Millennials, a Bistro, and a Whole Lot of Bullshit.

This Weekend My Wife and I went to see Her Cousin Ave compete in that Weekend’s Auto Races since Ave had become an Adamant Racer several years ago, but this was the First time My Wife and I were able to Attend. After the Race We got the pleasure of meeting His Pit Crew so to Speak as They were Working Their Asses off at the Time, and We were Afforded an Up Close and Personal look at His Race Car. Ave’s Parents Kay and Jay along with Ave’s Wife Steph were there though They didn’t attend a great deal of Ave’s races. This was simply because Watching Ave Race was/is Nerve Wracking to Say the Least for His Mother and His Wife.

After Hanging out for awhile Behind The Scenes We left the Race Track and headed for Our Dinning Destination for the Evening just a short 15 minutes Away called Pompous Bistro and Beer Garden. Since Ave was the one who made the Reservation (and I trust Ave), AND with Beer Garden in the Name I was Highly Optimistic.

You see I rather Eat in than Eat Out honestly since Restaurants can be a Huge fucking Hassle especially if You’re Not a Trend Chasing Hipster Lemming or a fucking Foodie. In Addition I am NOT a Fine Dining Person fucking Period.  I am Reviled by the so called Luxurious Fine Dinning Experience I find it Disgusting all Around and on All Levels. The Whole Arrogant Elitist Pomp and Circumstance feeling, nay believing They are Superior to Others based on Their fucking Bank Accounts. They can Administer Fas Gras Enema’s to Each other for all I fucking Care, but as For Now on the Subject of Alleged Fine Dining I Digress.

           

We pulled up outside and parked on the Street My Wife’s Family had already arrived, and We walked Through a Gate into a Maze like Garden that really was kind of cool. As We walked around a winding trail through the Garden making Our way to the Hostess there were Little outlets a few with Fire Pits, a Couple Lounge Areas, and several Tables Intertwined throughout.  There was so much Vegetation along with an Abundant amount of Flora and Fauna that the Garden had an underlying Jungle feel to it.

At last We reached The Hostess station which was located Outside of the Main Building as it were. I say Building because it was a Mediterranean Style Outside Dinning area where there No Actual Walls there’s just Shades hanging in-between Pillars to Keep the Sun out of Dinners Eyes. I’ve seen this Concept in the Islands of The Great Southern Swamp, and what I have always wondered, and still do is How the hell Do You Keep People from Robbing/Vandalizing the Your Establishment if THERE NO FUCKING WALLS?!

Anyway We meet up with My Wife’s Family Who were Seated already when a Overtly Dramatic Millennial Euro Trash Waitress sauntered lazily up to Our Table. She was Wearing a Sun Dress with a Plunging Neck Line so there was plenty of Opportunities to Show Off Her Collection of Pretentious Tattoos. She had every fucking Cliche in the Book of Hipster Tattoos there was the Traditional Ying Yang, OM Sign, Buddha Statue, Lotus Flower, The Joshua Tree, A Japanese Coy Fish, a Fairy, The Symbol for the Female Sex, an Elaborately Done Peace Sign, and at Least 3 Asian Characters that Adorned Her Arms, Shoulders, and Neck.

          

She Talked as if She was Bored as Fuck and could care facing Less about Us or any Other Customers. As She stood at the head of Or Table with Her head Slightly Tilted to one side, and a Vacant Stare into the Horizon informed Us of the Following. Apparently the Bistro had recently Implemented a New Policy Our Food Would NOT be coming out all Together BUT rather randomly when ever it is or isn’t ready. This concept of Theirs goes against  fucking Common Sense as it Utterly fucking Transforms the Dinning Experience into One Drawn Out 3 Ring Bullshit Culinary Circus.

Going Out to Eat is at the Heart about Spending time and converting with Friends and Family over Food. That is why Real Restaurants rely on Timing as one of the Key Principles/Factors of Service in The Food MUST GO OUT TOGETHER NEVER SEPARATELY. This Provides for the Meal and Social Gatherings Cohesiveness and Efficiency on All Fronts. Bottom Line: No One Likes or Wants to be The Person at the Table that Doesn’t have Their Food Point Blank.

We gave The Euro Trash Hipster Our drink Order and though the Sign claimed this was a Beer Garden it was unlike any fucking Beer Garden I’ve been to Before. Usually a Beer Garden is a Large Banquet Hall lined with Rows of Tables and Benches, and They have a Very Distinct Bavarian (German) Theme to It. There is also Large crowds of Happy Beer Loving Binge Drinkers Hooting and Howling with Laughter in Total Abandon. I say this because when I looked on the Menu There was No Beer List. There was a Wine List and a Cocktail Menu, but again Not a single piece of Literature on the Table pertained to Beer. As I was annoyingly glaring around I noticed a Floor to Ceiling Black Board with the Title “NO CRAP ON TAP” at the Top. Under the Header was a short list of 8 to 10 Craft Beers I was Unfamiliar with, and that was it that was Their Beer Garden Concept.

