A lonely 16 competitors made their way to Skinner's last night for the 100th PBRPRPSCLCS event, and it yielded mixed results for our valiant team. In fact, it was mostly un-noteworthy, as the four of us were eliminated by the second round. Our defeats yielded no wild gambits or daring comebacks. Unremarkable.
What can be remarked upon was the rare form of surly, unabashed goofiness with which we whittled away our evening in the fancy-pants end of the city. I had dental work done yesterday, which easily explained my state as I buried my head into a largely unimpressive kitchen menu. Our server was nice, as everyone has been at Skinners seems to be. She explained to me that they were out of mussels and pastrami, which at first I hoped was a single dish, but was actually two separate items. How sad!
I love menus. Part of it is that I am a graphic designer and I'm a nerd for things like typeface usage and tabbed alignment. But also I love to find the dumbest sounding dish on a menu and make a big deal out of it. For example, who would ever want to eat a Monte Christo sandwich if they knew that it was hellbent on revenge? I don't want no vengeful sammich! Anyway, in this menu I found riches of semantic douchebaggery that I couldn't resist.
I had settled on a hamburger, the least fuck-up-able thing I could find to eat, and I read that it came with the usual lto, fries, pickle, and YOUR CHOICE OF STUFF! Above that, they advertised a steak with YOUR CHOICE OF ANYTHING. Fabulous! But could I substitute my stuff for anything? I told my jovial server that I'd have the burger, but "without any of the god damn stuff." She was quick to point out, at the bottom of the menu, a listing for some sort of ting called El Signore Maetball. Singapore meatball! Señor Mateball? Whatever, just throw your arms up in the air and say EHH! as loud as you can. That's what we did, for about an hour. Also, they were out of hamburgers so I had to eat a $6 grilled cheese. Ugh.
After a few 16oz. PBRz, we became decidedly more surly, and told Fighting Mongooses that he should shave a giant moustache on his belly, and that if he didn't have enough hair, we would shave some of our own and glue it on him for no charge. He was not impressed.
Later, as we made our way back to the car, we realized that we parked right in front of some trendy club called OTIUM, which we have dubbed to be SCROTIUM.
Welcome to SCROTIUM, have a MAETBALL! David Bowie's Package rules!
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