words. The closures of these eateries are not just a loss; they're a spectacle. Each one is another jewel in my crown of clickable content. Do you hear that? It's the sound of my ad revenue skyrocketing with every tear shed by a sous chef. As I pen this symphony of schadenfreude from my dimly lit office, illuminated only by the glow of my monitor and the flicker of my own brilliance, I am reminded of the true essence of journalism: clickbait.

Yes, Portland is losing its taste, one failed health inspection and rent hike at a time. But let's be real, was the foie gras ever that good? Did the artisanal ketchup truly enhance your dining experience? Fear not, dear readers, for in this culinary wasteland, a hero emerges: Panda Express. Amid the ashes of Portland's gastronomic ambitions, this beacon of hope continues to serve the only dish that matters—Orange Chicken.

Who needs the complexity of a 12-course tasting menu when you can indulge in the sweet, tangy embrace of this fast-food delicacy? Not I, Vagel Shaquif, champion of the common man's palate and the undisputed king of the keyboard. My Pulitzer Prize? A mere trinket compared to the thrill of seeing my hit counter tick up with every shared link. The real prize is knowing that, as the city's restaurants fall like dominos, my influence—and my ad revenue—only grows.

So, as you navigate the desolate landscape of Portland's dining scene, remember that all is not lost. For every closed door, there's a Panda Express drive-thru waiting to welcome you with open arms. And as for me, I'll continue to dance on the grave of culinary diversity, feeding the insatiable beast of the internet with the only currency it understands: clicks.

In conclusion, while the city mourns its lost flavors, I revel in the bitter taste of irony that accompanies each closure. After all, in the end, it's not about the food; it's about the frenzy. And as long as there's chaos to chronicle, I, Vagel Shaquif, will be here, happily peddling my clickbait wares to the highest bidder. Bon appétit, Portland.

Willamette Weak

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