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BP Responsible for My Case of the ‘Bubble-Guts’?

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All information contained in this, and every blog by Jeff Grillo, or Jeff Grillo Media is meant to be purely entertainment and anecdotal.  Any similarity between my blogs and reality are not only coincidental, but downright freakish!

That being said, holy cow!  Saturday night I had the distinct pleasure of dining out with my family, and my son’s friend.   We let our little guy have a sleep over at our house, and we somehow ended up at a restaurant that for legal purposes will remain nameless.  So I get in this place and get seated at a table that I find out is hideously sticky and nasty.  I discovered this when I leaned on the table and had some trouble peeling my hairy forearm off the viscous goo that had ensnared me.  Now, if I had half an ounce of the smarts, i would have picked up and headed out to the car for a real restaurant.  So, all I did was relocate to another ‘clean’ table.  This place, to set the scene is one of those greasy-spoon diner kind of places.  You know the kind of place where ambiance is some fancy Greek word or something.  The kind of place where you get a headache from the intense fluorescent lighting.  A place where Flo from Mel’s diner is expected to blow a bubble and take your order at any moment.  The type of establishment where your plate gets delivered to you with a scowl, and your fries come in a paper basket.  That’s what I’m talking about here.  Only not quite as nice.

After placing our order, I leaned in to my wifes ear and stated this was the kind of place waitresses come to apply when they get rejected from the golden arches.  Personality?  Sure, our waitress had personality, in the same way Charles Manson had a kind and loving heart.  All that was missing was a hairnet.  I kid you not.

Like the knucklehead that I apparently am, I ordered the seafood platter thingy.  For a mere $12, I was tossed a platter with a portion of fried flounder, a heap of fried popcorn shrimp, fries (in a paper basket), cole slaw, and hush puppies.  Not bad, if it was good.  On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being a high dollar shirt and tie kind of place and a 1 being well, where I was…well, you get the idea.  The part of this story that kills me, is that as I was preparing to dive into this kingly feast, my mind flashed back to the whole BP gulf oil spill disaster.  Surely, these aren’t gulf shrimp I said to myself.  Gotta be safe to eat.  Somehow, I convinced myself to dive in.  I managed to stomach most of my vittles, all that remained was some cole slaw, and a few fries.  I didn’t really eat my fries, but rather donated them to the boys.

Fast forward to Sunday morning church service.  I’d love to tell you all about it, but, all I really know is that the music was great.  I know it was great, because I could hear and feel the bass beat on the bathroom stall wall.  Instead of worshipping at God’s Holy altar, I was gripping the handicapped rails for leverage at the porcelain altar.

I don’t wanna be too juvenile and gross, but, I have to keep a toilet brush handy so as to not have my own personal space looking like a Wal-Mart bathroom in the redneck side of town.  As I write, I’m suffering from sphyncter fatigue.  I gotta cut this short, even though I have much more to say.  Apparantly, some BP disbursants made it into my popcorn shirmp or something.  All i can say, is that stuff works.  It’s disbursing my guts out!

Offer up a prayer for me, won’t you?


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