Have you ever fallen in love with a place that’s hard to get to?
Current and previous residents of Bloomington, Indiana — home of the ascendant, nationally ranked Indiana Hoosiers football team — spent the weekend of October 19 clamoring to celebrate IU’s success with the creature comforts of beloved local restaurant “Shalooby’s.”
Positioned right in the middle of Kirkwood Avenue, IU/Bloomington’s signature strip of bars and pubs, Shalooby’s is the well-known spot for gathering before or after the big game. Some residents boast it’s the best 24-hour restaurant in town, even if they can’t survive the hellish and snaking line to get inside for an exclusive seat.
Shalooby’s is also completely fake.
Last weekend, I inadvertently unleashed a monster of a meme on the IU football community — one that has exponentially grown, and has no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Somehow, someway, a little white lie of mine drowned (nay, “soaked”) Indiana University’s entire Homecoming weekend. My brain full of worms and Photoshop projects that should land me in a mental asylum inadvertently drove the entire IU cultural zeitgest for a weekend.
Most liked it. Some love it. A few absolutely hate it. But everyone started with the same thought:
“What the fuck is Shalooby’s?”
Before my cursed cranium can cause any more real-life problems stemming from absolute fiction, I want to take a moment (hence, this explanatory article you’re reading) to fully address, confess, redress, and obsess over the weekend that birthed the Shalooby’s legend.
Telling Lies on the Internet
At some point in the last few years, I indulged myself in a terrible-but-addicting habit: workshopping small-scale, relatively harmless mistruths to post about online.
The current digital landscape involves lots of culture wars about everything, whether they’re actual opinions from living people or contrived political angles from propaganda bots. It’s surprisingly easy to spurn inauthentic or undeserved outrage on the internet. Us digital laypeople have no control over this reality, and we must navigate it carefully.
Personally? I wanted to see what it would be like to be on the other side for once.
Get people all riled up over nothing of substance.
So, around April 2023 — with inflation causing the cost of household essentials to skyrocket — I suggested that “real patriots” would be painting rocks for Easter, not eggs. A few months later, I claimed that they’re making the holes in Swiss cheese too big. After that? Kroger is going to start charging you to park there.
The secret to a good lie is twofold:
- It must be a claim that nobody has heard before — therefore, it’s hard to immediately dispute
- It has to be just fake enough to seem unusual, but not a completely implausible scenario
This combination of “I can’t entirely refute that” and “it’s not totally impossible” makes even the absurd immediately accessible.
“It’s going to cost $15 an hour to park at Kroger this winter,” someone might say. “Even if you’re running in to get milk, they’re going to charge you the full hour.”
Is this real? No.
Is it possible to imagine as the cost of groceries skyrockets? Definitely.
I find so much pleasure in this activity that I routinely drive these “jokes” into the ground on my personal Twitter account. Like any effective piece of propaganda, the idea seems more true each time it is repeated and thus validated. Long-time friends and online acquaintances have begun to associate this sort of digital gaslighting as a benign joke of mine, and they parrot the punchlines to get in on the joke as well.
And why not? When the Massive Powers That Be are trying to influence elections and interfere with global relations, it can be fun, if not liberating, to create a well-meaning joke that acknowledges the doublespeak and “fake news” hallmark that has defined the last decade of American life.
Arguably, it’s an act of rebellion. Of pride.
Okay, the academic part of this article is done now. Feel free to open a beer and relax, as now you have the proper framework for learning about a fictional restaurant — and why people might have found such joy in propagating its lie.
Fucking Around Before Work
Last Thursday, I was researching pictures of “IU Homecoming” to include in slides of my 300-level writing class at the university. Google tossed me an AI-written article from “TripJive” detailing mostly inaccurate information for the weekend — with humorously undercooked “pictures” to boot.
The bloated representations of my alma mater and local city were worth a chuckle, so I decided to share the laughs with Hoosier Nation in preparation of that Saturday’s incoming showdown beatdown against Nebraska. And hey, maybe it would help someone visiting campus find a good thing to attend, even if they needed to check a date or two.
But then we noticed, among the septic pile known as AI copywriting, a piece of “information” about Bloomington that had no basis in reality.
“Shalooby’s: A great place to chill with friends and enjoy comforting food.”
That’s it. No further information.
