Real's Rants 2 - Including the Chile Vibrator Story
The last full time cooking gig I had was as a sous chef in a posh country club. We spent some big bucks and put out some wicked good food. Needless to say, we had lots of leftovers: pig, beast, chicken, etc., as well as duck, osso buco (yes), etc. The staff was given a meal daily, free. Naturally, we'd lay this stuff out for them.
Free food. And they bitched. 'Don't like duck.' 'That chicken's got some sort of sauce on it.' 'This beef has pink in it.' 'Why can't we just order off the menu?'Seems to me this list is free.
But...,well, it's a pet peeve of mine (long story). To expect something, though, is to, in some sense of the word, presume. The presumptions here sound a little like Mike B. is somehow *obligated* to do something other than to let Chileheads continue on as it has for many (many) years. That's a bit...ungrateful. I understand that if the subscribe/unsub ain't working, well, that's a legitimate concern, but to start *demanding* (or *expecting*) ain't the way to express concern.Of course, I have no answers, but I'd wager Mike B. is out there in the ether and may take care of bidness soon if there's something on his end that's not right.
Which assumes that the problems are not the result of the various spam filters on personal systems, various routers/packers (or whatever the hell they are called), and so forth. I'm frequently blocked using this yahoo address as well as other email addresses. You just try, try again.And be happy when you get a free lunch.
Peace, Hendrix, and Chiles.......Monk Rael
And more on operation of the free chileheads email list:
I am more inclined to think that any problems with posting have to do with the poster (postee? whatever). I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, because I am. As =Mark shows, the people unable to post are folks I remember. They are chileheads! Yet, the fact that those folks are subscribed to the list indicates that the problem is not with subscribing/unsubscribing (my doing such with another email address is confirmation enough of that for me). The problem is with posting.
So, why would 'the system' (whatever allows posting) discriminate? I can only assume it's because a post is somehow 'incorrect', which generally means the post is in something other than plain text. Or are folks getting the digest version and trying to post to the digest address? Or maybe folks on the digest *must* post to the digest address?Maybe those having problems should unsub all addresses receiving email from the CH list, and resub under one. Try to post. If that works, kewl; then resub other addrs. as desired.
And if it doesn't work? Well, beats the shit outta me. But yeah, I'm not sure if 'maintaining the system' includes email troubleshooting. We can argue all day and night if it should or should not, but ultimately, it may be in the hands of El Grande.Penance! There will be Penance! Nekkid Twister [TM!], floggings, and peach habanero ice cream, by damn!
Peace, Hendrix, and Chiles.......Rael64
On damn good chiles:
Ah, scotch bonnets...
Wish I could remember the guy's full name (my apologies too if still on the list!), but Bill X was in TN, I think, when I was living in Oxford, MS. He had these MONSTER scotch bonnet plants. Sent me pics of them. I"m talking 6+ foot tall plants. Sent me bags and bags of scotch bonnets. I dehydrated most (after freezing; worked really well as others here have noted). I traveled all over with those chiles. Used it (ground/flaked) in various restaurants I worked in.I'm sure I told the story here before, but when in Austin, I cooked at one placed (now defunct) called the West Lynn Cafe. Vegetarian faire, but somewhat upscale. I worked the mornings/lunch shift mainly; lots of prep work for the night shift. Anyway, 'round 2 in the afternoon, a server drops in with a ticket. Stir fry dish (we had a couple variations; nothing spectacular, but they were fresh and had quite a variety of veggies). I asked the server, 'how many stars?' We worked with a 1-4 star heat scale. He said 'she told me 4; wanted it real hot.' I said, 'tell her I've got some of my own stash here, some scotch bonnets; if she really means HOT HOT, I'll set her on fire.' He left and came back in, saying something like 'she said you can't make it hot enough.'
Oh, my. Can't make it hot enough?Christ, my eyes were burning making that stir fry. I probably put in 2 teaspoons of scotch bonnets. Great flavor; monster heat. I plated it and sent it on it's way.
The server popped in later and told me he had brought the woman her second pitcher of water. Said she was sweating so much, it was dripping on the floor. 'But she said it's great, just what she wanted.'How it should be. Well pleased customer and well please line dog. Twas a good day.
