Noakland and Soakland square off in character war

They sit on either side of the concrete poker table that is Oakland.

“Are you ready for… They sit on either side of the concrete poker table that is Oakland.

“Are you ready for this?” South Oakland slurs.

“I was born ready,” North Oakland hisses.

The face-off between living in North Oakland and South Oakland is a cutthroat game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

South Oakland slouches in his chair. He is shirtless, filthy and hammered. His Blazers baseball cap is frayed at the edges, and his hair sticks out from underneath it. His green sweatpants appear to be dotted with some kind of paint. Old flip-flops almost cover his overgrown toenails, and his abs ripple beneath a healthy, impressive beer gut. His skin is shockingly pale, a little gray. There’s pizza sauce on his face. His gaze fixes upon his opponent, the self-described sophisticated-yet-funky North.

North Oakland is so damn cute with her knock-off Coach bag. It perfectly matches her brown, square-toed boots. She is smoking a Parliament Ultra Light. She wears a neat pink jacket with a pink and brown hat. She makes out with girls when she’s drunk.

Who knows what lies beneath this prudish North, with all of her old mansions and green trees? She must have come from some sort of Eden-like place, a semi-jaded-but-still-smiling utopia. The smell of Febreze and Formula 409 linger in her hair.

The cards are dealt. The South and North check what they’ve got and start the betting.

“I bet Bootlegger’s and Pittsburgh Cafe,” the South asserts.

“I’ll see you a Luna, and raise you Little Nippers,” the North counters.

“Call.”

South Oakland throws Say Cheese into the pot. It intensifies. North Oakland has relative cleanliness on her side, but can it beat South Oakland’s prime social locations? Everyone knows North Oaklanders have no friends. Besides, even if they did, who would ever climb the hill to visit? No one, that’s who, unless you offer them vodka.

A new hand is dealt. The stakes are raised. South Oakland bets a ho-train of freshman girls, apparently about 12 of them, before the weight gain. North Oakland, in an unprecedented show of skin, throws out Anthony’s Lounge. This is getting serious. South Oakland bets Semple Street in its entirety. The North answers with Craig.

All is silent. Both players take into account the possible losses and gains. They stare at one another, unsure of whether to copulate or start slap fighting. South Oakland touches North Oakland’s thigh. North bats her eyelashes, and then kicks him in the groin.

Then South makes his move. He bets Antoon’s, White Hen and Rite Aid, the holy trinity of Atwood Street. North Oakland’s only chance is to answer back with Giant Eagle and New China Inn. It’s a tough decision.

South Oakland raises the stakes with Gene’s Place (formerly Denny’s), CVS and three panhandlers. North Oakland will undoubtedly fold.

“I’ll throw in Jesus Christ Church of Latter-Day Saints, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Newman Center, the First United Baptist Church of Pittsburgh and the Church of Christian Science,” North says, slapping her cards on the table in a shocking display of higher power.

The tension mounts. South Oakland knows he has a lot to look at, but North Oakland has God on her side. South Oakland shows a weaker hand. North Oakland — and God — win.

But wait, what’s this? South Oakland is … South Oakland is … South Oakland is picking up his chair and throwing it at North Oakland. The North falls to the ground in a clamor of pink fuzz. South Oakland regains his balance and goes back to his case of Natural Ice, unsure of what is going on. It’s a sad day for North Oaklanders everywhere. South Oakland, with his audacity and bad judgment, wins the game.

It’s been an historic day for North and South Oakland. While the North fought politely, cleanly and with a healthy dose of God, South Oakland was victorious. North Oakland did get her revenge, however, when she told Squirrel Hill and Shadyside that South Oakland caught rats from Oakliffe.

Rachel Chunko lives in North Oakland. Tell her she has no friends at rpc973@pitt.edu.