A place we’ve never heard of, with no similar name in town, with no specifics as to cuisine or ambiance.
Bloomington, Indiana is not a new college town. Both the campus and the city were established more than 200 years ago, and some actual iconic establishments (like Nick’s English Hut) have existed for nearly a century. Hoosiers were heartbroken this summer when intergenerational local staples The Irish Lion and Cafe Pizzaria closed their doors for good.
Like any contemporary city, we get the trendy fast-casual and bowl-centric chain restaurants that come and go. Your Chipotles and Jimmy John’s booths of the world. But to be a truly remarkable, beloved, important part of IU/Bloomington culture usually means to have a history spanning decades.
And Shalooby’s has no history in Bloomington.
Or anywhere else, for that matter.
So…I decided to create one for it.
You know, a little white lie. Because I can.
Because I’m already being lied to with malevolence, and I want a lie that’s fun, goddamnit.
The Birth of Shalooby’s
Every good punchline benefits from a visual, so I wanted to put my outdated graphic design skills to use and illustrate a “Shalooby’s” concept.
I didn’t (and still don’t) want to subject an existing Bloomington business to any kind of harassment, so I kept two things in mind:
- Find a piece of recognizable vacant real estate in the downtown area
- Make it bear no resemblance to any existing restaurants nor their signature menu items (Nick’s “Biz Fries,” the Bluebird’s “Dirty Bird” cocktail, etc)
I ended up choosing the recently shuttered Cafe Pizzaria (RIP) location, since it’s almost exactly between downtown and the IU campus. Apply a mask here, select some colors there, make a new sign or two, and PRESTO! The fictional Bloomington tradition took its first breaths as a comprehensible joke.
I deliberately made a few things stand out so that no reasonable people would mistake my markup of Shalooby’s as legitimate — even and especially with it taking the place of a pizza place that has been nothing else but that for the past 60+ years.
There’s the giant “SHALOOBY’S” marquee that obviously looks like a bad Photoshop, as well as a letter board (in the middle of a parking spot) advertising the grossest food I could possibly think of — a “Soaked Reuben” for the less-than-thrilling price point of $17.99.
Toss in a cameo appearance from local ambulance chaser attorney Ken Nunn and ambulance sender IU president Pam Whitten, and the rest is history. Clean and simple joke. “Shalooby’s is right here, didn’t you know?”
Another tweet of mine advertised their “64-ounce cocktails” and “carrot rings,” furthering the absurdism.
This all got the reaction a standard Photoshop shitpost will get on Twitter — a few dozen likes, maybe some pity retweets from friends — but it otherwise felt pretty benign by the time I closed my laptop and headed to Franklin Hall to teach my afternoon writing class.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the joke would inevitably join the graveyard of prior mistruths I had posted, occasionally resurrected for a cheap laugh to little fanfare but my own.
Hunger Pains
It wasn’t too long after class ended that I noticed a few IU-centric accounts begin to post their own narrative on Shalooby’s while I was busy instructing.
I owe IU athletics coverage account @crimsonquarry a hat-tip for spreading the first word, which seemingly got the ball rolling. Their latent acknowledgement that Schalooby’s is not a real tradition encouraged the ironic masses online to adopt it as one.
Some people tagged me, some people did not. But each comment was by somebody who clearly got the joke I was going for. I credit longtime online buddy @VT_Ben with the first additional riff.
Prophetically, some of the first responses from followers indicated that they were already able to envision Shalooby’s as a metaphysical establishment.
Other members of Hoosier Nation began to submit their “memories” of the location, each a subtle nod that we’re all lying through our fucking teeth.
Other users, like @DidIndianaWin, began to submit their own visuals and reinterpretations of the restaurant created by AI slop — by using even more AI slop to drive the point home, and inviting celebrities to see Shalooby’s for themselves!
Within hours, somebody — I still don’t know who — created an official, verified branded account for this bullshit eatery and began to give it a distinct, irony-poisoned online voice while I was busy taking care of my own personal responsibilities.
And so on.
What started as a quick cigarette break of a joke was turning into a dumpster fire — one that would soon ignite and spread among the entirety of Indiana University’s Twitter communities.
On Homecoming Weekend, no less. So tons of returning and distant alumni got in on the joke.
Some folks even uploaded pictures to infer they there were actually at Shalooby’s.