Damn good chiles.Well, 'nuff email for one day, eh?
Peace, Hendrix, and Chiles.......
Rael64
Prayers inspired by Rael:
El Grande Chapter 25, verse 17.
"The path of the righteous Chilehead is beset on all sides by the inequities of the heatless jalapenos and the tyranny of bell peppers.
Blessed is the salsa who, in the name of El Grande and Red Savina, shepherds the weak through the valley of blandness, for he is truly his pepper's keeper and the finder of lost chileheads.
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison the capsaicin and destroy my habaneros. And you will know my name is the El Grande when I lay my vengeance upon you."
El Grande is my shepherd, I shall not want, He makes me down to lie. Through chile fields he leadeth me, the silent waters by. With bright knives he releaseth my seeds. He maketh me to hang in ristras in high places. He converteth me to mango salsa. For lo, he hath great power, and great hunger. When cometh the day we moderate ones, through quiet reflection on matters capsaicin, master the art of Jicama/Vidalia. Lo, we shall rise up. And then we'll make the buggers eyes water.
On Eddie and the habanero:
When I was doing a stint at a vegetarian restaurant, there was a dishwasher by the name-o of Eddie. A bright guy who was unfortunately born mute and deaf, and considering this is Mississippi, he was "thrown" into the system and thus cared for by the local/state Retardation Center (which is now goes by some "more politically correct" name), and thus, he's never received the proper education/help he so deserves. Well, the owners of the restaurant gave him a job (he lives in an "outpatient" house or something of the like), sorta took him under their wing (their nice, old hippies), and consequently, Eddie has become something of a fixture in the place. He "converses" with everyone (nope...he's been taught very little sign language) and in my opinion, was the most hardworking, trustworthy, happy and "bestest" employee there along with another guy who was also a dishwasher and was also an outpatient (he was "slow" and had a speech impediment...or said he did...I couldn't tell actually). Digressing...that sorta sez something about "normal" people, doesn't it.
I tell the above so no one thinks we were being cruel in the story I'm about to relate. Eddie was "one of the guys" and new what was what. He just didn't speak like "normal" people and didn't hear much other than certain sounds at certain pitches. Anywho, I walked into work smiling like a big ole dog one day because I had just harvested a good quart baggie o' Habs from my first venture in chile growing. I was also smiling because one of the owners had never eaten a hab and I wasn't sure if anyone else in the place had either.
Was gonna be a Day o' Fun for Rael-o. And it was. I witnessed a waitress turn red and sweat (she was one of those sorority gals....we call 'em "Bow-Heads" because they always wear those cutesy bows in their bleached-blonde hair; quite nice to see her sweat, literally, and basically look like sheeet for the rest of the day) and watched my boss bite off the "tit" and say "oh, that's not hot". Yeah, right.I nodded and said, "gee, Mr. Manly Man....take a damn bite." And although not much of a bite, bite he did.
Now when I was in good form during my drunk days, I could put 'em away. An aficionado of room temp. beers and tequila I wuz (the town sells beer pretty much everywhere, but unless at/in a bar, its not cold...hence it was a learned trait of mine; again, Mississippi for ya...and the surrounding county is dry; go figure). But I wasn't one to chug my beers really, even when damn thirsty.And to this day, I don't think I've yet to see a person drink two warm Turbo Dogs (nasty stuff, IMO) like Mr. BossMan did. Reached into the case (he was stocking the cooler) popped the top, drained it, tossed the bottle in the *trash* (they recycle diligently...unless on fire from a Hab, it seems...), and ripped the top from another, and sucked that baby down too...and said... "Yeah...that MF is hot!" And then he opened a cold one and sat down. Bummed a cigarette off me too.
