Vote of thanks : It is with sincere gratitude that I tithe my feelings to y'allz, the great company and the festive moments over thanksgiving weekend. It was all "Fantabulous."
Question ? Guess what happens when you morph the following :
a. unimaginably wild guests minus one (1)
b. stuffed bird (twice)
c. well roasted swine's tush surrounded by pineapple
d. Baked apples
e. Poultry wings
f. Baked 'taters (twice)
g. Part I : malt-loaded beverages (at least twice)
g. Part II : Hennesy, Captain Mo', Absolute, DiGiornio, Ez Jesus
h. Plates with Veggies drawn atop.
i. Creamy greenbeans.
j. Perfectly spherical meat balls.
Answer : Empty bottles, lotsa leftovers, a dance troupe with oblivion up the wazoo as e'body dances their hoohas off, several trips for za-lez, a very busy commode .... oh almost forgot - a premium thanksgiving weekend. So premium it was repeated twice within 72Hours.
Related Incidents :Yours trully, the chef at Cassa de la Sipps, broke a casserole dish by emmersing it in cold aqua right after it exited the oven. I figured something that can stand 550 degrees F can take a small beating. Glass will always be glass. No incidents were reported at Cuisina De Lemz, which could be one of two things. 1 - Lips have been buttoned up ; 2 - No incident. I'm confident it's the latter.
Unrelated Incidents : 'One more' proved once again to be more than 'one more'. And it all commenced on the eve of the eve, Tuesday twilight. Some unnamed personalities decided to 'oncha' one en-route home to rejuvenate their biceps for the next day's 'great move.' An Armchair, a dresser and a picture frame. Moses before climbing that mountain for the tablets had a 'fun' experience with 'maji' - why not we. I sooo see this discussion being had. So movers and shakers assemble for a tricep replenishing encounter to prepare and before you know it - it's 11am tomorrow, uHaul has called last call, and the furniture has grown moss and lichens while waiting. So R makes an executive D: Call A and borrow the B's muscle. Lo' behold - backfired in his face, between chuo, errands and other matters this wasn't happening. Next stop. Burgz. Here we are : Roll call : Couch, sorry Armchair - Present ! Dresser - Present ! Picture frame - Present ! Uhaul - Present! Movers ... Movers .... Moooooovers !!! Absent ! Who is going to move ALL this stuff ??? What a quagmirical scenario to be engulfed in !!! Movees and no movers. Y'allz can catch the rest on your Tivo coz I wasn't there to see the movers arrive and nyandua, kamonga and fyatua some more pints to a point where "We got plans" became "No plan found."
Now the fun part : With vivid memories of a $44 parking ticket while sipping on $20 of Lites at the Wok, I found myself circling the block for a spot like a Nascar driver. This was a perfect midweek. The Williams were ontime - again - The pints were flowing, Oyonka bought some shots, Mogaka was only 1 hour late, the wok was mercilessly searing our meals ... and then out of the blue, he walked in. Clad in a checkered - plaid suit, you know the type with an elbow patch, and a pollar neck or was it a turtle neck ? Anyway regardless that - its color cannot be found on a rainbow so this was not bought at an entry-level clothier like Joyce Leslie. The bar was all hushed up as the Kenyanites who knew him drooled and showered niceties his way. Simultaneously.
I personally me, did like biblical Zacchaeus did and perched myself atop the sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of this big gun. So I shuka the sycamore as soon as he settles down and as his already gigantum ego continues to be stroked, I prod somebody who's in the know to update me. It turns out this big gun is one of the 18,000 aspirants running for some office in a remote area in Nyanza province. What ? To imagine my bbq spare ribs went from blistering hot to just hot coz of this pampered headboy. Sorry, let's not steal anything from his thunder. Pampered Village elder. Bila entourage and security detail I wondered what he was going to offer all these butt-smooching accolade-totting guys caught in childlike awe. Same forest, different apes, so we get back to meaningful business. For all I know, he can kiss a warthog's ass, I'm just angry coz my ribs got cold amidst the drama.
On we go, more raos, less politics, bbq rib bones have now fossilized, Kylene is still ignoring us, 6 years down the line, what a scam. Oh and u better carry your Texas Instrument if you plan to open a tab there otherwise you will be fleeced for your Merino wool. Her abacus must be broken coz clients, and I generalize here - stay with me, seem to get into heated spats with her when closing their tabs. Word from the wise, ripa bere ya kura.
Last call inevitably reached us and before the Williams could even let out the 'G' of goodnite out it was unanimously, synonymously and annonymously decided that we catch 'one more.' Around the corner. It is at this location where GG's parking skills were showcased like she was auditioning for a CEO position at Central Parking. Even the curb was smiling and enjoying all it's 'under six inches' from the guzi's regs. If ever the word "mixed" meant anything, it was in the Lex-and-Mall bar. Where else dyu go if u wanna see drunk Miroz eating frog legs and plantains with Phillipinos who rap and call each other B and N, while listening to John Mellencamp; all this while locals sip on Amstel and foreigners guzzle Bud. The Miroz are properly dressed while Koreans are being frozen for wearing white Tees and baseball caps. Huh !!! Whats next ? Jehovahs witness putting some D's on it ?
Just when randomness was getting etched into our past, this Random republican waltzes in like he was meeting some people. And some people, indeed, he met. He proceeds to say hello to everybody in our midst coz he remembered someone's face from a photo album of one his distant cousin's neighbors best friend. Surely who uses photo albums anymore ? Whatever happened to facebook, and btw I'm the only person North of the Equator who is bila a facebook. I'll get me a facebook soon and put it in y'alls myspaces and make a youtube of y'alls Hi-5ing each other after that. Don't even test me I'm the LSAT kinda guy, and that's during lunch.
Aaaaanyway back to his randomness, after he grossly bored me with his presence I decided to make a beeline for the bar, where I had a good excuse to be. Can you imagine his randomness followed me there and while I'm ASSERTIVELY and DECISIVELY placing my order, he cuts me off and asks Phan, the bartender, what drinks she has back there. Even embarrasment cannot hang with this dude. You f-ing retard, that's like going to a hotdog stand and asking for a menu. If you took a chinese figurine, poured that chia pet water on it’s head till green hair grew, then gave it to Hulk Hogan; he would choose it for Christmas over this comic as a free shambaboy. Jeeez, I had to go wooooosa like Martin in Bad Boys II, breathe - this guy has been sent to try me and Tran. Even she couldn't believe it. This is just the eve and we have to deal with this, so Phan adopts her contigency plan and continues to serve me. I dunno how that exchange ended between them but as I passed by later I saw him sitting up the bar with a big red glass, looking like The Undercover Drag Queen he really is. Someone will be dismantling him like a lego toy and I aint going to be around to see it.
The night prog ………… out of ink fellaz : More next time .....
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tales from Licking County
Small Rock
Prologue : Ovek had the privilege of providing entertainment at a PNU rally this past weekend. However though, before actualizing his narration on paper, there is a pending oration from notes taken in Licking county, Ohio.