Again, I’m used to posting deliberately framed lies for reaction online. This also means that I have a degree of agency in the matter. Being the sole arbiter of telling lies means I can dictate when the lying should stop.
That degree of control quickly left my life on Thursday night. By Friday morning, I was beginning to see that the joke had a life of its own.
Even IU reporters and local pizzerias were getting in on the fun.
Homecoming Eve
Nobody is more impatient for a big Saturday college football game than a bunch of people with office jobs on Friday afternoon.
Some months ago, I was invited to join a private IU fandom group chat. There’s no real authority in the matter, but I’m willing to say that it’s comprised of the largest singular swath of Indiana’s most loyal (or deranged) sports fans. Lots of “burner” accounts, so to speak.
And just as Bloomington couldn’t contain its excitement for a national marquee matchup kicking off in less than 24 hours, my fellow members of the “IU-minati” got stir-crazy and furthered the joke to pass the time.
I suggested a menu of weekly specials. Demands were made for a mascot, and we got one. A founder’s backstory was loosely written. And like any longtime college establishment, people have inevitably met their future spouse there.
Taking the joke through the looking glass altogether, an amiable-but-unnamed software engineer that works at IU continues to build a functioning web page complete with a newsletter, drink offers, and “receipts” (shit-talking from opposing fans that didn’t age well).
It was out of my hands. I made a joke so good other people wanted to tell it. Try doing that intentionally. Even the best stand-up comedians will admire you if you can pull it off.
Confusion Reigns
It wasn’t long before folks outside the in-crowd noticed this “Shalooby’s” thing take off.
A post was made to “Foodies of Bloomington” suggesting that B-Town’s sacred pizza restaurant space had been purchased by an outside group called “Shalooby’s.”
Similar posts began to appear on the local subreddit (r/Bloomington), but with an elevated tilt: They were in on the joke and simply wanted to inspire more chaos as to the restaurant’s semi-fictional status and “amazing wet sandwiches.“
A few folks in the comments were able to see through this thick layer of humor — one calling this creation “a performance piece or a massive shitpost” — but the vast majority of my chronically online peers understood the assignment and continued to further the bit. Even to the point where some folks online were getting upset.
“We take these matters seriously and I can outstanding guarantee all the concerns will be addressed,” said u/YarbianTheBarbarian, who claimed to be the singular owner. “Rest assured the wait will be just long enough to get the right amount of soggy into those sandwiches.”
The official IU Bloomington Instagram account even referenced Shalooby’s in an official Homecoming post.
The lore grew, rapidly creating a Mandela Effect among the thousands of people who live in Bloomington or were visiting during one of the busiest weekends of the year.
‘Yes, And’
Like all single white men, I used to be in an improv comedy group.
The singular strategy of improv comedy is “Yes, And” — a constructive joke technique that acknowledges what already exists, but contributes new information to give the scene depth and more reference points on which to riff.
“I like your new convertible,” one actor might suggest.
“Thanks! I take the roof off when I’m feeling depressed,” their co-player might respond.
Bada-bing. We got a bit now. Some minutes later, that character is going to wind up tearing the roof off the convertible, and the audience is going to lose its mind at the implication he’s sadder than he’s ever been in his life.
The same principle exists within Shalooby’s and its ever-growing lore — especially with more and more people wanting participating in the joke.
After I made the doctored image advertising “Soggy Reubens,” other members of the IU fanbase took it as gospel that this venerable place of nonsense must indeed serve the sloppiest, nastiest, wettest, messiest sandwiches on the planet.
Although there is no set menu for Shalooby’s — not yet, at least — the joke has grown to make it evident that you’re going to be eating some of the most disgusting items imaginable, served with a sort of attitude that would repulse a lay customer.
But it’s the best place in town. And we’ll stand by it, for the bit.
A Google Maps location was created — yes, smack-dab where Cafe Pizzaria used to be — generating more than 77 positive reviews (4.9 stars) within 24 hours. People with real names and faces were posting side-by-side with anonymous trolls, each exalting the growing canon of Bloomington’s sloppiest watering hole.
People couldn’t get enough of the wet food, late hours, busy atmosphere, gross side dishes, indoor smoking, poorly designed restrooms, and so on.