But Eddie? What of the man? Well, Eddie comes by and being the Man Who Sees/Knows All, he spied the happy-shiney habanero sitting in front of my Dos Equis, glowing only like a hab can glow. Now I'm gonna loose a good bit of the "translation" here considering Eddie doesn't really speak although he does sound out a good "sheeeeet" and "f***" (and he knew those when I began working there, so don't blame me...I did try to teach him some "useful" German tho <g>), but nonetheless, Eddie has his specific sounds for specific words/phrases along with his own personal "sign language".Looking at the hab, Eddie points at it, looks at me and does his "uuhh?" (much of his "speaking" is intonation) and gives me his inquisitive look. I put my beer aside and pointed at the chile, then shook my head and shook my hand, flat, palm down, over the chile. A definitive "no, Eddie, you don't want none of that bad boy". He made his "oh...why the hell not?" sound, did his Spock eyebrow raise, and damned if he didn't put his hand on his hip. Well, Eddie wasn't one to shy away from anything and he hated to feel left out, but I wasn't convinced he really knew what the hab was meaning he had no idea how hot hot could be. He'd seen jalapenos and serranos, cayennes and your other typical "chile" chiles; he may have associated it with a golden pepperocini or something (ha!). So I grabbed a bottle of Tabasco, put a drop in my hand and I licked it. Eddie followed my lead, licked and smiled. I knew he liked hot food (he loved Tuesdays when Kashmira, a really cool Indian lady, came and made a traditional dish from her country...my favorite day as well...and some of her stuff would light ya up) and he used Tabasco regularly, but I looked at Eddie, pointed to the hab again, and then spread my arms out as far as they would go, then pointed to my mouth with my hand and "waved" my hand, illustrating as best I could that the Hab was one hot momma.
Dear ole John, the owner, on his second cold (fourth total) beer, did nothing but sit a seat down from me and nod his head the whole time. Guess that was the best he could do. He still had sweat dripping off his nose and watery eyes.Anywho...Eddie wouldn't remit. He was gonna eat that El Grande Habanero, by damn. And next thing I knew, he gave me his "pshaw" noise, grabbed the hab, and bit the damn thing in half and began to chew with a smile on his lips.
The smile lasted about 2.7 seconds. Mouth dropped open; eyes opened wide, bulged out somewhat, and I saw the skin on his forehead tighten as his ears raised a good half-inch. And then Eddie gave his "Eddie Wail". Again, I'm not making fun of Eddie nor his being mute/deaf; this is simply how he "speaks"; and I can only give examples of other sounds that may be familar to "show" what his specific sound of the moment sounded like. And the "Eddie Wail" is akin to the sound of a person falling off a mountain minus the "fade-away" effect and sorta like the scream a person would make if the woke up from a nice nap-ola and found themself buried alive. I may be stretching it, but it also sounds somewhat like what I figure the combined scream of a man and woman would be when the Doc tells them that "yes, your wife is pregnant; no, it ain't twins...it's sextuplets."It scared the bejesus outta me regardless. He screamed like this and waved his arms up and down, swung his head from side to side and ran back towards the kitchen. Running behind him, John (yeah, he actually moved) and I reached the kitchen just in time to see Eddie grab the faucet part of his dish sink, pulled it off (it was broken/stripped out, yes, but if you didn't turn it on full blast, it worked...but I don't think it woulda mattered...Eddie was a stout man), and turned the cold water on full blast and stuck his head -- mouth open, eyes closed -- into the gyser. I swear he drank down a gallon or two of water.
Water dripping from him, every bit of him, Eddie walked over to me, handed me the other half of the habanero, drew an open hand, palm down, across his neck (which meant "no more!", more or less) and then grinned and punched me on the shoulder. Hard. Real hard.Never have figured out if it was a "you son-of-a-bitch" punch or a "you looked like you were enjoying that too much" punch, but he was grinning at the time, so what the hell. But he gave me the Evil Eye every time I walked into work with more habaneros in my hand. Wouldn't even come near me.
Peace, Hendrix, and Chiles...Rael64
On using your dildo on chile plants:
Temp title: I'm Picking Up Good Vibrations or Vibrator Hell or Vibrations of Burnin' Love
"Something in, oh, basic black would be nice," I said looking at the humongous breasts of the woman standing behind the counter. She was wearing a belly-button abyss cut, black leather dress. "Or one of those neon colors if you have such.""Do you need a specific length or size?" she asked, after raising a jet black brow, which brought back an episode of Star Trek where Spock said, "Captain, I advise caution. We know nothing of this system."
