French Fry Laundering.

They have reasonably priced beer.  Some of that beer is 11%.  They have lots of things you can eat like Mac and Cheese and Pizza.  They are within walking distance of my home.  They are near a hospital which is always a nice benefit in case you go buckwild and break something.  Honestly, this place should be my second home.  It plays to all my weaknesses.

Only it is a total trash sandwich.

So bear in mind I am coming off of one hell of a bender.  Friday night was a reminder that when whiskey is out of the picture, I can fail in the big way.  After Sake Party 2009, I am at a birthday party at Bar Lubitsch dancing with my eyes 1/3 open listening to some d-bag tell a waitress she should “be in pictures”.  I wanted to say someting like “pictures like on Facebook?”, only I have no motor skills left and am focused and not tripping and spilling my vodka, or worse, falling on the glass and impaling myself in front of strangers.

Apparently, that evening, I sent a text out to 2/3 of my phone exclaiming, “I will fight the bears…  And win!”.  In the morning, a fellow blogger wrote me back and asked me if he should post my text to Texts From Last Night.  I laughed, but by the time I was done laughing, I was already over Texts From Lasts Night and hoping it goes away.  I was initially in love with it, but then it got to the point where everyone started making shit up.   Ready?

(818):  dude, your girlfriend is having sex with a dog.
(310):  this is his girlfriend.
(818):  I’m calling the human society.

Good night or bad night?  I am waiting for someone to start messing with people via this site.  Imagine one day reading shit like this:

(213):  i just wanted to say goodbye.  this world is too cruel.
(323):  LOL.  Bad day at work, Jake?
(twenty minutes later)
(323):  Jake?

Sorry.  Went off topic there.

Anyway, Saturday night I am a little bit of a caveman, exhausted and angry.  Grabbed a few rolls at Fat Fish and people watched with some friends while forcing down a Sapporo.  Eventually, we decide to walk from my place to 3rd Stop.  The other time I’d gone here it seemed reasonably fun to brew down for a few frothingtons, but tonight was chicken salad lameness.

The hostess makes us sit down, like essentially we are not allowed to stand at the bar.  My mindset is that they are forcing us to order food with these Gestapo tactics.  Whatever, we’re into it if we have to.  Only the waiter shows up and starts pissing me off immediately.  He says, “can I get you some drinks real quick”. Blow me, Nathaniel.

Real quick?

Are you busy with your other 2 tables?  How are you going to memorize your lines from the movie you will never get cast in before moving back to Nebraska, crying as you tell your father who wished you played football and ate red meat that “I’ve failed you”, if you can’t handle taking four peoples orders?  You won’t.  I should be nicer.  This guy was definitely super pissed he didn’t get the guest spot on How I Met Your Mother.

By the way, did you see the Grey’s Finale?  Me neither.  Unless it was called Pompeo Eating a Sandwich, I can’t watch that show.  It’s like watching a blonde girl get tortured.

Anyway, so the guy comes back with drinks and we try to order.  One of our friends asks for Mac n Cheese.  Sorry we don’t have that.  We try a pizza.  Nope.  Don’t got it.  What do you have?  Fries.  That’s it?  That’s it.  We’ll have the fries.

we'll have the pizza.  FUCK NO YOU WON'T.

we'll have the pizza. FUCK NO YOU WON'T.

Explain to me why I have to sit at a table if I can only order fries.  Why did the guy bring us silverware?  Is this city striking up an ordinance that we have to cut our fries with a knife and a fork.  Was this a late April Fool’s gag?  I felt like I was in the Matrix, only without cool trench coats and the ability to do awesome shit.

The fries come and I shit you not, they were from McDonald’s.  You think I am kidding, but I am not.  Think about a McDonald’s fry.  You know what it tastes like.  It is a skill to make a fry that has no filling, just a crispy salt casing.  You know the taste and the width and the saltiness (wow, that’s what she said) of a McDonald’s fry.  These were from Ronald McDonald only no one was Lovin’ It.  Because these fries were marked up 500%.  It was clear to me something went wrong and they had set up a fry laundering operation out of the back.  These assholes were trafficking french fries.

i don't trust him.

i don't trust him.

I am the first to appreciate a fry from Ronny McD, but I hadn’t signed up for a Runaround Sandwich.  This was tomfoolery.   We were playing victim to the greatest potato scheme the southland had ever known.  I wanted to tear this place apart.

Then I saw the world’s tallest couple outside making out and that made me feel better.  I’m easy to please.

Long story short, fuck you 3rd Stop.  I’ll give you one more chance due to the tough economy, otherwise the gloves are coming off.



Filed under Rants and Musings, Whiskey Drinking Stupidity

2 responses to “French Fry Laundering.

  1. Smooke

    i want some McD french fries and beer now

  2. hahahaahaha Then I saw the world’s tallest couple outside making out and that made me feel better. I’m easy to please.

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