The “official” listing, of course, was swiftly removed by Google before too long. The whole thing smacked of red flags to a machine that’s trained to search for them.
But the damage had been done.
“Shalooby’s” was no longer a one-off joke. It wasn’t even an inside joke for a few friends.
The entire city and campus were beginning to take notice.
“Shalooby’s is a movement,” I told my housemate, who sighed heavily before pledging her full support of the gastronomical gaslighting.
Entering the Spotlight
With several high-profile kickoff shows in town for Huskers-Hoosiers, many fans were already spending their time constructing a witty or silly sign to get on television.
Several fans brought Shalooby’s signs to both the FOX Big Noon Kickoff and the Barstool Whatever They Have. One person painted the rear window of their car in support of Shalooby’s, committing to the bit in a way that affected their ability to drive.
People didn’t just like the bit. They were falling in love with it.
And hours later, Indiana Football delivered an electric 56-7 beatdown of the iconic Nebraska program.
We’re the “laughing stock team,” historically. They have five national championships.
And yet, we won by seven (7) touchdowns. That just doesn’t happen.
An Era of Good Times befell the city and campus last weekend, and the Shalooby’s joke further became a reference point in which to celebrate an equally unreal season — our best start in 57 years.
Praise and phrases typically reserved for Bloomington bar royalty — such as The Vid, The Bluebird, Kilroy’s Sports, et al — were now being applied specifically and primarily to a fictional bar.
Real taverns and breweries were getting in on the action, too.
The Upstairs Pub — arguably the most popular bar in town right now — suggested that Shalooby’s was doing so well that a second location was imminent.
When the joke is based entirely in fiction, it means nothing is implausible. It’s equally the best and worst place in town. Shalooby’s is a lovely joke that hurts nobody besides the gullible. And we were all getting in on the fun.
We still are, in fact.
The Fallout
The phenomenon of Shalooby’s continues to grow and spur interest. I legitimately have no idea what’s next.
On Monday of this week, I had people contacting me about where to purchase Shalooby’s merchandise, which prompted me to make a sort of ethos statement. (You can get Shalooby’s merch from Bloomington’s own KC Designs, as well as from Indianapolis-based Lockerbie Designs. Proceeds from each go to a great cause.)
On Tuesday, I saw a video snippet on Twitter from actual IU football lineman Mike Katic. At first I thought it was a one-off scripted bit by the hosts of “The Rock Report” podcast to goad him into a soundbite, but apparently, it was Mike’s idea to shout us out! I am so honored that Shalooby’s (and its subsequent phenomenon) got the attention of anyone on the IU football roster, let alone a key figure currently fortifying Indiana’s trenches in the name of a high-powered offense. There’s no better advocate for your restaurant brand than offensive linemen. They’re gentlemen who engage in polite atrocities. Those guys can EAT (and they DO).
That same day, a student talked with me about Shalooby’s for a class assignment — going so far as to ask about my family’s involvement with the brand, which implies that maybe the joke got to him a little bit too. Or that he was getting me back with it? I don’t know anymore. I did this to myself…
On Wednesday, I filmed an interview with the local PBS affiliate on my front porch, asking me to explain the meme and what it “means.” I don’t know when the video will drop, but it’s supposed to air on local television, which might just confuse the hell out of my neighbors even more than it already has.
It’s Thursday now, and national college sports voices are demanding to know what the hell is going on in Bloomington.
Even more prolific celebrities and reporters will be in Bloomington this Saturday for IU’s ESPN College GameDay. Like any other city they visit, they’re already asking locals where the best place to eat is.
And naturally, local Shalooby’s die-hards are indulging their curiosity.
—
That’s about all I have on the history of Shalooby’s — the real history, at least.
I’m sure it’s only going to grow more warped and convoluted in the coming weeks, especially if the Hoosiers continue their winning ways (and potentially earn a historic spot in the first 12-team College Football Playoff).
One thing is for sure: The staff at Shalooby’s will be ready to celebrate, night in and night out, with new traditions and old, no matter how smooth or sloppy things end up for ol’ IU this winter.
I’ll catch you there, soggy Reubens and all.
###
-moose
PS: Thank you, Cafe Pizzaria
Please know that you are not the joke. At all.
You will be beloved forever. Thanks for all the wonderful years.
B-TOWN Moose 