Logue : Licking County. Indeed, some County Board or worse still, some municipal baptismal priest gave Einsteen a run for his ching-ching by christening some county in Ohio with this title. I could only ponder the origins of the name; any attempts on mental sharing could be misconstrued as risque or lewd material, so consider that topic prematurely assassinated. Twas that time of year that the 500 odd miles of PA asphalt that lie between NJ and Columbus bear no obstacle to mining the treasures of the city within a countryside. Columbus, like most countryside cities, is where the very eloquence of mother nature gets subdued by the concrete jungle that separates the owners of John Deere tractors from the kind of Johns who call each other 'Dear.' Haaaaaaaaaay. Not that 'sexually alternative' society members do not dot the country landscape, it's their notable prevalence on some downtown 'Main' street, as ironical as it sounds - that I make reference to. Aaaaanyhway, Columbuslings as accertained by this brief voyage are not your average basket of apricots, but whatsover though - we cannot speak of them before we cover the little occurences transpiring before we set eye on them.
First. PA. What the (expletive) is this damn waste of land all about ? Aside from people who take pleasure from scraping 'Bambi' off Routes 81 and 76, why else would anyone live in a state where all towns are called something-berg. Mathree drivers should come for training in PA; if they go 30min without killing a deer then they get the stripes. Aside from that, I'm all for sending geographers to medical school so they can perform some liposection or a nip-tuck to remove this hideous devoid overgrown shamba from our midst, maps, googlemaps and Garmins. Respectively, but not particularly in that chronology. When your next exit is 320 miles away and 97.1 FM (not to be automatically labelled Hot97) plays the kind of music you see playing with the likes of Bonnie Raitt on CMT then you know that you is far from everywhere. Jehovah knows, the iPod's podcasts along with the 30 gigs of playlist had proportionally ebbed as the tarmac between the 'Pala and NJ increased. 'Inverse proportionality' some bookworms would daringly chime. For y'alls not already in the know, the 'Pala is a cruisemobile that is under no circumstances to be called a Malibu; unless you want to get berated in fiery kyuk by the owner. Enter Carlisleberg, PA where we need more gas for those 320 miles. As we roamed around for some 'consumables' it felt strange to be in a town where they have erected a drive-through liqor store. What ? Can you S-P-E-L-L ... 'T-R-A-B-O-L' ? Why would anyone sell ... oh, almost forgot this was PA. But wait ; before you pack up your Samsonites, Coach bags and box up your valuables, it does transpire that this is not the drive-through that we have all come to know and love; you know where you Drive-order-pay and come-Through for your hungry self. Their setup was more like - Drive-Through the front Entrance and Park at the loading zone. Exit vehicle. Sambary needs to make a trip outside their Localberg and see how the rest of the planet does it. Aaaaanygwaaaay, to my sheer astonishment and proportionately utter dismay the man at the counter rips out a loud gaseous TMI through his rear exit and rubs his belly. I figured this is how they said 'Hi' in this neck of the woods since I heard no 'howdy, guy', 'hawaya, braau' or 'Howze-it-henging. Dude.' Oh, and these a here sides, the mano operates the register while the womano fetches consummables from the storage foye and ferries them ashoulder top to the customer mobiles. It is my wish that she doesn't shed the pants when they get to the humble place called home.
Second. Still in awe from the drive-through, the wanton flatulence, and the who-wears-the-pants in Drivethroughberg, the voyage to our pre-final stop was seemingly colorless, kinda like a KKK convention .... ooops that slipped out. So we get to this place called Wawa, and suffice to say I was clueless why they called it that; until I set foot in the interior and screamed "Waaaaaaawa." This place sold e'thing and I mean Nakumatt looks like a popcorn stall compared to this behemoth monstrosity of a gas station. My eyes darted aimlessly, that's the brake fluid, aha there's the eyeglasses section; ok the T-Shirts are right by the bakery, DVD players and off course DVDs in that corner, male underwear but no female underwear; Why not ? I could have sworn I saw a female trucker running over some Bambi in PA; 'oh' this is OH (no pun, I swear on the King James edition), so let me digress. This is me digressing, first, by the way, Haaaala. This place was a cross between Starbucks, Jiffylube, Jemma Loan, Pearlvision, Exxon-Mobile and Victor's secret (make note for biz idea. A place that sells guy-thongs only - how you dzoin !!!) So Miss two-teeth-how-can-I-help-you-fellaz is grinning from end to end waiting to serve us hand and foot. You see there's a reason I called this the pre-final stop. We reckon that before chiming the doorbell at the final stop, we freshen up a little so we don't look like a pair of vagabonds. Since in this town having more than 2 front teeth is sooo-last-season, it came as no surprise that she recommended a can of RedBull when I informed her we needed to freshen up. What ? Redbull ? to freshen up ? Dunno 'bout you but my interview with her was over. No more questions. I've only sat in a car for 9 hours, I cannot have anytime for this drama, or her friend who suggested we could make Jagerbombs by mixing the Redbull with Jagermaster. Enough of this, who are these people ? See you at Club Studio Pub 161, Columbus where you can share more bartending tips as we discuss opening a drive through morgue for dead deers, off course over a Jagerbomb or whatever you think you can mix with your 'Bull."
Club 161 : Hypothetically, theoretically and comprehensively speaking if you don't stick in your lane a semi will run you over. My word may fall short of gospel truth, but don't try it at home either; find a happy place in the middle and have some Redbull. On me. The club's entrance only needed red carpet to complete it's mysterious sophisti-classinessity. Unlike these East Coast clubs adorned with Pill-Popping, Gymna-socialists, with shoulders that look like they were created in HDTV, the bouncers in this joint actually looked like bouncers, they didn't even need those cute little Black Tees that say "S'Cuuurity" in the back. It's the "Columbuslings" that offered me less than a bargain. After setting up the tools of the trade, my eyes catch a herd of Jungu-esses in the corner talking about 'oh my God,' whatever they talk about. Perfect , I got me my Britney, my Blink 168, some Nickelback, Jessica Simp. I was ready to put their evening in high gear. "Gimme Gimme" roared through those JBLs like Britney was trying to move furniture. Alas, these peeps did not even butt an eyelid. Whatever the effing-ever, this is too new. Lets scale it down, let's move that timeline back a little something, some Backstreet oughta fix that leak. "Tell me why ...." Nothing still. This was like jump starting a wheelbarrow. No sooner had I started breaking a sweat than the herd-leader walk my way and request "souljaboy." After getting re-assurance that my Q-Tips were doing their job, I place that number. You needed to have seen it. The wangotso chics were popping their rears like epilleptic rhinos. Goodness, you columbuslings sure don't stay in lane here. No more experiments over here. Some T.I, Chamellionaire, more T.I and it was all good with them 'lings. The rest of the night went down like 2 jagerbombs and a Kamikaze. Smooth.
