I asked my dad where in town he’d like to go for his birthday dinner, knowing full well the answer would be anywhere he could eat a mooer with a bell still attached to it’s neck… y’all! Which is basically like a vegetarian’s dream come true if by dream you really meant torture chamber! I have nothing against mooers, but even when I ate meat, I was never a big fan of steak… it hurt my teeth and I couldn’t stand the plate full of blood that came with it. Do cows have vampires in their people?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch… the chosen place of birthday dinnering:
Darn tootin’, Gomer! I wanted to ask how much of a discount one could get if they brought in their own roadkill, but I refrained. You can thank me later, family. I bet it would be substantial… especially if I “accidentally” hit a beefalo or something exotic. What does a psychopathic vegetarian chiquita order from a steak house? SALAD!!!!! Except, and this was the awkward part, my dad, Mr. Mooer with a Bell Still Attached, was so full from a full day of eating birthday goods, he ordered a freaking SALAD… which made it like tres awkward when I was next up and also ordered a salad… he probably was all like… Go to Wendy’s you weird buckets. Dad let it slip that I was a veggie-monger, so the waiter dude put on his best salesman chaps and would not let it go that there was a vegetarian option on the menu… 3 sides. I was all like, no… I’ll just have my salad… so he left, but then he came back 5 minutes later and was all like, you might as well just order the veggie plate because it’s only 2 more dollars than what you are ordering now and I’ll throw in a country line dance on the side. Right… Because saying no can only happen 4 times in a row for me, apparently, I finally said yes… and this is what I had for dinner… at the steak house:
If you look reallllllllyyyy closely you can see my dentures hanging out on the side over there! 😛 I should have asked them to puree my vegetables! Next time, Clint Eastwood… next time. They also just have these buckets of shelled peanuts sitting on the tables and you’re supposed to eat them and then throw the garbage on the ground like it ain’t no problem having garbage on the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so piled my shells neatly on my plate.
Lindsay and Shayne were there:
I also made a note to self that if I ever decided to have a birthday dinner on my birthday at this place, I might as well take up streaking the streets of town afterwards. Apparently, if you eat there and are having a birthday they make you ride a saddle whilst 52 waiters all yell things like Yee Haw and Ride ‘Em Cowboy… and Hey y’all cowpokes!
Dad was busy here asking which direction the nearest saloon was. I reckon it’s up the road aways… take a turn at the rattler and giddy up till ya’ come to porcupine pass. I was waiting for them to bring out the hat and the spurs. Maybe next time, Clint Eastwood… maybe next time.
Happy Birthday, Dad… pardner it up and order a steak next time!
Question of the Day: If you could choose, which restaurant would you go for your birthday dinner?