Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
On Monday it was really hot outside, and somebody (ahem) suggested we go
somewhere for obscenely large milkshakes. I was thinking about the ice
cream shop near our house, but one of the Secrets asked if we could go
to Johnny Rockets. Hey, fine wit' me; I'm down with Mr. Rockets. They
just opened a new location inside the mall here, and I'd been wanting to
check it out. So it was all coming together....
The kids and I ordered chocolate shakes, the classic, and Toney opted
for a root beer float. While we waited the entire staff performed Aretha
Franklin's "Respect" in the middle of the floor, complete with
exaggerated hand gestures and much ass-wiggling. It was kind of
embarrassing, and I couldn't make eye-contact with anyone until it was
over.
Finally, the waiter brought us our order, and it was good. I made a
conscious decision to pace myself and not suck it straight down; I
wanted to savor the thing and make it last. But the Secrets made no such
pact with themselves, and almost immediately it was time to transfer
their surplus overflow from the metal canister into their glass, um,
glass.
You know what I'm talking about, right? They give you the shake, and
they give you the metal mixing canister with a little extra in it, as a
bonus?
Right. I used a spoon to dislodge the thick shake material from the
bottom of the surplus holder, and something strange broke loose and
dropped into the youngest Secret's glass. The hell? I poked at it and
broke it apart, and it looked like a slice of orange. Baffled, Toney
began inspecting the oldest Secret's overflow, and it had one in it too.
What in the sweet and sour heck??
I tried to get the waiter's attention, but it wasn't easy. The place was
like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Finally I snared him, and
showed him the mystery clumps in the boys' milkshakes (mine didn't have
one, btw). He stared at it for a couple of beats, and said, "That's
not an orange, it's apple pie."
Oh, OK. For a second I was starting to get confused....
He said they sell an apple pie
shake(??), and something must've gone awry during the preparation of our
order. He asked us to hold on, and he'd be right back.
About a minute
later a man who looked like Goldfinger arrived at our table, and began
apologizing profusely. He was sporting a Fu Manchu sweat moustache (that
I was concerned might sling off his lip and fly in our direction), and
told us that everything was on the house, etc. etc. He seemed sincere
and nice enough.
So, no big deal. They probably had some zitster back there on shake
duty, who couldn't give one tiny seahorse-shaped ass droplet about the
quality of his work. Been there, done that, as they say. In fact, I was
thankful that it was just apple pie, and not a tiny
seahorse-shaped ass droplet. Ya know?
My big question is, what is an apple pie shake?? Do they put an entire
slice in there?! I'd never heard of such a thing. I'm picturing somebody
sucking with all their might, trying to work a length of crust through a
straw. None of it makes any sense to me...
I believe I'll just stick with the classics, thank you very much.
-- I got a very late start this morning, so I'm gonna cut this thing
short and leave you with a topic stolen straight off yesterday's Clive
Bull show. It's very simple, but led to some interesting calls;
maybe it'll work the same kind of magic here?
And the questions is.... what do you have in your pockets, right now?
I have eighteen dollars and a pile of credit cards, my driver's license,
various grocery store "loyalty" cards, and so on. I don't
carry a wallet, haven't for years, and just stuff everything into my
front left pocket.
Wallets, for some reason, seem a bit gay to me; it's nothing but an ass
purse, really; may as well carry a European man-bag. Just the word wallet
is kinda poofter, in fact. Say it out loud if you don't believe
me.... Hey, we all have our hangups.
--
On Monday it was really hot outside, and somebody (ahem) suggested we go
somewhere for obscenely large milkshakes. I was thinking about the ice
cream shop near our house, but one of the Secrets asked if we could go
to Johnny Rockets. Hey, fine wit' me; I'm down with Mr. Rockets. They
just opened a new location inside the mall here, and I'd been wanting to
check it out. So it was all coming together....