04 May 2013
665
R. Linda:
I had lunch with the young whippersnapper yesterday and he was all gloomy because he does not understand why his wife be upset with his arse.
I asked what had upset her exactly and he said (and I'll write this in English), "Well, the other day I had class (he's taking a computer class -- WHY? He's a hacker, and HE'S taking a computer class -- I ask ya what is this world coming too?), then I went to play footy (he is on a recreational soccer team) and after that, I had another game of footy (this time with his friends), and after that, we went for drinks. Manda said, "I never see you anymore." And that's not true I was standing there right in front of her."
Oi! Really dude? He wants the single life, and the married one, but on his own terms, and all at the same time. I was thinking if I was on the other end of that relationship I'd be pretty upset too! Two kiddos he's got, a wife he leaves with the kids so he can travel here and take himself off for skiing and snowboarding in Colorado, then he's off to Boston occasionally to do the town up drinking at all the pubs with his friends who live there, then he's up here causing havoc with me in New Hampshire, and meanwhile, the poor suffering wife is back home at Wuthering Heights by her lonesome bringing up two of the most rambunctious kiddos on the planet. Is it any wonder she's upset?
Why she hasn't -- A. divorced his squirrelly arse, B. locked him in the cellar, or C. put an end to his sorry arse, I have notta clue.
That aside, it was where to go for lunch. Time out of his busy schedule of volunteer work in Boston. Sigh.
Again, I am writing this in English to make it easy for both of us.
He said, "A friend of mine is from South Carolina and he told me of a honking barbecue joint. Let's go there."
Okay, I am not a fan of barbecue, let alone "honking" barbecue, but I bit the bullet and off we went someplace outside of Boston. I have no clue where the hell we were. So we got out and there were only a few cars in the parking lot, and it was 12:15 which made me suspicious the food wasn't so great. But I didn't know, maybe lunch in those parts is later erm . . . earlier. We go inside and there are lots of staff, so then I be thinking, okay we be early. So this young thing asks us "booth or table?" Booth says I, because the tables are really out in the open, it's noisy and I want to be able to hear meself think so a booth it is.
The menu is packed with drinks such as a Jalapeno Margarita, seriously not for this boyo. I ordered a beer. Not Weasil, he ordered a Slathering Slinging Slammah, which was orange juice mixed with whipped cream and olive juice with a healthy dose of gin. UGH! And it looked as disgusting as it sounded.
Appetizers were things called Hog Tied Pau Pau Platta, Baconony Mac and Chaz with caramelised onions and a list of things sounding just as gross and barf-worthy. We passed on appies.
Weasil ordered the Hog Heaven Spare Ribs with collard greens, baked beans, and crisps (potato chips). I ordered the pulled pork with two ribs, collard greens, cornbread and coleslaw.
The food came and I have to say it was mediocre at best. Everything, including the collard greens, tasted the same. Blindfold me and I would have said I had an entire plate of pork with spicy sauce. It was like everything was cooked together. As to Weasil, well it was an exciting meal for the young whippersnapper. Here I thought all that time spent in New Orleans eating craw daddies, dirty rice, and what have you that crawls on the ground, he would have perfected his palate for American southern cuisine.
"This is pink, it still tastes like pig and it's raw," he said as I examined the rib he held up for me to look at. To be honest I couldn't tell because he had Carolina Red Sauce on it so the entire thing was a pink/red. Here, see for yourself.
R. Linda:
I had lunch with the young whippersnapper yesterday and he was all gloomy because he does not understand why his wife be upset with his arse.
I asked what had upset her exactly and he said (and I'll write this in English), "Well, the other day I had class (he's taking a computer class -- WHY? He's a hacker, and HE'S taking a computer class -- I ask ya what is this world coming too?), then I went to play footy (he is on a recreational soccer team) and after that, I had another game of footy (this time with his friends), and after that, we went for drinks. Manda said, "I never see you anymore." And that's not true I was standing there right in front of her."
