OFFICIAL ROAST REPORT
We're sorry. Actually, no we're not.
D.C. turned mumbo sauce from a carryout staple to Hamilton restaurant menu fodder faster than you could say "food truck gentrification." Now you pay $14 for wings with the same sauce that costs 30 cents at Jerry's, but at least the plexiglass barrier has been replaced with exposed brick walls.
You've got carpeted subway floors, escalators that take 30 minutes to ride, and constant Metro fires, but somehow everyone's an expert on foreign policy. Half the city can't figure out why you stand right and walk left, but they're convinced they could fix healthcare in a PowerPoint deck.
You went from being the cultural heartbeat of Black America to a place where trust fund kids cosplay as government interns while actual Washingtonians get priced out to Prince George's County. Now the only thing chocolate about D.C. is the overpriced artisanal brownies at Georgetown cupcake shops.
The Commanders changed their name more times than Congress changes its mind, and somehow that's still more consistent than your baseball team's playoff chances. At least Alex Ovechkin gave you one championship so you could pretend sports matter here between arguing about municipal budgets.
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