The Ripple
Epilogue : After all the weekends activities, it dawned on us that we had not had a weekend yet. That has everything to do with why I have one less personal day. As fate would have it, Saturday and Sunday, had to be condensed into Monday, along with all the activities that fill up the weekend. Come nextober this shall be repeated. I'm riding this thing till the wheels come off. Keep 'em peeled for the PNU affair. Watch out for 'em Bambis they're moving to NJ, kinda like moving from Newark to the Hamptons for safety.
Prologue : Ovek had the privilege of providing entertainment at a PNU rally this past weekend. However though, before actualizing his narration on paper, there is a pending oration from notes taken in Licking county, Ohio.
Logue : Licking County. Indeed, some County Board or worse still, some municipal baptismal priest gave Einsteen a run for his ching-ching by christening some county in Ohio with this title. I could only ponder the origins of the name; any attempts on mental sharing could be misconstrued as risque or lewd material, so consider that topic prematurely assassinated. Twas that time of year that the 500 odd miles of PA asphalt that lie between NJ and Columbus bear no obstacle to mining the treasures of the city within a countryside. Columbus, like most countryside cities, is where the very eloquence of mother nature gets subdued by the concrete jungle that separates the owners of John Deere tractors from the kind of Johns who call each other 'Dear.' Haaaaaaaaaay. Not that 'sexually alternative' society members do not dot the country landscape, it's their notable prevalence on some downtown 'Main' street, as ironical as it sounds - that I make reference to. Aaaaanyhway, Columbuslings as accertained by this brief voyage are not your average basket of apricots, but whatsover though - we cannot speak of them before we cover the little occurences transpiring before we set eye on them.
First. PA. What the (expletive) is this damn waste of land all about ? Aside from people who take pleasure from scraping 'Bambi' off Routes 81 and 76, why else would anyone live in a state where all towns are called something-berg. Mathree drivers should come for training in PA; if they go 30min without killing a deer then they get the stripes. Aside from that, I'm all for sending geographers to medical school so they can perform some liposection or a nip-tuck to remove this hideous devoid overgrown shamba from our midst, maps, googlemaps and Garmins. Respectively, but not particularly in that chronology. When your next exit is 320 miles away and 97.1 FM (not to be automatically labelled Hot97) plays the kind of music you see playing with the likes of Bonnie Raitt on CMT then you know that you is far from everywhere. Jehovah knows, the iPod's podcasts along with the 30 gigs of playlist had proportionally ebbed as the tarmac between the 'Pala and NJ increased. 'Inverse proportionality' some bookworms would daringly chime. For y'alls not already in the know, the 'Pala is a cruisemobile that is under no circumstances to be called a Malibu; unless you want to get berated in fiery kyuk by the owner. Enter Carlisleberg, PA where we need more gas for those 320 miles. As we roamed around for some 'consumables' it felt strange to be in a town where they have erected a drive-through liqor store. What ? Can you S-P-E-L-L ... 'T-R-A-B-O-L' ? Why would anyone sell ... oh, almost forgot this was PA. But wait ; before you pack up your Samsonites, Coach bags and box up your valuables, it does transpire that this is not the drive-through that we have all come to know and love; you know where you Drive-order-pay and come-Through for your hungry self. Their setup was more like - Drive-Through the front Entrance and Park at the loading zone. Exit vehicle. Sambary needs to make a trip outside their Localberg and see how the rest of the planet does it. Aaaaanygwaaaay, to my sheer astonishment and proportionately utter dismay the man at the counter rips out a loud gaseous TMI through his rear exit and rubs his belly. I figured this is how they said 'Hi' in this neck of the woods since I heard no 'howdy, guy', 'hawaya, braau' or 'Howze-it-henging. Dude.' Oh, and these a here sides, the mano operates the register while the womano fetches consummables from the storage foye and ferries them ashoulder top to the customer mobiles. It is my wish that she doesn't shed the pants when they get to the humble place called home.
Second. Still in awe from the drive-through, the wanton flatulence, and the who-wears-the-pants in Drivethroughberg, the voyage to our pre-final stop was seemingly colorless, kinda like a KKK convention .... ooops that slipped out. So we get to this place called Wawa, and suffice to say I was clueless why they called it that; until I set foot in the interior and screamed "Waaaaaaawa." This place sold e'thing and I mean Nakumatt looks like a popcorn stall compared to this behemoth monstrosity of a gas station. My eyes darted aimlessly, that's the brake fluid, aha there's the eyeglasses section; ok the T-Shirts are right by the bakery, DVD players and off course DVDs in that corner, male underwear but no female underwear; Why not ? I could have sworn I saw a female trucker running over some Bambi in PA; 'oh' this is OH (no pun, I swear on the King James edition), so let me digress. This is me digressing, first, by the way, Haaaala. This place was a cross between Starbucks, Jiffylube, Jemma Loan, Pearlvision, Exxon-Mobile and Victor's secret (make note for biz idea. A place that sells guy-thongs only - how you dzoin !!!) So Miss two-teeth-how-can-I-help-you-fellaz is grinning from end to end waiting to serve us hand and foot. You see there's a reason I called this the pre-final stop. We reckon that before chiming the doorbell at the final stop, we freshen up a little so we don't look like a pair of vagabonds. Since in this town having more than 2 front teeth is sooo-last-season, it came as no surprise that she recommended a can of RedBull when I informed her we needed to freshen up. What ? Redbull ? to freshen up ? Dunno 'bout you but my interview with her was over. No more questions. I've only sat in a car for 9 hours, I cannot have anytime for this drama, or her friend who suggested we could make Jagerbombs by mixing the Redbull with Jagermaster. Enough of this, who are these people ? See you at Club Studio Pub 161, Columbus where you can share more bartending tips as we discuss opening a drive through morgue for dead deers, off course over a Jagerbomb or whatever you think you can mix with your 'Bull."
Club 161 : Hypothetically, theoretically and comprehensively speaking if you don't stick in your lane a semi will run you over. My word may fall short of gospel truth, but don't try it at home either; find a happy place in the middle and have some Redbull. On me. The club's entrance only needed red carpet to complete it's mysterious sophisti-classinessity. Unlike these East Coast clubs adorned with Pill-Popping, Gymna-socialists, with shoulders that look like they were created in HDTV, the bouncers in this joint actually looked like bouncers, they didn't even need those cute little Black Tees that say "S'Cuuurity" in the back. It's the "Columbuslings" that offered me less than a bargain. After setting up the tools of the trade, my eyes catch a herd of Jungu-esses in the corner talking about 'oh my God,' whatever they talk about. Perfect , I got me my Britney, my Blink 168, some Nickelback, Jessica Simp. I was ready to put their evening in high gear. "Gimme Gimme" roared through those JBLs like Britney was trying to move furniture. Alas, these peeps did not even butt an eyelid. Whatever the effing-ever, this is too new. Lets scale it down, let's move that timeline back a little something, some Backstreet oughta fix that leak. "Tell me why ...." Nothing still. This was like jump starting a wheelbarrow. No sooner had I started breaking a sweat than the herd-leader walk my way and request "souljaboy." After getting re-assurance that my Q-Tips were doing their job, I place that number. You needed to have seen it. The wangotso chics were popping their rears like epilleptic rhinos. Goodness, you columbuslings sure don't stay in lane here. No more experiments over here. Some T.I, Chamellionaire, more T.I and it was all good with them 'lings. The rest of the night went down like 2 jagerbombs and a Kamikaze. Smooth.