           

We got Our drinks and about 25 minutes or so a Stereotypical Portland/Seattle/Colorado Millennial Girl sporting a Bright Plad Flannel Shirt, Jeans, and Sneakers arrived at Our table. She gave Us the Specials which I didn’t pay attention to. She then goes into a LONGER DISCLAIMER that Due to the New Policy Our Food would NOT be coming out Together but rather whenever the fuck its ready. I ordered a Bowl of Lobster Mac and Cheese, My Wife Had one of those European Meat and Cheese Samplers, Ave and Steph ordered Tacos, and Kay Ordered the Lobster Mac and Cheese with an additional House Salad, and Jay ordered two Hot dishes I forget what they were.

40 minutes Later the First couple Dishes come out and, Ironically All the Dishes were Hot Dishes while the Salad and Cold Meat and Cheese Plate did Not. Again this makes No fucking sense since Obviously a fucking House Salad and Cold Meat and Cheese Plate should have been first since They were the Easiest to Fix. About half an Hour passes as the next few Items came in a On going Bizarre Fashion. My Wife’s Aunt Kay was Served Her Mac and Cheese 20 Minutes BEFORE Her House Salad was served. Also why the fuck You wouldn’t prepare the Two Orders of Mac and Cheese since I had order it as well at the same Time and serve them accordingly, But I was left in the Lurch as it were.

           

Finally everyone But My Wife and I had not only been Served They had completely finished. And since We had to kill so much fucking time waiting on Our Food that was slowly trickling out of the Kitchen We had exhausted virtually every topic of Conversation. Everyone was Tired from the Days Affairs and having Eaten where Now Succumbing to the Tiredness that comes with Digestion. Then My Wife’s food came to the Table directly followed by Mine. Now My Wife’s Family was being as cool as shit about it it was still apparent They were ready to Head on Home. It didn’t matter unfortunately even though They were being cool You can’t get Your food last and NOT feel fucking rushed, and that sucks since You go out to Enjoy your food and not feel like You have to Eat it fast as fuck since it came out so goddamn late.

The Worst Part was the Perky Flannel Millennial Girl kept popping by Our table periodically, and was trying to be all uplifting and positive TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS to the fact that the Entire Table was slowing becoming fed up with Their Food Service. Honestly if We weren’t having Dinner with My Wife’s Family I would have walked the fuck out as soon as the Euro Trash Millennial made the Initial New Service Policy Statement. And of course I’m trying like a Motherfucker to bite My Tongue and play it cool since I’m with My In laws and Not absolutely Loose My Shit since You couldn’t designed a Restaurant I could have Hated any More Than I fucking Hated Pompous Bistro I fucking assure You. I just kept envisioning snapping and Choke Slamming The Millennial Food Server wearing 1950’s Librarian Black Rim Glasses, and a Wool Knit Hat (so He looked like the Lost Member of Cold Play or some shit) through a fucking Table.

           

At last the Painfully Drawn Out Affair was done accept Now (and I don’t have a fucking clue WHY) Some People at Our Table wanted Dessert. Mind You had some unfinished Business that I had to attend to later that Evening, and it was a 90 minute Drive back to where I needed to be to do so. My Wife saw Me cringe with Contempt and the mention of Dessert reassured Me it was just Ice Cream with a Pastry or something similar So it should be that Bad. I responded by saying that We were dealing with complete culinary idiocy being felt out by a Cliche Cast of Mind Numbing Millennial Trendy Hipster Sons of Bitches.

Seriously it Took an HOUR before a House Salad that had been ordered actually made it to the Table not to Mention Her Cold Meat and Cheese Deal that essentially came out Dead Last. My Point being I had No Faith in these fucking Fools, and Any Possible Good Will had Faded Away Long, Long Ago. I wanted just One thing and one thing Only. I wanted to Leave Immediately at that Point in the Evening. Just under Half an Hour later The 3 Ice Cream Desserts Arrived, We ate Then quickly, Paid, and Left Never to Return.

           

I still Can’t wrap My head around such a Obviously Outrageously Idiotic Service, and No One I have asked Plenty of Whom Have Experience be it Past or Present in the Restaurant Service Industry. All I have come up with is Pompous Bistro was Built as a Monument to The Mundane Millennial Lifestyle where No One makes Plans, Shit Just Happens, and Where People can Lounge Around all Day with No Concerns or Responsibilities. Who cares when Their food comes When They have No Where To Be and Nothing To Do other than Obsess about Social Media, Play Moronic Games on Their Smart Phones, Stream Netflix for 12 Hours StraightBinge Watching Bullshit, Idly fucking around with Apps, and Sitting Around Working on Their Never Going to Happen Screen Play.

Thanks for Reading,

by Les Sober

The Deviant Detective Ep 3 : Looking For The Cock Rock King

Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.

Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper.  At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.

Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.

Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.

Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.

The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.

On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.

“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock

“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie

“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”

“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”

“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.

“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is  essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”

“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.

“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.

Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.

The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.

The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.

The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes  and ran just as deep.

The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.

Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.

“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.

“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”

“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”

“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”

“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”

“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.

“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.

“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”

Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.

Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.

Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.

In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”

Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.

“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.

“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.

“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.

“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was  lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.

“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”

“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.

Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.

To Be Continued…

In

The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special