HOW TO RUIN A DELIGHTFUL LUNCH IN ONE EASY STEP

Not much time to write here...I've got to season my ribs.

And once again...no ... that's not slang for masturbation.

I'm smoking some ribs for my silent auction dinner tomorrow night, and I've got to mix up the dry rub to put on them and then let them season up for 12 hours or so.

I make the BEST ribs ... have I ever told you that?

I've won competitions throughout the south, which is an area of the country primarily known for its ribs. I've gotten several blue ribbons in cooking contests, won more cook-offs than I can recall and have had my recipe tried to be bought out by no less than Tony Roma's restaurants.

Okay.

None of that is true.

BUT...people always say "These are the BEST ribs!" when they eat my ribs.

And by God...that counts for something.

I had a dream last night that Madonna wanted to marry me.

I was at one of her concerts (which let me know right away this HAD to be a dream, since I wouldn't be caught dead at a Madonna concert), and during her intermission she came out in the crowd and told me she had to talk to me.

We walked away and she was ranting on and on how she wanted to marry me during the second half of her show onstage. She already had the preacher there and everything and wanted to know if I would marry her.

I was all like "Yeah! Sure!"

Then the second half of the show starts, and I'm all excited because Madonna's going to call me up onstage to marry her. And I'm telling all my buddies in the audience "Madonna and I are getting married!"

Then...she never calls me up there, and I realize I've been duped.

That Madonna.

Whatta dream bitch.

Yesterday was a GREAT day.

Being the last day that I was trying to get stuff donated to the Silent Auction taking place tomorrow night (which means by Tuesday you'll never have to read about it again...lucky you), I went balls out trying to line stuff up to sell.

The first place I went to gave me $1,000 worth of stuff.

A thousand bucks worth of goods.

It could have all just crumbled after that and I still woulda been happy.

EVERY SINGLE PLACE I went to after that donated stuff. I've got books, gift certificates, restaurant dinners ... the list goes on and on.

I started getting kinda ballsy yesterday and asking for "Dinners For Four" instead of "Two" out of restaurants.

They didn't blink an eye. Well, some did...but the pollen is thick this time of year.

Sorry. It's getting pretty lame when I'm telling pollen jokes.

OH!!

Get this!!!

Okay ... I know some of you are offended when I call someone fat ... so just hit your "back" button now and save yourself the inner turmoil.

And keep in mind ... I'm fat. Fat as a pig, a house AND a cow. I'm huge. I'm stadium sized. When I go to McDonald's, the employees cringe. Chairs fear me. I've got more chins than a Chinese phone book.

FAT, I'm tellin' ya.

So anyway ... we go to lunch yesterday, me and Drunk-Assed Jamie(TM), and one of my fellow fat guys was in the restaurant at the same time.

We nodded at each other, giving each other the "Fraternal Fat Guy Nod" that all fat guys give each other. It's basically a nod of the head that signifies "Are you sweating too?"

Anyway, we're sitting there eating and Fat Guy is sitting in a booth by himself a few booths away where we can both see him.

I noticed that the guy was eating FAST.

REALLY FAST.

I'm a fast eater, always have been. But this guy could set world records.

He obviously wasn't taking time to breathe as he ate. It was just shovel, chew, swallow. Shovel, chew, swallow. Shovel, chew, swallow.

Then the guy made a loud choking sound.

And then he vomited.

He was apparently trying to hold the vomit back, but it didn't work. I don't know if you've ever vomited with your teeth clenched, but that's probably what the guy did, judging from the way the vomit sprayed all over his table and the other side of the booth.

And he just sat there.

Gushing vomit.

He made no effort to get up and go to the bathroom. He just sat there and vomited his entire meal up.

Drunk-assed Jamie(TM) couldn't help himself.

"Ewwwwww," he said loud enough to wake the dead.

I just sat there with a pained look on my face like my nuts were caught in a vise. I felt for the guy, but then again ... if he hadn't been eating like a starved dog, I doubt any of this would have happened.

After he FINALLY finished tossing his insides around his booth, he just sat there dazed.

Okay, I've never been put in the position of puking my guts up in a restaurant during lunch hour. BUT ... if it were to ever happen to me, I can think of a few better ways to handle it rather than sit there staring like a puke-soaked zombie.

A) Stand up, wipe my mouth with my sleeve and announce "Whatever you do ... don't order the grilled chicken sandwich".

B) Throw my hand in the air and say "Waiter ... more soup please."

C) Crawl under my table with my butter knife and jab away at my vital organs.

D) Blame it on "those damned demons in my head".

But this guy just sat there. I guess he was waiting for someone to come over and clean up the mess so he could finish eating.

The waitress was a friend of Drunk-Assed Jamie's (TM) and she was about to puke herself.

"I'm NOT cleaning that up," she whispered to us as all eyes were on the Human Puke Machine.

Yeah, everyone was staring. When a guy is violently vomiting in a small restaurant, it's kinda hard to pretend nothing's happening. I mean...you can sit there and TRY to discuss the stock market or politics or what have you ... but c'mon... there's a guy heaving his guts out next to you. It's pretty tough to ignore.

The manager came over and asked him if he was okay and the guy shook his head "no". The manager then comped his meal. The guy got up out of his booth, and stumbled to the door and just left without saying a word.

I told Jamie that would be an excellent testimonial for the restaurant. If they had it on film, they coulda shot a commercial with the tagline "Alligator's Pub...Where The Food's So Good, You Can't Keep It Down For Long!"

...Or ... you know...something like that.

Alright...I've wasted enough time here. It's time to go rub some ribs.

And no...for the last time...that's not a slang term for masturbation.