The Ripple
Epilogue : After all the weekends activities, it dawned on us that we had not had a weekend yet. That has everything to do with why I have one less personal day. As fate would have it, Saturday and Sunday, had to be condensed into Monday, along with all the activities that fill up the weekend. Come nextober this shall be repeated. I'm riding this thing till the wheels come off. Keep 'em peeled for the PNU affair. Watch out for 'em Bambis they're moving to NJ, kinda like moving from Newark to the Hamptons for safety.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Not-So-Fast Food
Some Gravel
"So - Howze everyone feeling tonight ?" Time to come up for air but nothing in those tepid waters worth mention. Since my revolt from fast food together with the brick and mortar that houses them, my culinar-social life has turned a little ... bland. Kinda like boiled Githeri with no salt, but a few degrees more tasteless than Uganga if that's even a tad fathomable. The mama-drama from drama-mamas rumbling on about being pillaged for mac and cheese; double-trouble from double-chinned urchins with never enough capital for that McTriple stack-shaker or whatever they call it nowadays. I call it capital coz some of these lads and lasses chow down like they're investing in something - like more real estate around the tailpipe area. I guess you could say, albeit very loosely, that they're into real estate. Conclusively, hence therefore, this sector of the populace can be considered realtors or landlords, but off-course - do not try at home - use at your own risk.
Does so transpire, much to my chagrin, that my times in these establishments are dotted with some self-inflicted episodes of humility and instantaneous learning. Take, for instance, a time at the McEatery when I confidently requested my complete nutritional meal comprised of "just chips and tomato sauce." Wooo-ha, the food service expert gave me that what-trainwreck-did-they-pull-your-behind-from look. Bila shame bila haya bila repentence - I rewind and come again. Selekta. In my mind I'm thinking - "if you could take off that stage-artist wannabe contraption from your head and stop listening to that snootie and the hoefish, the remnant earwax will not stop my oral diction from getting to your head. Little did I know that this contraption was part of "work-gear." At this point I felt like I could make more sense talking to a pumpkin or cabbagehead with eyes and a mouth drawn on it.
I conveniently omit (for fear of being labelled an exiled casual farm-hand) ... that I walked into this joint 30min prior to this, and NO they had NO long lines. Me, I McDaringly sat at the McTable waiting for a waiter, obviously drawing some form of parallels between this place and Wimpy. Needless to say, no waiter came over, but yes my keen self observed that newcomers were going up-front and speaking to some McShorry with some helicopter pilot thing hugging her scalp. Shortly after they would get a bag, a coke, a smile and ... you know the rest.
So, any howly, I tried that formula for fit and it raptured in my face. As per Miss McThing, chips are sold at the store and tomato sauce is sold there too. What store ? Bear in mind that where I'm from the store is that little room near the kitchen where they keep excessive foodtuffs. Total bewilderment !!! Like Lucy asked ... Who is you mother ? What ? You miserable excuse for service - I can see the damn products with my naked eyes .. did you graduate from Thika School for the Blind ? After sheepishly pointing my finger to the delicacies she gives me McOrdering 101 .. "You mean fries and ketchup ?" Yes, Ms Bigshot you spoiled brat of a brag, just coz I aint got no job doesn't mean you wipe the floor with my rasa in front of everyone. Yes, not chips and tomato sauce .... fries and ketchup - you just saved a life you underachieving McNothing, go hug a tree ,wipe a tear, then give me my godamn ... whatever you wanna call it. This episode scarred me for quite sometime coz I could only fries and ketchup - the only things I could comfortably order.
The Ripple
There has to be a place in heaven for the inventer of The drive-through™. From the comfort of your sled-mobile in yourveryownspace.com - uninterrupted from your Soukouss Vibration 'volume si' - you can order your 8 chicken rings with an equivalent number of munchkin sized burgers.
Though, howeverly how, even the drive-through is not 100% devoid of muttonheads. Once, while lining up after ordering, this you're-not-fast-enough-for-me customer leaves the line after ordering ... and steers his shag-mobile through the exit. So I pull up and Ms Mentally-Astute attempts to give me Mr Shag-mobile's food and I go 'uh-uh.' The stupid broad looks me in the eye and chides because .... "You must have jumped the line." No breath was being wasted here - 'uh-uh' I refuse - my breath would be better spent blowing a hurricane back into the Atlantic or whatever watermass they come from. This is the reason why some people should not work. She would be better off with lipstick, mascara, lotsa eye-shadow; spreading her legs like a rumor on 1&9. Yeah I said it - again.
"So - Howze everyone feeling tonight ?" Time to come up for air but nothing in those tepid waters worth mention. Since my revolt from fast food together with the brick and mortar that houses them, my culinar-social life has turned a little ... bland. Kinda like boiled Githeri with no salt, but a few degrees more tasteless than Uganga if that's even a tad fathomable. The mama-drama from drama-mamas rumbling on about being pillaged for mac and cheese; double-trouble from double-chinned urchins with never enough capital for that McTriple stack-shaker or whatever they call it nowadays. I call it capital coz some of these lads and lasses chow down like they're investing in something - like more real estate around the tailpipe area. I guess you could say, albeit very loosely, that they're into real estate. Conclusively, hence therefore, this sector of the populace can be considered realtors or landlords, but off-course - do not try at home - use at your own risk.
Does so transpire, much to my chagrin, that my times in these establishments are dotted with some self-inflicted episodes of humility and instantaneous learning. Take, for instance, a time at the McEatery when I confidently requested my complete nutritional meal comprised of "just chips and tomato sauce." Wooo-ha, the food service expert gave me that what-trainwreck-did-they-pull-your-behind-from look. Bila shame bila haya bila repentence - I rewind and come again. Selekta. In my mind I'm thinking - "if you could take off that stage-artist wannabe contraption from your head and stop listening to that snootie and the hoefish, the remnant earwax will not stop my oral diction from getting to your head. Little did I know that this contraption was part of "work-gear." At this point I felt like I could make more sense talking to a pumpkin or cabbagehead with eyes and a mouth drawn on it.
I conveniently omit (for fear of being labelled an exiled casual farm-hand) ... that I walked into this joint 30min prior to this, and NO they had NO long lines. Me, I McDaringly sat at the McTable waiting for a waiter, obviously drawing some form of parallels between this place and Wimpy. Needless to say, no waiter came over, but yes my keen self observed that newcomers were going up-front and speaking to some McShorry with some helicopter pilot thing hugging her scalp. Shortly after they would get a bag, a coke, a smile and ... you know the rest.
