Wednesday, April 20, 2005


Right now I feel bloated and a bit ill, because I ate way too much during lunch. This happens on the rare occassion when I feel as though I've paid too much for my meal and not finishing it would be wasteful and decadent; a truly American undertaking. Afterwards I feel stupid for trying to cram it all down, but it always reminds me of my father, who has a great story about the first time he ever went to a restaurant: when he was around twelve years old, his parents took him and his siblings out to eat after a Sunday church service. His eyes were decidely larger than his stomach, and after he ordered the roast beef manhattan, he realized there was a significant chance it would be too much for him to eat in one sitting. Naturally, when the plate arrived his suspicions were confirmed. However, he tore into the dish optimistically and tried to finish the meal. Since he was twelve years old and his parents had never taken him to a restaurant, he recognized the fiscal sacrifice at stake here - not finishing a meal that his father was about ready to pay someone else for would have been the ultimate in ungratefulness. He had no choice but to show his dad some respect and finish his plate, so the forkfulls of mashed potatoes and gravy kept coming. Even when he felt completely full, he forced his arm to grab a few pieces of beef and a chunk of moist bread, demanded it reach his mouth, chewed it up, swallowed it, repeated.

That is, repeated until he became so sick that he vomited his entire meal all over the table.

Funny story, huh? Kind of sad, though, too, that he was so poor he never went out to eat before he was twelve. That's poor people for you, though. Never knowing how to act in public. Goddamn louses. The only thing they want more than a handout is a fucking glass of whiskey and some straw to chew on. I, for one, wish they'd get off their asses and do something for once, instead of just whining about it. Pricks.

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