I considered a couple of possible answers but decided I should just be up-front with her. No point in toying with the woman, no matter how much I desired to do so, and be on my merry way. Happy hour was coming up on me fast anyway, and I still had to try to get my damn chile plants pollinated."Honestly, dear, I need this implement to aid some bright and promising flowers on my chile plants in pollination. I give them each an individual vibration, tickle their hormones, so to speak, and used to use an old electric toothbrush, but can't find the thing and, well, I doubt you're interested in this. Nevertheless, as long as the end is tapered and batteries are included, whatever you recommend will be perfect. I trust your expertise, my dear."
"I see," she said inhaling deeply, illustrating the wonderful ability for leather to stretch and define that which it confines. A wonderful thing, leather. "Then I assume you won't be needing the hands-on instruction and demonstration of the many uses of the tool?"I was dumbfounded there for a moment. But I managed to ask her if she was serious.
"It's been a rather slow day," she said.I felt a bead of sweat form on my brow and remembered there were a few blooms on my plants that, well, could probably use another day to stretch and achieve full potential of their bloominess. In addition, as a self-appointed archivist of life's experiences, desiring education and wisdom in that which crossed my path thought simply, screw caution.
"I bow to you, my teacher, instruct me and I shall learn," I said, my gaze dropping as she exited from behind the counter and slowly drifted across the floor of the shop to the door. She locked it tight and the "Closed" sign was turned outward to the public view. She turned to me with a gleam in her eye, a smile on her lips, and I noticed she had a quite large black vibrator in her hand. She held it tightly between her breasts."This will be yours," she said, walking towards me, then passing me and disappearing behind a curtain into the back. I followed, wondering what good I had done in the past to deserve such fortune. And then I heard a hum...
"Can't make it in," I said to Butch, the assistant floor manager, over the phone. "Let C. know I'm calling in a favor and I apologize for the short notice, but something has occurred that demands my immediate attention as well as action.""Yanking weeds in your garden or something?" said Butch. He was an extremist member of ZPR, Zero Population Growth, but in his extremism he had decided that the best way to reduce further populating of the world was avoidance of the sexual act itself. To compound his state of being, he was a man who lived a life of all work and no play since he considered himself bisexual and consequently said that this made the entire world one of temptation. Rather than becoming a hermit, Butch ingested a lot of Valium as well as -- or so he told me for some damn reason -- wore a penile restraint. This made for a strange existence, in my opinion, and to be blunt, I figured one day he was going to loose it and either jump the bones of the person nearest to him or he'd just sit down and drift into a coma. He was a good assistant manager and did his job, but he was one strange boy regardless. He worried me.
"Yeah, something, Butch. Just tell C. He owes me. And tell him I'll be in tomorrow....unless I call you again." And as I hung up the phone, Serena re-entered the room with a small basket of fruit and a grocery sack."Ready for the next session of your training, apprentice of mine?" she said setting the bag down on the waveless waterbed I was perched upon. "Ready to expand your mind...and other things?"
Ready? Hell, I was born for such, I thought, and was about to offer a hearty "hell yes, sugar momma", but as I looked in the bag, I found I was capable of only nodding my head like a six-year- old receiving a hot, gooey, chocolate-chip cookie, mouth open wide and probably a bit of spittle in the corners. There was some Redi-Whip [TM], mentholated cough drops, a bag of red string licorice, Mississippi clover honey, guacamole dip, a family pack of razors, some Tecate beer, vitamins, and...jesus, I hadn't seen these in years."Pop Rocks [TM]?! Where the hell did you find these? Thought they had gone the way of, oh hell, that gum that squirts in your mouth."
"I have my sources," Serena said. "I find them to be quite invigorating myself. Never did find a use for that gum though," she said. "And trust me, my love puppy, I did try."I was quickly becoming Rael, Man of the Expanding Body and my mind was racing right along with my physical state. Pop Rocks. Jesus, these things are priceless, I thought, as I had a brief yet vivid flashback of my last encounter with Pop Rocks and a woman named Jimmy Lynn.