So, any howly, I tried that formula for fit and it raptured in my face. As per Miss McThing, chips are sold at the store and tomato sauce is sold there too. What store ? Bear in mind that where I'm from the store is that little room near the kitchen where they keep excessive foodtuffs. Total bewilderment !!! Like Lucy asked ... Who is you mother ? What ? You miserable excuse for service - I can see the damn products with my naked eyes .. did you graduate from Thika School for the Blind ? After sheepishly pointing my finger to the delicacies she gives me McOrdering 101 .. "You mean fries and ketchup ?" Yes, Ms Bigshot you spoiled brat of a brag, just coz I aint got no job doesn't mean you wipe the floor with my rasa in front of everyone. Yes, not chips and tomato sauce .... fries and ketchup - you just saved a life you underachieving McNothing, go hug a tree ,wipe a tear, then give me my godamn ... whatever you wanna call it. This episode scarred me for quite sometime coz I could only fries and ketchup - the only things I could comfortably order.
The Ripple
There has to be a place in heaven for the inventer of The drive-through™. From the comfort of your sled-mobile in yourveryownspace.com - uninterrupted from your Soukouss Vibration 'volume si' - you can order your 8 chicken rings with an equivalent number of munchkin sized burgers.
Though, howeverly how, even the drive-through is not 100% devoid of muttonheads. Once, while lining up after ordering, this you're-not-fast-enough-for-me customer leaves the line after ordering ... and steers his shag-mobile through the exit. So I pull up and Ms Mentally-Astute attempts to give me Mr Shag-mobile's food and I go 'uh-uh.' The stupid broad looks me in the eye and chides because .... "You must have jumped the line." No breath was being wasted here - 'uh-uh' I refuse - my breath would be better spent blowing a hurricane back into the Atlantic or whatever watermass they come from. This is the reason why some people should not work. She would be better off with lipstick, mascara, lotsa eye-shadow; spreading her legs like a rumor on 1&9. Yeah I said it - again.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Shopping for my Alarm Clock - Part II of II
Caveat: If my ranting has the bearings of an anal-retentive schizophrenic, it’s coz I'm half schizo, half retentive and 3/10th anal; buckle up.
#490 is just a distant memory as I cling onto the escalator rail descending back to earth and the exit, while being forced to go through this swank segregatory country-club-like Needless Markup store. That’s what some geniuses call Neiman Marcus. No sooner had my regularness touched down than an overly-zealous animated caucasian lady pounced on me with the fakest "How you dzoin ?" In the back of my mind off-course, I go "Chillax heifer don't derail just yet, I'm just a miro trying to buy a clock, !!! Maybe my presence brought on memories of a heated mattress-aerobics encounter with another Nubian prince, in which case she sooo needed to get over it .....
Anywayz and in everywayz, not to be outdone in fakeness, I puff "I'm doing just great, thanx, hawaya !!!" To which she says - "Could be better handsome, it's gorgeous out there." I have been raised to know that a caucasian doesn't show that much love to a miro unless she's selling something ..... or herself. How much will it cost, since I was sure her presciousness was going to convince me I needed whatever it was. She proceeds on, "I must say you have such beautiful skin."
The lying B! how disgusting !!! I swear I tasted vomit in my mouth, the deceptive vixen had gone there. She is pulling no stops I can see, and we just met. Lets face it, 2 minutes in the Everglades could catch you a gator with smoother skin than mine. I really hope she doesn't kiss her grandkids goodnite with those lying fallacious lips. Whatever. "Thank you" had barely made it out ... by then she had grabbed my wrist and walked me to a counter with an array of cosmetics even Mary Kay herself would be left gawking. These are not the goodies you'd find in an Avon-peddler’s bag, this was serious stuff, ... like if Ferrari made lipstick this counter had it.
Start Cosmetics 101, kinda like Psychology 101, but dealing more with chemicals used to 'enhance' or in some rare cases 'create' beauty. Create - verb (used with object) 1. to cause to come into being - Nother story nother day. Today Her Fakeness took on a new pretentiousness, yeah she really gives a hoot about my skin texture, what a load of manure. This epidermis has seen acid rain made in Nairobi, Equatorial sunshine, upcountry dust, loam, silk and sand soils; Dorot, Nivea, Ambi, avocado, cucumber slices, mud, facial mud, pollen, nectar, you name it. Aint nothing on that counter – sweedhart – that will undo what done been did. But however - I just humored her so I could blog her big fanny at a later time.
She whipped out a color coded chart alongside a blueprint of the human face. You see fellow earth dwellers; your face consists of – a chin, a forehead, 2 cheeks, 2 temples, 2 eyelids, a philtrum, 2 lips, a nose, 2 cheekbones, and 2 undereyes. Each of these sections gets different exposures to sunshine, rain, the elements, and all the above items met by my epidermis. So Miss all-things-cosmetic continues to bore me with the details. Skin needs to stretch, breathe, relax, exfoliate – sounds like skin needs to hit the gym, then exfoliate. On she goes … 6 different natural herbal moisturisers, 7 exfoliators, 4 restoration creams for all these face parts, oh and off course some organic lip balm. The chart illustrates what toxin you shall apply to what part. The cosmetizoid proceeds to unleash terror on me – “Honey without these items your skin will age and wrinkle faster.” NEWSFLASH - you oversized Barbie : When a Miro man wakes up in the morning he has things like this on his mind : Do I have enough gas ? Do I still have beer breathe from jana ? What shall I tell her ? Will your male-counterparts sworn to serve and protect shoot me for fitting the description ? Miss Overqualifed Avon-girl, my skin complexion and texture do not even meet the cut. Rest assured.
For being so interested in my wellbeing; and fear of her manager’s wrath for wasting time with a regular earthling and not breaking the register with more profits; An ounce of compassion for a fellow being befell me, she better cash in during open window …. “I’ll take the exfoliator for the cheek bones, please, I COULD SO SO really use that.” Only heaven knows what kind of grime this magic portion will lift off these puppies. Like a whippersnapper in a candy store she beams, “ …that’s $159 plus tax”.– WHAT you shameless bandit, what kind of pirate are you ???? $159 for that – Doesn’t the Deli sell that stuff for like $1.59 ? Instead, I put on the same impress-all act I did for the Valet parking man earlier on and whipped out my Plutonium Lead-Free Visa. “You better not decline you stupid plastic moron,” I barked in my mind.
Free of guilt or shame she says, “I’m sorry sir, we only take American Express and Needless Markup cards here.” Now – a little history - The people at American Express do not trust me with their card, what a bunch of cowardly sissies. No sleep lost here. I had just wiggled out of this high pressure sale effortlessly.
THE RIPPLE :
This wretched store is not for folks like me. Apparently these prude stuck-ups do not take the kind of plastic waddled around by hapless mortals like myself. We are merely credit card holders. American Express cardholders are called Card Members. Are you a cardmember ?
