All-Time Favorites: Chicken Fingers and Fries, Hot Beef or Turkey, Steak Sandwich, Battered Cod and Fries, Linguine Supreme, Humpty Stir Fri, Chili
What's Wrong with the Last Menu: Just about any Humpty's appetizer (or appeteaser) is a soggy greasy mess, but if you want the most grease for your greenback go for the Teaser Pleaser, which has the added bonus of sounding kind of like a Scorpions song.
The Lotus: Must go to bed.
The Palinode: Must eat the rest of the chips.The Parabasis: Wishes it were so. Conceals his identity. Betrays his name.
THINGS THAT SHOULD NEVER BE HIRSUTE
I'm thinking of opening a restaurant kitty corner to Humpty's (that's the empty Superstore to you who know) and calling it Humptrous Restaurant. I'd specialize in the virtually untapped Humpty's garbage market, serving up deep-fried and salted scraps from the dumpster behind Humpty's. The menu would feature one item: Humptrous Surprise. The slogan? Come On Down to Humptrous Restaurant - It's Relicious! Special discounts for the homeless people who raid the Humpty's dumpster anyhow. Opening soon in conjunction with Starbox Coffee House.
I've been reading some of the other diaries here on Diaryland, and I can't quite get over it. You people are writing about your actual lives, for Christ's sake. Not that what I write is fiction - I really do hate Humpty's, for example, and my wife really does leave her bras (and socks) all over our apartment - but I don't talk about body issues or problems with depression or my sex life. Maybe that stuff is too gritty for me. Or maybe it's because I've told all my friends that I'm writing this diary, and I figure they don't need to know about the anxiety that propels me out of bed in the morning and back in at night. I admire the brave ones out there, the ones who dissect their libido for us and expose their insecurities on the internet. I hope writing it down provides a way out for them.
Has anyone here gone and contracted cat scratch fever?
Hey baby, I've got a 20 inch grinder.
Retracted on 2003-02-05::10:36 p.m.
parode - exode