She introduced me to "sex without sex", as she called it, and considering I was 14 and had no working knowledge of anything sexual other than that devised with my own mind and hands, I really didn't care what she called oral sex. And honestly, after she pulled the Pop Rocks trick on me, I believe I would have been satisfied to just have sex of that nature for the rest of my life. She was two years older than me though and when she graduated, she vanished. I still wondered what happened to her."But I don't understand why you had to have these peppers though," said Serena, slapping my mind back to things at hand. She took a sack from the fruit basket which I saw was full of blood oranges, limes, and strawberries and placed it on the nightstand by the strobe light.
"Chiles, my Mistress in Black, they are chiles. Habaneros, to be specific," I said peeking into the bag to assure myself that the produce guy at the store I sent Serena to hadn't prayed upon her ignorance. He had served her well, I thought, seeing a dozen bright yellow-orange parcels of orgasmic pleasure smiling back at me. I made a mental note to bring him a loaf of my habanero brown bread as I placed the bag back in the basket."Let's just say that I am quite certain that after receiving your infinite wisdom of gyratory and oscillatory physics, I will feel compelled to bestow a gift upon you, my little sybarite, the gift of Chilepicurian Delights. Of this, I am master."
I spied her epidermal reaction to my statement as she began to peel her clothes off or maybe it was just the nippy-ness of the air, but irregardless of which, I was unable to restrain my urges anymore, and attacked her feet and ankles, washed them lovingly, albeit impatiently, with my tongue, then nibbled my way up her legs and solidly clamped my teeth into the soft, tasty skin of her knee-pit. Again, I heard a hum....I awoke sometime in the morning after spending the remainder of the day and most of the night in the capacity of apprentice. Once my head cleared enough whereas I figured out where the hell I was, I realized Serena was on top of me, her knees by my head and her head was lying on my right thigh, and we were both atop her pool table which, at first I found to be an odd addition to her abode considering she said she didn't play pool. But once she showed me how the S-rings of those black, stretchy, rubber cargo restraints hooked into the pockets of the table, I understood her thinking. I was wondering though how in hell she found someone to cover the top in leather. Black, of course.
Laying there, I was unable to go back to sleep, desperately wanted a cigarette, yet didn't want to wake my guru of love, and considering the fact that she had black sheets over the windows and had placed black lights in all the fixtures, I stared at her derriere and all that lay between it and my face because that was all I could see and tried to see what images my mind would conjur up out of the shadows of black and blacker. Simple mind games for a simple mind.Yet I desperately wanted a cigarette. I had a hazy remembrance of placing a pack next to the fruit basket which we had moved to the pool table, thus closer to the source of consumption and consummation, and somehow managed to free my arm from beneath Serena's left leg without causing her to emit more than a slight moan and a wiggle in which she widened her straddle across my chest. I congratulated myself silently and proceeded to feel my way outward through squeezed, mashed, and gnashed orange rinds hoping I would discover the basket. And the basket I did discover....complete with a small paper bag.
Chiles, I thought, as I looked down my chest at Serena, or what I could see of her, that is. I placed my hand in the bag. Habaneros. Twelve of the Mothers of Pain and El Grande Pleasure. And I did promise her instruction in Chilepicurian Delight, I thought, smiling as I felt a smooth, ripe, taut hab between my fingers. I turned my head as I brought it to my lips, sniffed, muffled a moan, and bit in. I chewed slowly, relishing the flavor that only a habanero has as well as the joy in having the horrid taste in my mouth I awoke with removed. And as I chewed, I began to smile as the pleasure of capsaicin overran my senses, electrified my system, and stirred my body from flaccid embers to blazing flames. My eyes rolled back as the waters of pleasure flowed liberally, mixing with the sweet and sour of oranges and limes on my cheeks as did the sweat that began to exude from my skin. I reached for another, thinking that this was indeed the only way to begin a day....especially a day in which I could pass on my wisdom of Chiles as a Sex Tool. Chilepicurian Delights.....Rael I was, and a guru I be.Not much later as I held the twelfth habanero to my burning lips, I had a brief thought that I should save the chile for Serena to eat and employ, but a brief thought it was. It is my turn to teach, I thought, chastising myself for being a selfish bastard. She has given me so much over the short while we've been together, I continued in my mind; she took me into her arms and let me suckle at the teat of vibratory knowledge. I pretty much knew all the B&D stuff already.
