a subtle dismissal

Last week in the mail we received a coupon for the local Brazilian-style steakhouse. On the spectrum of such steakhouses, this place is towards the lower tier, as there is no salad bar, just a salad, (really tasty) cheesebread balls, super creamy mashed taters, and black beans. And not only do they bring out each item separately before you can let the meatstorm start, they take their goddamn time.

So you're sitting there waiting and waiting, watching the fake gauchos walk by with their juicy meat skewers silently taunting you.

The meat is good though, and that's why you hit Brazilian-style steakhouses, salad bar shittiness aside.

Anyway, the coupon. It was buy one, get one (BOGO, YOLO) for the all-you-can-eat "Rodizio Experience". There were like four coupon options, the BOGO deal, a desert thing, an appetizer thing, and a lunch special. Obvi I'm all in for the BOGZ deal.

So whatever, we go; it's awesome being seen in public with Heckyeahwoman. Meal/t was tasty.

When it came time to pony up, I presented the coupon, authoritatively. Instead of tearing our intended coupon from the other three, I handed the waitress the sheet. Let's be real, me tearing it out would have resulted in a totally torn up mess.

Looking at the coupon sheet, the waitress kindly asked me if I wanted the others back. With a smirk, I smugly declined. A subtle dismissal of the restaurant, the food, the staff: the entire experience.

Without saying as much, I let her know that those remaining coupons were beneath me. And that in the absence of a worthwhile coupon, I would not be back.

Rarely am I able to say so much by saying so little. Guess I'm just growing up and getting better at conveying my complex thoughts.

kkk at work

Yeah, we're back after an extended break!

Let's ease back into this blog-business with a nice little story about workplace race relations, shall we?

I hope you've heard of the game/time waster knows as MFK. Of maybe you know it as marry, ferk, kill. Or maybe as bed, dead, wed.

Never heard of it? Take a guess how you play.

OK, name three people to a friend, and he or she has to choose one to marry, one to ferk, and one to kill. Pretty easy right? If you can put together three good names, you can get some interesting answers out of the group.

So, a couple rounds deep at lunch a couple weeks ago, homeboy's eyes widen as he spots a trifecta of perfect subjects for the next round of MFK. For my next round of MFK.

Bear in mind, instead of each of the three full-worded options, we instead utter the individual letters: M, F, or K. You know, to avoid being overheard at work talking about actively murdering or boning somebody. Tryin' to avoid that HR ish.

Anyway, Following dude's wide-eyed gaze, I turned around and what did I spy but three morbidly obese, troll-women waddling around the cafeteria. Before I even had a chance to think about what I was saying, I confidently spit it out:

K(ill)

K(ill)

K(ill)

And that was before I remembered the next lunch table over was packed with about 7 African American lunch-goers.

Happy ending though, nobody outside our table heard my little MFK indiscretion.