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.
--
In the cafeteria at work they have an ATM that doesn't charge a fee.
It's free to employees and, needless to say, I use it as much as
possible. A few months ago Sheetz
convenience stores began offering the same thing: "money for
nothing," they call it. Because of this, I've found myself becoming
quite anal about avoiding ATM fees. Six months ago I just accepted it as
a fact of life, but today it kills me to pay extra for the privilege of
extracting my beer money, or whatever.
Just to be clear, I'm not one of those retards who believe banks should
buy expensive machines, install them all over town, maintain them, and
provide convenience -- for free. I mean, seriously. But if there's a
legal way around paying, I'm going to take it. And I've become pretty
good at it. During the past three months I believe I've only forked over
$1.75 in ATM fees, and that was in West Virginia last week.
Pretty good, huh? However.... Last month I noticed that my credit union
has started charging me something they call an "ATM usage
fee." It was five dollars the first time 'round, and today they hit
me up for another three bucks. What the hell, man?!
I'd been meaning to call them about it, so they could explain it all to
me in an exasperated, condescending tone, but kept forgetting. Today
I'll be making that call, because they're undermining my life's work
here. They never charged me such a fee until I figured out a way to beat
the system, now they're bending me over the proverbial couch.
I need answers, people!
-- We went to Don Pablo's
last night for dinner. I've mentioned this several times to Toney:
either that place is damn good, or I'm losing my edge. I hope
it's the former, but suspect it's the latter. In any case, I've eaten my
share of excellent Mexican food in my day, having lived in both Atlanta
and Los Angeles, and find myself enjoying Don Pablo's as much as almost
any of it. As chain restaurants go, it's one of the best, in my opinion.
But, and I can't believe I'm having to report this, they've apparently
stopped serving my favorite item, the Real Burrito. It was a
conglomeration of goodness roughly the size of a Nerf football, and
featured black beans, a kick-ass cilantro-laden salsa, and grilled
chicken. Yum. It's what I ordered almost every time.
Last night I couldn't find it, and started
to feel a twinge of panic. I kept scanning the menu, certain I'd
overlooked it, but it wasn't there. Noooo!! Once again, I've
become addicted to a dish, and some corporate weasel sitting behind a
desk somewhere has, for all intents and purposes, slapped it from my
hand as I'm lifting it to my quivering lips. Incredible.
In place of the late great Real Burrito, they now offer something called
the Fajita Style Burrito. I gave it a shot, but it just wasn't the same.
For one thing, there are slimy strips of green pepper in there, and that
just doesn't belong inside an outsize burrito. Ya know? It wasn't
horrible, but I won't be ordering it again. Ever, for as long as I live.
I thought about asking the manager about this serious misstep they've
taken, but decided against it. Like he has anything to do with it....
Plus, we (I) have a history with that place, as it pertains to the
management staff. And I don't want to aggravate things to the point
where we think we're eating the standard guacamole, but it's
actually an extra-special recipe just for us.
Years ago we'd go to Don Pablo's and would invariably be seated in a
certain booth (boof). Somehow this booth (boof) was a blind-spot in the
operation, and every waitress believed it was the responsibility of
someone else. So we'd sit there for a long time, and nobody would wait
on us.
Needless to say, I'd get myself all charged up and go looking for
someone to holler at. And every time this happened the same little
unpleasant pot-bellied manager would be working, and we'd go 'round and
'round. Eventually he'd just toss a free bowl of melted cheese into the
middle of our table, say, "Here's some cheese," and act like
that wiped the slate clean.
Of course he was right (cheese!), but it shouldn't happen every
single time. And, over the months, he and I developed some sort of
unspoken rivalry. He'd give me a knowing nod from across the room
whenever we'd arrive, and I'd return it. Then we'd start doing battle.
I haven't seen him for a long time, perhaps he's moved on. And I don't
really feel like getting it started up again with somebody else; I don't
think I'd much care for a ball-hair flauta, thank you very much. So I
guess I'll just find something else to eat at Don Pablo's.
And so it goes.
-- When we were in West Virginia last week the whole family piled inside
my parents' minivan, and we went to a pizza restaurant for lunch. My Dad
was driving, my mother was in the passenger seat, and we were all loaded
behind them. We arrived at a stoplight, and pulled in behind a filthy
white panel truck. As my Dad brought us to a complete stop, I saw that
someone had written, in the dirt on the rear door of the truck,
"The driver of this vehicle takes it up the ass." In great big
highly-legible letters.
An uncomfortable silence overtook our party, and I believe I actually
checked the time on my watch, even though I wasn't wearing one. My Dad
asked the Secrets if they like pizza, a question that now makes me
laugh. And there was much theatrical neck-scratching, and unnecessary
clearing of throats.
Longest red light ever.
-- Yesterday I mentioned that Toney heard a "critter in the
crawlspace," and how I was afraid some kind of small woodlands
creature might get into the bunker, attach itself to my face, and
require me to undergo a series of painful rabies shots. Well, a reader
named Joseph says he actually went through something like that, and told
us all about it in yesterday's comments. And it was such a great story
I've decided to highlight it here. Be sure to check it out, it's
hilarious.
Thanks Joseph!
-- And before I punch-out for the day, I'd like to alert you to this
short video clip of Alice Cooper appearing on the old Soupy Sales Show.
Soupy, of course, is one of West Virginia's favorite sons, and an
autographed photo of him is on permanent display inside the Surf Report
Bunker. This one, to be exact. Watch the video, it's pure Soupy
Sales-style ridiculousness.
And my question of the day: What do your burps taste like, right now?
Personally, I'm still reliving that green pepper and onion burrito from
last night. (It's actually better the second time around.) What about you? It's very important that we
know the answer to this pressing question.
--
In the cafeteria at work they have an ATM that doesn't charge a fee.
It's free to employees and, needless to say, I use it as much as
possible. A few months ago 