I took the entire hab into my mouth and crushed it between my molars, chewing slowly so as the flesh and juices would mix and meld with my saliva, grinding the chile to pulp, stirring with my tongue -- long since numb -- swishing between teeth and gum. Once I was certain I had absorbed as much of the capsaicin as possible, I swallowed.After a moment of meditation and a prayer to the God of Hab that I learned from other members of the Transcendental Capsaicinophilic Society (TCS), I regained control of my senses and brought myself back from my flight through the Chilean Heavens. This was the moment I began to ever-so-slowly nibble and lick the backs and insides of Serena's thighs. Tenderly I did lick with patience and sincere care, for I am a lover of the flesh of woman in general, and knowing that my licks and kisses would leave a glistening path of love napalm, I attended my task well and with glee. I also stroked the outside of her thighs with the tips of my fingers which I had purposely dug into a few of the chiles, coaxing the sacred oils from within. No such thing as too much pleasure, I always said.
I felt Serena stir slightly, heard her inhale a bit more deeply, as I saturated her flesh with my capsaicin elixir and ventured onwards and upwards towards her sex, braving to move my hands over the small of her back and over the tight, smooth flesh of her derriere. Her body was responding slightly with an occasional twitch and her skin began to warm as was my own. I raised my face nearer to her and began deep, slow, breathing, directing the air exhaled over her flesh and into her depths. I stiffened myself as I felt Serena's mouth and tongue on my body and realizing her being conscious, more or less, I rose further, ventured deeper, and grinned as I faced my journeys end, or rather the beginning of Serena's journey into Chilepicurianism. I then moved my hands towards her bountiful breasts and removed the small piece of habanero from between my cheek and gum -- where I had placed it -- with my tongue, mashed the mushy hunk of veggie against the roof of my mouth, and proceeded to transfer it onto my lips and then, on and into Serena's Netherlands.I'm quite positive it was at this moment that Serena let out a scream which was not unlike that of a person having a hot poker shoved into any one of their orifices. I immediately jerked my head back but found I was locked between her powerful thighs, so I attempted to tilt my face upwards and away from her fleshy parts, but Serena had decided to sit up at the same moment, and thus literally sat on my face. Had I foresight of this happening, a minute sign of her negative response to the secrets of the Chilepicurian Delight, I could have prepared, that is, used meditative breath control and possibly been able to hold my breath until we separated, but I had not and did not, and consequently, opened my mouth to gasp for a breath. Unfortunately, in doing so I literally sucked her in between my lips and into my mouth which was an action that only brought her into a more intimate contact with my capsaicin saturated mouth --which was obviously no longer the idea here -- and with this action I reacted instinctively by pushing that which was forcing its way into my mouth outward with my tongue...as well as the bulk of the pulverized chile.
As fate would have it, my tongue met her nodus erectis and proceeded to say hello and shake hands which caused Serena's thighs to constrict about my head more than they already were. As I felt my eyes begin to bulge profusely, I also felt pain in one of my legs and what I imagined five well-manicured, black fingernails digging into my flesh would feel like became a reality, but honestly, this pain was negligible, merely bothersome actually, compared with what I was experiencing in another part of my body. I was feeling sever, intense, and premeditated, I imagined, pain due to the fact that throughout this entire episode, from the point I made direct contact with her nether region and she exhibited Chilepicurian Rejection, Serena had me by the balls, literally.What happened next is only a blur, but in essence Serena had me in the Allstate grip and I had obviously instilled burnin' love within her deeply and completely. She wasn't about to let go nor was I going to lie there and suffocate as my genitals were ripped from my body. Fortunately for me, she believed herself to be in control, or was at least in shock, and thus allowed me the opportunity to place one arm around her and push down on the pool table with my other and rotate violently to one side.