#490 is just a distant memory as I cling onto the escalator rail descending back to earth and the exit, while being forced to go through this swank segregatory country-club-like Needless Markup store. That’s what some geniuses call Neiman Marcus. No sooner had my regularness touched down than an overly-zealous animated caucasian lady pounced on me with the fakest "How you dzoin ?" In the back of my mind off-course, I go "Chillax heifer don't derail just yet, I'm just a miro trying to buy a clock, !!! Maybe my presence brought on memories of a heated mattress-aerobics encounter with another Nubian prince, in which case she sooo needed to get over it .....
Anywayz and in everywayz, not to be outdone in fakeness, I puff "I'm doing just great, thanx, hawaya !!!" To which she says - "Could be better handsome, it's gorgeous out there." I have been raised to know that a caucasian doesn't show that much love to a miro unless she's selling something ..... or herself. How much will it cost, since I was sure her presciousness was going to convince me I needed whatever it was. She proceeds on, "I must say you have such beautiful skin."
The lying B! how disgusting !!! I swear I tasted vomit in my mouth, the deceptive vixen had gone there. She is pulling no stops I can see, and we just met. Lets face it, 2 minutes in the Everglades could catch you a gator with smoother skin than mine. I really hope she doesn't kiss her grandkids goodnite with those lying fallacious lips. Whatever. "Thank you" had barely made it out ... by then she had grabbed my wrist and walked me to a counter with an array of cosmetics even Mary Kay herself would be left gawking. These are not the goodies you'd find in an Avon-peddler’s bag, this was serious stuff, ... like if Ferrari made lipstick this counter had it.
Start Cosmetics 101, kinda like Psychology 101, but dealing more with chemicals used to 'enhance' or in some rare cases 'create' beauty. Create - verb (used with object) 1. to cause to come into being - Nother story nother day. Today Her Fakeness took on a new pretentiousness, yeah she really gives a hoot about my skin texture, what a load of manure. This epidermis has seen acid rain made in Nairobi, Equatorial sunshine, upcountry dust, loam, silk and sand soils; Dorot, Nivea, Ambi, avocado, cucumber slices, mud, facial mud, pollen, nectar, you name it. Aint nothing on that counter – sweedhart – that will undo what done been did. But however - I just humored her so I could blog her big fanny at a later time.
She whipped out a color coded chart alongside a blueprint of the human face. You see fellow earth dwellers; your face consists of – a chin, a forehead, 2 cheeks, 2 temples, 2 eyelids, a philtrum, 2 lips, a nose, 2 cheekbones, and 2 undereyes. Each of these sections gets different exposures to sunshine, rain, the elements, and all the above items met by my epidermis. So Miss all-things-cosmetic continues to bore me with the details. Skin needs to stretch, breathe, relax, exfoliate – sounds like skin needs to hit the gym, then exfoliate. On she goes … 6 different natural herbal moisturisers, 7 exfoliators, 4 restoration creams for all these face parts, oh and off course some organic lip balm. The chart illustrates what toxin you shall apply to what part. The cosmetizoid proceeds to unleash terror on me – “Honey without these items your skin will age and wrinkle faster.” NEWSFLASH - you oversized Barbie : When a Miro man wakes up in the morning he has things like this on his mind : Do I have enough gas ? Do I still have beer breathe from jana ? What shall I tell her ? Will your male-counterparts sworn to serve and protect shoot me for fitting the description ? Miss Overqualifed Avon-girl, my skin complexion and texture do not even meet the cut. Rest assured.
For being so interested in my wellbeing; and fear of her manager’s wrath for wasting time with a regular earthling and not breaking the register with more profits; An ounce of compassion for a fellow being befell me, she better cash in during open window …. “I’ll take the exfoliator for the cheek bones, please, I COULD SO SO really use that.” Only heaven knows what kind of grime this magic portion will lift off these puppies. Like a whippersnapper in a candy store she beams, “ …that’s $159 plus tax”.– WHAT you shameless bandit, what kind of pirate are you ???? $159 for that – Doesn’t the Deli sell that stuff for like $1.59 ? Instead, I put on the same impress-all act I did for the Valet parking man earlier on and whipped out my Plutonium Lead-Free Visa. “You better not decline you stupid plastic moron,” I barked in my mind.
Free of guilt or shame she says, “I’m sorry sir, we only take American Express and Needless Markup cards here.” Now – a little history - The people at American Express do not trust me with their card, what a bunch of cowardly sissies. No sleep lost here. I had just wiggled out of this high pressure sale effortlessly.
THE RIPPLE :
This wretched store is not for folks like me. Apparently these prude stuck-ups do not take the kind of plastic waddled around by hapless mortals like myself. We are merely credit card holders. American Express cardholders are called Card Members. Are you a cardmember ?
Monday, October 8, 2007
Shopping for my Alarm Clock - PART I of II
The Small Pebble ... more like a Miniscule cobble.
I love looking for parking at the Mall. Kudos to me - and yes, I have the endurance of a mule crossed with a camel. Yaaaaah ... It's just as pleasurable as sticking my !&*^#$ , excuse my language, into a jar of broken glass. I FRIGGIN HATE IT !!!! Unless, off course, I only shopped at Neiman Marcus where spine flexing mortals park your gazillion thousand dollar cruise mobile for ya ...
Why not Valet today ? I mean the sign said $5 - not even enough quid for a Frappucino - so why split hairs ? Why traverse miles of aisles with cars belonging to other regular earthlings like myself ? In a very socialite way I prod the valet-parking-man, "Hey there buddy, howze the going ?" Like I, or they, really care how he's doing ... just park the damn car, I have new Gucci shoes, a facial peal, and Mocha with other socialites ... waiting for my you'll-never-be-this-filthy-rich behind. Or so I had to act, God forbid he found out I'm a phony and still owe money on the car, I'd be banned from all Valets in NJ.
So I'm hemorrhaging with socialistic snobbishness as I daringly walk thru Neiman Marcus like it's a tea kiosk in Kawangware. Not to act stupefied by $3000 Ferragamo shoes paraded like tomatoes at Marikiti, I stop and grab a pair, continuing to analyze them like Mozart, bless his soul, would with a musical composition. "The gentle stitching has penetrated my artistic barriers," I exuded to the salespers ... sorry Customer Relations Expert, hoping to draw his tongue to my boots. I mean, what is he doing sizing me up like a Forbes detective ? "Fall, 2006 ... " he generously shares ... I put my mumonyoko wa ulimi in check by restraining my oral muscle from saying," I should get my brother a pair, he would so totally love them !!!" ..... HOW YOU DZOIN ????
So, this is where the whooz r whooz shop ? I couldnt find a bleeping Radio Shack on the stupid Mall Directory, what kind of wicked sick joke is this ? Then it dawned on me, oh my Gooseness, who the F would shop at Radio Shack at this mocha-frappu-bling-chinging place ? The mall security guys ? - those asinine overgrown boy scouts - Cummon, buying what ? Nose-hair trimmers and shavers for their ever neat haircuts ? Why do they have such neat hair always anyway ? .... HOW YOU DZOIN ???? Clean your whistle and take a hike .... for now.
