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  • Chuck Sudo Gets Ridiculous...

    The product of an unholy union between a Greek Good Humor man and a Brach's candy plant worker, Chuck Sudo grew up on Chicago's Northwest Side with an overactive imagination, ready access to candies no one likes and mispronouncing "gyro." He tells other people's stories for a living as a journalist and is currently making the world of commercial real estate weird for Chuck's byline has appeared in most publications of good or ill repute in Chicago, and he's a former editor-in-chief of Chicagoist. When he feels like leaving his Bridgeport apartment, he's also game for telling his own tales around town and is humbled by the chance to cross "performing at You're Being Ridiculous" off his bucket list.

    Three Things You May Not Know About Chuck...

    1) My mother would slip $20 into her birthday and Christmas cards to me, along with handwritten notes to "treat myself to something special," well into my forties. I asked her to stop a couple years back. Now she buys me Bod Man body spray gift packages — including the free car air freshener — to celebrate the birth of Jebus and the start of a new solar rotation. I'm hoping for the cash-filled card this Christmas.

    2) During my final year in the Navy I ran afoul of the eponymous owner and proprietor of Thunder's Tavern in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Thunder was also a licensed bail bondsman and he had this wonderful racket where he would get military servicemen blind stinking drunk, have his bouncers kick the shit out of them and arrested, then bail them out. Nice work if you can get it. Anyway, I was a smartass and loved to tell him how the bar seemed like "Porky's" in real life, which didn't sit well with Thunder. (He may have also detested that I was seeing his niece.) So one night, Thunder offers me free drinks. I declined. He then asked if I would play a game of chess with him. I declined again. Then he rephrased the question by pulling out a gun. We wound up playing chess for six hours to a Bocephus soundtrack, came to an understanding that I would never step into his bar or see his niece again, and he let me gorge on the "last call survivors" breakfast buffet before leaving.

    3) I grew up a Cubs fan in a family of White Sox fans and wanted one day to live east of Halsted Street, walking distance from the ballpark. And I achieved that goal. But that park is Sox Park, I'm a White Sox fan now and my family started rooting for the Cubs just as the team was rebuilding. Fate is a cruel mistress.