Disgusting Things I Have Eaten

Flea market find of the week

First they took out US Air flight 1549 and we stood idly by and said nothing but now we must make a stand. A bird and a piece of bread has effectively shut down the Large Hard On Collider making uncertain the future of time travel and black holes. These bioterrorists of the air must be stopped.

The bird dropped some bread on a section of outdoor machinery, eventually leading to significant over heating in parts of the accelerator. The LHC was not operational at the time of the incident, but the spike produced so much heat that had the beam been on, automatic failsafes would have shut down the machine.

Someone get Kate Lee on the line, I have found the next blog-to-book deal.

From all of us over here wishing you a Happy November 5th. Now go eat at a 50’s themed diner and then burn something in effigy.

Photo: Parking lot of 50’s Diner (that’s actually what the place is called) in Chicopee, MA

This one only cost 5 bucks and was served in a jar. Hooray beer.

The New York Yankees have won. Long live overpriced beer!

The Great Fast Food Restaurants of North America - Part 4

IHOP

“I’m listening, which one of you is gonna talk first” the large imposing man in alligator skin shoes, gold chains, and a 2 inch coke nail asked in a just-this-side-of-threatening tone as he jotted down my order into his pad.

I was zonked out of my head on god knows what at the IHOP and the waiter—a man who seemed as if he’d be equally at ease pistol whipping the everliving shit out of me as taking down orders at midnight on a Saturday—was really starting to freak me out.

This was the same IHOP where my grandfather would take my brother and I as little kids and it was located adjacent to the Waffle House where in pre-delinquent times my father and I would bike to on Saturday mornings and whose parking lot was the site of the first, and thus far only, place I have ever held someone over the hood of a car and pounded their face to a pulp for calling me a dirty selfish cheap Jew. At least it wasn’t the Waffle House. At least I still have that.

But this…this was the sketchiest IHOP I’d ever seen. The bus boy, who I saw walk back and forth maybe twice all night with a mostly empty dish tub of cups and plates, was decked out in the finest FUBU threads illegally gotten gains could buy and more gold jewelery than all the Chassids on 47th street combined, encrusted with enough diamonds to insure a healthy GDP for the nation of South Africa for years to come. Mostly he just stood watch by the door. Watching for what I have no idea. Customers, maybe. There were two coked out prostitutes in the booth across the way and, oh yeah, the place was crawling with cops who seemed indifferent to the obvious drug and sex ring that was operating out of this unsuspecting suburban family establishment.

Despite what one might think about a place like this the staff was actually very attentive. The waiter stopped by the table about a half-dozen times to see if we needed anything, always curiously itching the outside of his nose in an up-and-down motion with his index finger. When it was time to pay up our server reappeared to refill our drinks. He set down four Coca-Colas on the table and next to each of them set down a shot glass also filled with Coca-Cola. Then he asked again, this time in a much more forceful and aggressive tone of voice, if we needed anything.

IMs From The Edge

So that’s how the sausage gets made.