So anyhowly, after totally grossly insanely wasting an Hr of my so coveted day off, plus the $5 parking fee, plus Tip ... Tip, Tiiiip, are you kidding me ? Tip ? He'll be lucky if I don't leave him inhaling a mix of my flatulence and car exhaust fumes as I peel off a layer off my already-bald Firestone radials. True to my purpose I was still going to find the alarm clock. I was pretty sure this fanshy-shmansy overgrown mall would have the kind of alarm clocks used to awake kings, you know - an alarm that will jolt my loins out of sleep-mode but still look at me like I'm the master. Anything less would end up as a heap of springs and scrap plastic like my old one did after scaring me the hell up and looking at me like it had done me a favor. If the crime of clockicide involves applying an enormous sum of kinetic energy to a clock attributing to its sudden demise, I am guilty. Stupid clock, I dont miss it - or the memories ... who invented that miserable krrriiik krriiik krriiik noise they all make, diseased son of a thousand bastards.
Aaaaanyway, the mall directory shows some electronics place called Sharper Image, store B490. After finding my bearing and calculating how to get from "YOU ARE HERE" to B490, I started to chug forward. So I locate B490 with no further obstacles, and chiming door welcomes me. My eyes immediately feast on the barrage of gadgets occupying this electronics haven. Thomas Edison would be impressed by his successors works. From digital rubiks cubes ; handsfree massage loungers - ( yes - handsfree no carpal tunnel here ) ; Robopanda which is essentially a Rhoomba Vacuum that sings for the kids when it's not sucking up dirt from under your handsfree massage lounger; Water-proof Karaoke shower companion - like the habit needs to be encouraged ? ; If you could dream of a gadget they make it in some village in China and sell it right here at B490.
The alarm clock section was like a mini-mall on it's own. Atomic clocks that set themselves using some supernatural connection with outerspace. There was another that uses nature to awake you. It starts off with birds chirping feintly, waterfalls, cows mooing, then some crazy cock crows when your snooze time is up. How natural is that ? Where in the NY/NJ metro area do cocks crow, leave the waterfalls and cows ? Natural ? That sounds unnatural to me - still better than the Krriiik Krriiik though. Then there was the natural light alarm clock. It awakes you by making the room brighter and brighter gradually. The stupid turd-face sales rep. says that this $149 clock is a new invention. Get off that cheap crack !!! New invention ??? Whaaat you lying &*#$% - pardon my French - this invention has been around since I was born. It was called MAMA opening the damn curtains !!!!
Feeling exesperated from all this broohaha and dejected that this lame excuse for a shopping place did not sell an alarm clock for the mortal back-breaker like myself ... I come to the conclusion that it's time to leave. Or maybe I was being too sordid for this righteous place, oh please !!! slice it or dice it any which way, $149 is waaaaaay much for a gizmo to awake me.
It's what happened on my way back to the Valet that made the highlight of my alarm-clock-shopping expedition-gone-haywire experience.
Look out for Part II of II
I love looking for parking at the Mall. Kudos to me - and yes, I have the endurance of a mule crossed with a camel. Yaaaaah ... It's just as pleasurable as sticking my !&*^#$ , excuse my language, into a jar of broken glass. I FRIGGIN HATE IT !!!! Unless, off course, I only shopped at Neiman Marcus where spine flexing mortals park your gazillion thousand dollar cruise mobile for ya ...
Why not Valet today ? I mean the sign said $5 - not even enough quid for a Frappucino - so why split hairs ? Why traverse miles of aisles with cars belonging to other regular earthlings like myself ? In a very socialite way I prod the valet-parking-man, "Hey there buddy, howze the going ?" Like I, or they, really care how he's doing ... just park the damn car, I have new Gucci shoes, a facial peal, and Mocha with other socialites ... waiting for my you'll-never-be-this-filthy-rich behind. Or so I had to act, God forbid he found out I'm a phony and still owe money on the car, I'd be banned from all Valets in NJ.
So I'm hemorrhaging with socialistic snobbishness as I daringly walk thru Neiman Marcus like it's a tea kiosk in Kawangware. Not to act stupefied by $3000 Ferragamo shoes paraded like tomatoes at Marikiti, I stop and grab a pair, continuing to analyze them like Mozart, bless his soul, would with a musical composition. "The gentle stitching has penetrated my artistic barriers," I exuded to the salespers ... sorry Customer Relations Expert, hoping to draw his tongue to my boots. I mean, what is he doing sizing me up like a Forbes detective ? "Fall, 2006 ... " he generously shares ... I put my mumonyoko wa ulimi in check by restraining my oral muscle from saying," I should get my brother a pair, he would so totally love them !!!" ..... HOW YOU DZOIN ????
So, this is where the whooz r whooz shop ? I couldnt find a bleeping Radio Shack on the stupid Mall Directory, what kind of wicked sick joke is this ? Then it dawned on me, oh my Gooseness, who the F would shop at Radio Shack at this mocha-frappu-bling-chinging place ? The mall security guys ? - those asinine overgrown boy scouts - Cummon, buying what ? Nose-hair trimmers and shavers for their ever neat haircuts ? Why do they have such neat hair always anyway ? .... HOW YOU DZOIN ???? Clean your whistle and take a hike .... for now.
So anyhowly, after totally grossly insanely wasting an Hr of my so coveted day off, plus the $5 parking fee, plus Tip ... Tip, Tiiiip, are you kidding me ? Tip ? He'll be lucky if I don't leave him inhaling a mix of my flatulence and car exhaust fumes as I peel off a layer off my already-bald Firestone radials. True to my purpose I was still going to find the alarm clock. I was pretty sure this fanshy-shmansy overgrown mall would have the kind of alarm clocks used to awake kings, you know - an alarm that will jolt my loins out of sleep-mode but still look at me like I'm the master. Anything less would end up as a heap of springs and scrap plastic like my old one did after scaring me the hell up and looking at me like it had done me a favor. If the crime of clockicide involves applying an enormous sum of kinetic energy to a clock attributing to its sudden demise, I am guilty. Stupid clock, I dont miss it - or the memories ... who invented that miserable krrriiik krriiik krriiik noise they all make, diseased son of a thousand bastards.
Aaaaanyway, the mall directory shows some electronics place called Sharper Image, store B490. After finding my bearing and calculating how to get from "YOU ARE HERE" to B490, I started to chug forward. So I locate B490 with no further obstacles, and chiming door welcomes me. My eyes immediately feast on the barrage of gadgets occupying this electronics haven. Thomas Edison would be impressed by his successors works. From digital rubiks cubes ; handsfree massage loungers - ( yes - handsfree no carpal tunnel here ) ; Robopanda which is essentially a Rhoomba Vacuum that sings for the kids when it's not sucking up dirt from under your handsfree massage lounger; Water-proof Karaoke shower companion - like the habit needs to be encouraged ? ; If you could dream of a gadget they make it in some village in China and sell it right here at B490.
