Posted: January 17, 2006 in Best of file 23

As Fort Worths’ Wandering Single Guy, I eat out at restaurants almost every night. Let me tell you about two recent evenings out. On the FAMILY GUY DVD “Stewie Griffin-the Untold Story” Peter remarks about trying to eat out and enjoy his meal while Little Baby SonOfaBitch is at the next table screaming his head off. I wish Peter had been with me the other night. I was at the Original (see the FW Restaurant Tour link) one Wednesday evening attempting to enjoy my weekly Combination Plate. At the table next to me were three men and four or five children between the ages of 2-5. One of them, a would-be Raffi decides to tell some kind of participation story to his little f***-trophies in the GAYEST of voices. “…And now we’re crossing a stream (kids pound on the table, screaming and shrieking here)…and now we’re climbing over a log…” (kids pound on the table, screaming and shrieking here) etc. etc. etc. This goes on for WAY too long. Words fail me in attempting to describe the decibel level here; I’m talking spine-curling, stick-your-fingers-in-your-ears LOUD. These three pricks appeared to be fully enjoying the ruckus their kids were creating. I began shoveling my food like John Belushi, trying to ignore the urge to pick up a chair and break it over Raffi’s head. “Ha ha, kids, isn’t Daddy funny? Look at him bleed!” Not one attempt is made by the staff to quiet this zoo down. Judging by the looks on my fellow diners faces, they appear to be fighting the same temptation I am. Consequently, I’ve been visiting other Mexican restaurants a lot more lately. As a matter of fact, File23 co-conspirator Brandon Busch and I were visiting another such establishment recently. We were seated at a booth next to an older couple. I didn’t get a good look at them until after we had sat down. The old man looked like something out of a Joe Coleman painting; a grizzled, haggard Denver Pyle look-alike. What struck me most was his skin was about the color of a bruise, perhaps the result of a liver ailment or chemotherapy. Brandon had his back to them and wasn’t getting this picture. The old man talks about getting a pedicure. ” My toenail had grown over the end of my toe and began to split in two…” Brandon begins to pale at this point. I had to keep a straight face because I’m facing them. The old man goes on with more information than we needed about the toenail; I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but it just got worse. In case you were wondering, there is no point to this. It’s just another pointless blog; pure filler. But I got you this far, didn’t I? BR December 8 2005


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