Oi! Really dude? He wants the single life, and the married one, but on his own terms, and all at the same time. I was thinking if I was on the other end of that relationship I'd be pretty upset too! Two kiddos he's got, a wife he leaves with the kids so he can travel here and take himself off for skiing and snowboarding in Colorado, then he's off to Boston occasionally to do the town up drinking at all the pubs with his friends who live there, then he's up here causing havoc with me in New Hampshire, and meanwhile, the poor suffering wife is back home at Wuthering Heights by her lonesome bringing up two of the most rambunctious kiddos on the planet. Is it any wonder she's upset?
Why she hasn't -- A. divorced his squirrelly arse, B. locked him in the cellar, or C. put an end to his sorry arse, I have notta clue.
That aside, it was where to go for lunch. Time out of his busy schedule of volunteer work in Boston. Sigh.
Again, I am writing this in English to make it easy for both of us.
He said, "A friend of mine is from South Carolina and he told me of a honking barbecue joint. Let's go there."
Okay, I am not a fan of barbecue, let alone "honking" barbecue, but I bit the bullet and off we went someplace outside of Boston. I have no clue where the hell we were. So we got out and there were only a few cars in the parking lot, and it was 12:15 which made me suspicious the food wasn't so great. But I didn't know, maybe lunch in those parts is later erm . . . earlier. We go inside and there are lots of staff, so then I be thinking, okay we be early. So this young thing asks us "booth or table?" Booth says I, because the tables are really out in the open, it's noisy and I want to be able to hear meself think so a booth it is.
The menu is packed with drinks such as a Jalapeno Margarita, seriously not for this boyo. I ordered a beer. Not Weasil, he ordered a Slathering Slinging Slammah, which was orange juice mixed with whipped cream and olive juice with a healthy dose of gin. UGH! And it looked as disgusting as it sounded.
Appetizers were things called Hog Tied Pau Pau Platta, Baconony Mac and Chaz with caramelised onions and a list of things sounding just as gross and barf-worthy. We passed on appies.
Weasil ordered the Hog Heaven Spare Ribs with collard greens, baked beans, and crisps (potato chips). I ordered the pulled pork with two ribs, collard greens, cornbread and coleslaw.
The food came and I have to say it was mediocre at best. Everything, including the collard greens, tasted the same. Blindfold me and I would have said I had an entire plate of pork with spicy sauce. It was like everything was cooked together. As to Weasil, well it was an exciting meal for the young whippersnapper. Here I thought all that time spent in New Orleans eating craw daddies, dirty rice, and what have you that crawls on the ground, he would have perfected his palate for American southern cuisine.
"This is pink, it still tastes like pig and it's raw," he said as I examined the rib he held up for me to look at. To be honest I couldn't tell because he had Carolina Red Sauce on it so the entire thing was a pink/red. Here, see for yourself.
| Mind you he had eaten all the ribs when he got to this opinion they were all RAW! |
"If it falls off the bone, then it's cooked," I said using Tonya's rule of thumb with spare ribs.
"It does, but it looks raw," but he continued to eat those ribs despite what he thought. "This is my last meal probably," he sighed. "My tongue feels funny."
"Ohhh, that's the first sign of raw meat and a hospital trip coming on," I said joking.
"AND that's not all, probably this will be the last time you see me after ya drop me at hospital. I think I might be getting trichinosis from eating raw pork."
"Oh yeah, that's right, talk yourself into it," I said sipping the iced tea I ordered since I was having no part of a Jalapeno Margarita or Weasil's Slammah.
"Yuppers Gabbie, this be the last time you'll have my wonderful company. You know that new watch I told ya I ordered? Have it buried with me when it gets here."
"I will, if it arrives in time," I said finishing me lunch.
"You should probably run across the street to that insurance company and take out some life insurance on me because it be a sure thing I'm gonna die from eating raw pork."
"Nah, I'll just go directly to the lawyers and sue this place for killing my best bud," I said wiping my mouth.
"Take a phone pic of this spare rib for evidence." He said shoving the half-eaten rib in my direction. But I gave him my phone and he took it.
Just then the cheery waitress arrived and asked if we'd like dessert. Well, for the dying man he had to have his last dessert so he ordered a bourbon pecan pie we both could share. Before he could ask for coffee she had gone off probably to tell the rest of the staff that the two gay men were going to share a piece of pie. I have given up on getting upset with Weasil, it just isn't worth explaining.
"And you know the last thing I will remember on me deathbed Gabbie?"