The alarm clock section was like a mini-mall on it's own. Atomic clocks that set themselves using some supernatural connection with outerspace. There was another that uses nature to awake you. It starts off with birds chirping feintly, waterfalls, cows mooing, then some crazy cock crows when your snooze time is up. How natural is that ? Where in the NY/NJ metro area do cocks crow, leave the waterfalls and cows ? Natural ? That sounds unnatural to me - still better than the Krriiik Krriiik though. Then there was the natural light alarm clock. It awakes you by making the room brighter and brighter gradually. The stupid turd-face sales rep. says that this $149 clock is a new invention. Get off that cheap crack !!! New invention ??? Whaaat you lying &*#$% - pardon my French - this invention has been around since I was born. It was called MAMA opening the damn curtains !!!!
Feeling exesperated from all this broohaha and dejected that this lame excuse for a shopping place did not sell an alarm clock for the mortal back-breaker like myself ... I come to the conclusion that it's time to leave. Or maybe I was being too sordid for this righteous place, oh please !!! slice it or dice it any which way, $149 is waaaaaay much for a gizmo to awake me.
It's what happened on my way back to the Valet that made the highlight of my alarm-clock-shopping expedition-gone-haywire experience.
Look out for Part II of II
Friday, October 5, 2007
Why I do what I do when lining up at the supermarket
THE PEBBLE :
Scene - Somewhere in a supermarket in NJ : Lining up 15 min in front of a coupon-cutting save-a-penny-a-day cucu is not my life's high moment. Ever. That slab of meat is never worth the $8.99 they want for it anyways. But however and whatsoever, the lust for burnt cow parts can only be fulfilled by this trip to the supermarket. Register: "Kachink", Underpaid clerk: "have a nice day." What a bunch of crock, most of the time they're just happy you didn’t bother them with your penny pinching ways.
As the last of this chomz is consumed, a discussion comes to life involving overpriced beef; useless waits lining up to pay, the un-freshness of this overpriced meat stock. It takes the mind of a genius to determine that the next cause of action is to get the meat from the source. Where JERSEY? The source? Now. bear in mind most people in NJ only know how to get to work, the liqor store or church, Newark Airport and back home. The idea of cows grazing in NJ is as far fetched as zero-calorie Ugali. Apparently not.
One bright day 4 guys and 2 chics jumped into a midsize Japanese saloon/sedan and proceeded to drive an hour south to buy a COW. Yes, after buying sardines for years, it was unanimously decided that a cow can be stuffed into the trunk/boot if chopped up properly. A cow, it turns out is not an oversized goat. I remember this slaughter guy looking at us like we were punking him; together with the roughly 1000 lbs weighed by the guys alone the 700lbs weighed by the cow would void the car's warranty instantaneously. So with all the mental horsepower we could summon, two goats seemed like the kind of idea that would earn some award, at least in someone's backyard. So at a cost of $140, the 70lb goat is a steal, I mean we felt like daylight robbers fleecing the likes of Halal who charged $4 for a pound for this rarity. With two goats, an undisclosed number of chicken, 1000 lb of guy, 2 chics and several huge grins, the Japanese car proceeded to rip up the tarmac like it was carrying feathers. What an achievement this was. Ngatho, to borrow from the past, all this for so little; goodbye Mr Meatsection guy, Kwaheri Mr Deli man, Adieu Mr Sausageman, Later-dude Mr Meatcity man, papa got a brand new bag and we shan’t be shopping with you. Or so I thought - we had found our meat-buyers niche and the conglomerate, behemoth supermarket types were never to pluck our pockets for meat products.
Fast forward kidogo. Out goes those smelly stomach innards, the kichwa, the hooves, the tail, the twin-genital containers, I felt like we were tossing all our winnings away. Oh those horns, couldn’t we at least make glue - what a waste ... when all was said we had tossed half the goat away and eaten parts of goat we cannot talk of in public. After all the tossings the Net weight was about 35lbs at that same $140 we paid. Break out Mr Texas Instruments and do the math. Salaaaaala we could have broken even going to Halal.
THE RIPPLE :
Those magazines in the check out line are to keep you busy for those 15 mins that the cucu will be dropping coupon books and arguing that the prune juice is on sale for $1.48 not $1.49
Scene - Somewhere in a supermarket in NJ : Lining up 15 min in front of a coupon-cutting save-a-penny-a-day cucu is not my life's high moment. Ever. That slab of meat is never worth the $8.99 they want for it anyways. But however and whatsoever, the lust for burnt cow parts can only be fulfilled by this trip to the supermarket. Register: "Kachink", Underpaid clerk: "have a nice day." What a bunch of crock, most of the time they're just happy you didn’t bother them with your penny pinching ways.
As the last of this chomz is consumed, a discussion comes to life involving overpriced beef; useless waits lining up to pay, the un-freshness of this overpriced meat stock. It takes the mind of a genius to determine that the next cause of action is to get the meat from the source. Where JERSEY? The source? Now. bear in mind most people in NJ only know how to get to work, the liqor store or church, Newark Airport and back home. The idea of cows grazing in NJ is as far fetched as zero-calorie Ugali. Apparently not.
One bright day 4 guys and 2 chics jumped into a midsize Japanese saloon/sedan and proceeded to drive an hour south to buy a COW. Yes, after buying sardines for years, it was unanimously decided that a cow can be stuffed into the trunk/boot if chopped up properly. A cow, it turns out is not an oversized goat. I remember this slaughter guy looking at us like we were punking him; together with the roughly 1000 lbs weighed by the guys alone the 700lbs weighed by the cow would void the car's warranty instantaneously. So with all the mental horsepower we could summon, two goats seemed like the kind of idea that would earn some award, at least in someone's backyard. So at a cost of $140, the 70lb goat is a steal, I mean we felt like daylight robbers fleecing the likes of Halal who charged $4 for a pound for this rarity. With two goats, an undisclosed number of chicken, 1000 lb of guy, 2 chics and several huge grins, the Japanese car proceeded to rip up the tarmac like it was carrying feathers. What an achievement this was. Ngatho, to borrow from the past, all this for so little; goodbye Mr Meatsection guy, Kwaheri Mr Deli man, Adieu Mr Sausageman, Later-dude Mr Meatcity man, papa got a brand new bag and we shan’t be shopping with you. Or so I thought - we had found our meat-buyers niche and the conglomerate, behemoth supermarket types were never to pluck our pockets for meat products.
Fast forward kidogo. Out goes those smelly stomach innards, the kichwa, the hooves, the tail, the twin-genital containers, I felt like we were tossing all our winnings away. Oh those horns, couldn’t we at least make glue - what a waste ... when all was said we had tossed half the goat away and eaten parts of goat we cannot talk of in public. After all the tossings the Net weight was about 35lbs at that same $140 we paid. Break out Mr Texas Instruments and do the math. Salaaaaala we could have broken even going to Halal.
THE RIPPLE :
Those magazines in the check out line are to keep you busy for those 15 mins that the cucu will be dropping coupon books and arguing that the prune juice is on sale for $1.48 not $1.49
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