BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Continued From Food. It’s Not Really That Hard…

Kerchunk, kabloop, fribble, kerchunk, ecky-ptwang… (Gratuitous Wayback Machine noises)

Okay, here we are. If you are JUST NOW joining us, you have some catching up to do… Or should that be chasing forward? After all, this started in 2011 and now here we are in 2008 and… Well… Umm… Well anyway, should it be the case that you don’t know what’s going on here, go back… err… spring forward…  Oh hell, just go read the $750.00 Later… and Food. It’s Not Really That Hard… entries. Otherwise, you are going to be lost and the rest of us aren’t going to come looking for you. It wouldn’t do any good anyway, because I’m leading this expedition and obviously I’m lost myself…

Okay, everybody ready? Good. Here we go…

Way, way, wayyyyyyy back in 2008, I was booked to do the very first OstaraFest. Everything was cranking along just fine – in fact, I wasn’t even ill – but then, something changed. That being, my handler’s ability to feed me. My handler that year was Lolly. She was to see to it that I arrived where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, and that I had things like water, food, my shots, got let out to pee, got taken for a walk… you know, the standard handler stuff. Truth is, I’m a fairly easy guest author to get along with. However, I do need to be fed every now and then, even though I’m a fat guy.

Long story short, however, Lolly kept forgetting to feed me. She saw to it that I was where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, that’s for sure. She even made sure I had pens, a place to sit, an orderly line for the fans who wanted to get books signed… But food… Well, that just didn’t seem to work out.

Finally. Food. I really look like I'm wasting away, don't I?

Fast forward (because the Wayback Machine just takes too long) to 2010. I was scheduled for OstaraFest again. Lolly decided that if I was going to be fed she was going to have to hand me off to someone else – Therefore, Doug, her husband took over. For Doug, coffee and beer are food groups. This was perfectly fine with me. Apparently, it was NOT perfectly fine with Lolly. She made it a point to be photographed handing me a hotdog so that I could no longer say she hadn’t fed me. It was a good hotdog. Not as good as the beer, but hey, it was still good. (BTW – this was also the year I was introduced to Butch’s breakfasts, as Doug and I would make the trip over the river and through the woods in the opposite direction each morning in order to have breakfast at “Butch’s Home Diner”…) So I was really all set – a made to order breakfast that will keep you going all day, coffee, and BEER…

But as I said, Lolly didn’t see it that way…

Fast forward once again to OstaraFest 2011… After a full day on Saturday, where I did an address, a roundtable discussion, a seminar, signed 42 bazillion books, visited with folks, and was chased around the VFW Hall by “Bouncy Brandi” (remember her?), we all went out to dinner at “Old Chicago Pizzeria.”

For The Purpose Of Illustration Only: NOT ACTUAL Bouncy Brandi Hooker Shoes

Upon arrival, all eleven thousand and three of us gathered around a football field of tables. Somehow or another – I suspect by careful arrangement on her part – I was positioned directly across from “Bouncy Brandi”. After ordering, while we waited for the food, “BB” kept showing me pictures on her phone… Apparently she wanted me to know just exactly what was available to me for $750.00 – right down to the stack heeled, burgundy, Mary Jane hooker shoes she was planning to wear.

I have to admit, these were some pretty sharp shoes. Worth $750.00? I dunno… But they were definitely some hot lookin’ girl shoes.

So anyway, food arrived… Well… some of it. You see, everyone at the table received their food, except moi. Srsly. Eventually the server returned and asked if there was anything else we needed.

I said, “Ummm… My food?”

She went to check. Apparently it was still cooking, which is restaurant speak for “somebody f*cked up and we’re scrambling to put it together as fast as we can right now.”

All good. I was in no hurry. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. When it hit twenty-five minutes, Joyce excused herself from the table. A moment later, Mike, “Bouncy Brandi’s” husband, excused himself as well. I tried to get him to stay because I was really, really afraid of being left alone with that much perkiness sitting across from me.

Before long they returned. Seconds later, the server and the manager came rushing out the door with my dinner. For free. Then they gave me something like a quarter of a cheesecake. For free. And they bought me a drink. (yes, for free)… All the while they apologized profusely and gave Joyce and Mike a very wide berth. Apparently they had burned down a portion of the restaurant while explaining to the management that I was a world famous author who had been waiting for his food for 93 days, and that I would be killing them all in my next novel… Or something along that line. I never did hear the full story. I just saw the smoke, heard the screaming, and then ate my pizza.

The cheesecake? I gave it to Brandi, hoping to placate her and avoid the whole $750 thing… Well, that and the fact that Dave, who was sitting next to me, had looked over and said, “You know, after all the grief they just gave them, that’s probably a piece of sneezecake, not cheesecake.”

Of course, if that isn’t enough proof that Texas doesn’t want me to eat… well… it doesn’t end there.

However, for that, you need to tune in next time…

To Be CONCLUDED in The Girl, The Shoes, And The $750… coming 4/3/11…

More to come…

Murv

If you are a regular around here, you know that for the most part, Brainpan Leakage is a satire blog. If you aren’t a regular around here, you need only read the description of the blog, and you should be able to figure it out. However, in this day and age of instant gratification and lack of fact checking, something of which I am occasionally guilty myself, there are often kneejerk reactions to my ramblings here.

Of course, most of you are also well aware that like the proverbial morning cup of coffee and a healthy magazine read in the porcelain room, my day simply is not complete until I have offended someone. The earlier the better, IMHO. That way I can knock off work early and relax. And, as we’ve seen in the past, Wednesdays and Sundays whenever a new blog deploys are the most likely days for early dismissal from the salt mines.

That said, let’s get down to something good and offensive.

“What might that be?” you wonder.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” I say. “Blog comments.”

You see, while I do screen the blog comments for the purpose of keeping spam/blam from making it through, I have no problem approving just about anything, even if you disagree with me. Knock yourself out. If we all had the same opinion then the world would be a very boring place.

However, if you elect to do so, you need to bear in mind that I am just like a comic on stage. If you heckle me, I will heckle you right back.

Case in point… Several months ago I posted a blog that offended a young lady. I say lady because she’s female. For all I know she isn’t a lady at all, but I digress. At any rate, she posted a ridiculously pedantic diatribe on the public comment portion of the blog, taking me to task for being a closed-minded idiot, more or less. While she didn’t actually use the word idiot, as I recall, her intent was clear.

So, good on her. No problem. She took me to task in public, so I heckled her in public. Still, being the nice guy that I really and truly am, I heckled an “anonymous” individual. I didn’t name names, nor provide a link to her FB page, or any of the other things I could have done.

And what do you think happened? Yeah, that’s right. She worked herself up a big ol’ mad and sent me a scathing, nasty email. Now, not only was I a closed minded idiot, I was also a big doody-head for having the unmitigated gall to heckle her.

Do I care? No. I don’t. She obviously needs both an anger management class, and to, as my dear friend Doc Witt says, “shop for a sense of humor on eBay.”

So, the moral of the story?

Simple. You don’t get to call me names with impunity. You don’t get to “yell” at me because I posted something you don’t like on MY blog with impunity.

Just in case you don’t know the word impunity, I’ll save you the trip to dictionary.com – it means, “exempt from the detrimental effects, as of actions.”

So, what I’m saying is, if you feel the absolute need to do any of the above, more power to you. Just don’t act so damned surprised, hurt, put-out, emotionally scarred, and otherwise umbraged when I bite back.

In fact, you’d best be glad it’s me and not E K. She does way more than just bite…

More to come…

Murv