"Okay, I'll bite what?"
"Steven Tyler. And you know what else, he ruined me last meal."
I was totally clueless but Weasil pointed to the wall behind me and there was Tyler looking rather vampirish. It wasn't exactly the kind of picture I'd put in an eating establishment, but there it was. And here it is for you.
"It does, but it looks raw," but he continued to eat those ribs despite what he thought. "This is my last meal probably," he sighed. "My tongue feels funny."
"Ohhh, that's the first sign of raw meat and a hospital trip coming on," I said joking.
"AND that's not all, probably this will be the last time you see me after ya drop me at hospital. I think I might be getting trichinosis from eating raw pork."
"Oh yeah, that's right, talk yourself into it," I said sipping the iced tea I ordered since I was having no part of a Jalapeno Margarita or Weasil's Slammah.
"Yuppers Gabbie, this be the last time you'll have my wonderful company. You know that new watch I told ya I ordered? Have it buried with me when it gets here."
"I will, if it arrives in time," I said finishing me lunch.
"You should probably run across the street to that insurance company and take out some life insurance on me because it be a sure thing I'm gonna die from eating raw pork."
"Nah, I'll just go directly to the lawyers and sue this place for killing my best bud," I said wiping my mouth.
"Take a phone pic of this spare rib for evidence." He said shoving the half-eaten rib in my direction. But I gave him my phone and he took it.
Just then the cheery waitress arrived and asked if we'd like dessert. Well, for the dying man he had to have his last dessert so he ordered a bourbon pecan pie we both could share. Before he could ask for coffee she had gone off probably to tell the rest of the staff that the two gay men were going to share a piece of pie. I have given up on getting upset with Weasil, it just isn't worth explaining.
"And you know the last thing I will remember on me deathbed Gabbie?"
"Okay, I'll bite what?"
"Steven Tyler. And you know what else, he ruined me last meal."
I was totally clueless but Weasil pointed to the wall behind me and there was Tyler looking rather vampirish. It wasn't exactly the kind of picture I'd put in an eating establishment, but there it was. And here it is for you.
 |
| Weasil had a point on this. |
"Yuppers, raw porkie, trichinosis and Stevie Tyler," Weasil sighed.
Oh my. I looked at Tyler and then turned back to Weasil.
"Looks like Tyler is saying the word trichinosis." I nodded at Weasil with a smile.
"Yeah, does. The best part of lunch was this," he said and dragged the Lay's Potato chips where I could see them.
Oh my. I looked at Tyler and then turned back to Weasil.
"Looks like Tyler is saying the word trichinosis." I nodded at Weasil with a smile.
"Yeah, does. The best part of lunch was this," he said and dragged the Lay's Potato chips where I could see them.
 |
| Yee-ah I paid since he was too busy convincing himself he was dying. The entire drive back to Boston proper he was giving me his last will and testament. He wanted to be buried in my backyard because that would keep him near his "bestest bud in the whole wide whorl" and Tonya could use his grave as a garden of sorts, plant flowers over the top of it as long as they weren't bluebells because they made him sneeze. Yup, he said that and I did tell him if he was dead he needn't fear that. He also wanted me to put the new watch (if it arrived after burial), in a watertight box and buried near where his head would be so he could tell what time it was! |
Yes, I listened to all of the entire ride home which was no short ride. I was half crazed with finishing him off meself -- he does that to me! When we got into Brookline I asked him what hospital he wanted me to drop him off at. Yes, I did. I couldn't take it anymore. He told me he'd go back to where I picked him up and he'd keep me informed when his "lastie hours are." So I dropped his arse off and all afternoon, I'd get ten-minute updates. Yes, I did, they said things like:
"Ima still here."
"The pig disease hasn't set in quite yet, but I feelies it."
"Can ya git salmonella from trichinosis? Cuz I thinkies Iz got boff."
"Prolly THIS iz me last Tweet."
"Start digging dat hole cuz Ima cumin!"
"An dunt forgit bout dose stupid sneezy flowers!"
"I feel 1% bettah."
"No, I think the trichinosis is setting in me tongue, it's sore."
I think you get the idea. As of this morning, after a million Tweets last night, I see he is still among the living . . . barely.
Gabe
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