Chinese Dine Out
Through the never eccentric nor stretched view of

The Great Garlic
Wednesday, August 9, 2006

Plock.

“Oww,” I said, “what just mashed my pretty forehead. Dang, I, Pokey Minch, the pen-ultimate master of all that is super-spectacular, am starting to get hungry. Actually, I could eat a couple cows, but mom would get angry again. Hmm, it seems to be getting to be the thing that is not daytime because that big bright thingie I was staring at for a while is falling. I still wonder why the big bright thing runs away from me. I am so pretty, why would it want to? Is it bashful? I think I’ll go to that food place. What kind of food was it again? Chinish? Chinemen? Chicken, I do like chicken? I think I’ll go to that place.”

I slowly rose up, and then the world could see my gorgeous muscles, and began to roll on to the food place. I couldn’t wait. Then a tree hit me.

“Stupid tree, who do you think you are? Some kind of a, a, a tree? Geez, some people are too stinking impolite. Take a bath, too.”

After being rudely walked into, I continued down the street and came upon my location. It is quite a well designed and ornate establishment, which perfectly compliments my outrageously great physical appearance and garduvoir.

“Hello, sah, table for how many,” said some crazy man as I walked into the place.

“One, Pokey Minch,” I said quite effluently with grandeur and a hint of lemon in my atmosphere.

“Okay, he you’re waiter. Name is Chin Yaun.” The man said, and then turning, “Chin Yaun.”

A young boy, but not as young looking as me, came forward and the man said, “You help Missah Porkey Mince here.”

“Hey, where is my table, Ping Pong,” I said to the boy.

“I Chin Yaun, follow me.”

And so I followed him got seated and he, as I sat, organized the table and handed me a menu. I thumbed through as he ran off to bring me some water and tea. He also procured some bread for my appetizing.

“What you have.”

“How about a Hamburger,” I suggested.

“No hamburger,” said he very angrily (hey, that rhymes).

“Nachos?” and then he shook his head.

“Don’t you guys have any real food?” I inquired with some rage, but his response was, “Subgum rice is very good.”

Angered, I rose with the bread and made a hasty exit.

I now sit back where I start, where something plocked my head and am now eating bread.

“Man,” I thought, “who thought they would have such poor selection? I mean, what kind of food is that? I will make sure never to eat that, uhhh, Chinish stuff again. Hmm, maybe I’ll go for Chinese later on. Yeah, that sounds really good.”
 



 
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