Damned if it didn't work, I thought, as Serena moved from above to beside, but I was aware that she still hadn't relinquished her hold on me and gave no indication of doing such. In fact, I saw her head and mouth with teeth gnashing moving in the direction of her vise-grip hand, so I tried to even the odds and grabbed her foot, sucked her big toe into my mouth and bit down hard. She screamed yet again and shuddered slightly -- which I found interesting -- but in doing so relaxed her grip for a split second, and noticing this was a now-or-never moment, I gritted my teeth and ripped myself from her clutches and rolled away from her loving arms.Jumping up, I let out a primal scream of my own that would have made my ancestors proud and leapt from the pool table towards the nearest door. It was the bathroom, of course, as my luck would have it, but I ripped the toilet seat from its hinges, threw it through the window, followed out after it and started running towards my car, naked, and as I jumped in the front seat I was happy to remember my old man had always told me to keep a spare key taped under the dash.....and that I had followed his advice. Blessed be Chiles, I chanted, wondering why my Pop kept a spare key under his dash.
I made it about five miles when I decided it wasn't to intelligent to be driving naked, especially the way my luck runs. I found a dirty t-shirt in my back seat which at least made me appear clothed to other drivers. I kept my eye out for trucks though as I headed towards the restaurant. There I pulled up to the back door, ran into the kitchen, was relieved to see that Mabel, the prep cook of about 60 years of age wasn't working, and ran back to my locker where I had some spare pants.I talked with C. briefly and told him I decided I might as well just take a week of vacation considering I had it coming and needed some more time off anyway. Of course he was more interested in what the hell I had been up to and when I wouldn't tell him, he got all managerial on me, claimed his debt was paid since he had to work for me the one day, and that even though I was the head cook I was going on report. But I really didn't care much less wanted to argued with him. I had just spent the last forty-eight hours with a woman who did truly expand my horizons and had given me invaluable knowledge in the Vibratory Arts yet also provided definitive proof that yes, there were people in this world that could not take the last step and rise above their mortality and visit the Land of Ultimate Chileness, and yes, I almost had my ass whipped by a Goddess. I was a bit depressed with this knowledge. Not that my manly ego was shattered or anything -- can't say I've ever had much of an ego -- but jesus, she had such fine breasts.
Needless to say, I was exhausted, somewhat bruised, needed a beer really bad, and was famished, so I left the restaurant and decided to go to the pub rather than home and get a big bowl of gumbo which Frank, the owner, made every Friday. A nice, cool black-and-tan really hit the spot as I waited for Frank to jazz up my gumbo with a couple of serranos that I knew he'd have on-hand since I was the one that gave them to him regularly .I was well into my pint when Frank brought me my steaming bowl of gumbo. He was quite a cook. True, he was using my recipe for gumbo, but he did make it well. I used to wonder why an Italian-blooded man with a Bronx accent had come to Mississippi and opened an Irish Pub. I was drunk one day and had gathered the courage to ask him such. He replied, in short, with "Who the hell sez I ain't Irish and why the hell do you think it's any of your bizness?"
After that I told myself that he was obviously part of a Witness Protection program...and to mind my own damn business. Yet I still liked him and his cooking. Had Guinness on tap as well.."Damn, Frank," I said, "that's some good gumbo, especially with those serranos in there. Wanna bite?"
"No I don't want none of your friggin' souped-up gumbo. I got a whole damn pot of gumbo back here that's good like it is.""Ha, ha....that was pretty good, Frank. Souped-up. Gumbo." I said, feeling my eyes water a bit.
"What?" he said."The pun, Frank," I said, still laughing. "You know....souped-up...gumbo. Gumbo is a soup."
Frank walked out of the kitchen and looked at me. I noticed he had a chefs knife in his hand and a zucchini with one end chopped off in the other. After a moment he put the zucchini down, grabbed a bottle of mescal from the liquor display and set it in front of me. He then placed a shot glass beside it, dug in the cooler for a moment, produced a lime, and set it and the knife on the bar as well."Drink this," he said and turned back to the kitchen. He picked up the zucchini and as he was about to step back into the kitchen, he turned back around and said, "And shut the hell up. I don't wanna hear you no more. I'm busy, see?"
I knew he was serious. Normally I would have be curious, wondered if he was just having a really bad day, or maybe, well, one just never knew with Frank. One thing I did know though. If he had had tits and black leather on, he and that zucchini woulda looked just like Serena had two days ago. Jesus, I thought.I poured a shot of mescal, drank it, turned the television on with the remote, and poured another shot. I smiled and dug back into my gumbo.
Man, I've really got to get to my chile plants, I thought, and then realized I never did get that vibrator.And then I heard a hum...