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JWR 3.20 - Genital Swab


A few weeks ago we went to Hooters for dinner and between looking at cleavage and ass, I had a few spare moments to look at the menu, and you know, Hooters is one of those places that has a humorous menu.


So, that--and the Philly cheese steak--got me thinking that I could create a humorous menu that would all at once delight and help the consumer decide what they wanted to eat.


So I asked my friend if he wanted to open a restaurant just so I could write the menu.  He said no.  But, being the persistent asshole that I am--you know--I am not giving up on my sporadic desire to create a piece of cardboard with funny (or smug, may be the proper term) phrases next to glossy images of food you will not actually be served.


Here are some examples of my funny menu excerpts:


For the burger section:


We call the burgers here at [insert restaurant name here--we’ll use Nipples and Tits for the sake of objectionable humor] Nipples and Tits burgers instead of hamburgers.  After all, they’re not made of ham, and saying “cowburger” just doesn’t sound good.  Just “burger” will be fine.  And if you say to your cuisine consultant--get it, Nipples and Tits’ own euphemism for waiter/waitress--simply “Burger me,” and don’t complain about the type of burger you actually get, we’ll knock 15% off your meal.  (That’s for the Ed fans in the house.)  And speaking of cow--that was a while ago, but stay with me--we can’t grill your burger rare or medium rare.  It’s just the law of the land.  No need to argue with your cuisine consultant, think about the ground beef that we make your burger with.  This isn’t a steak; we’re talking about potentially thousands of cows all ground up into the patties we grill--the intelligent choice would be to order a salad, but meat tastes like murder and murder tastes pretty goddamn good--medium is pobably a stretch, but the FDA says that’s still okay.  Actually, the intelligent thing would be to go to your local supermarket, pick your own glop of thousands of cow ground bits and cook it yourself; you’d save money, time, stress and you could make it any way you wanted.  But we all know why you’re here; the name says it all: “AND.”  The burgers come with fries.  Not French fries, just fries.  The French are pussies.


I think the above may be too long--I should edit out the fries part.


For the steak section:


Yeah, em-effer.  This is the part of the menu that should have nice pictures of big steaks all cooked to perfection.  As you can see, it doesn’t.  Well, we brought in Fat Sal to take those pictures and the fat fuck ate all the steaks before he took the pictures.  I guess that’s a testimony to how good the steaks here at Nipples and Tits are.  Fat Sal did take a picture of his impressively large bowel movement a day later, but we felt that picture would have been in poor taste in the menu.  We will, however, describe it: it filled the bowl, clogged the toilet and set off the smoke alarm--allegedly.  Anyway, seeing as how our steaks are made from one cow per steak, you can have that slab of cow ass any way you want it.  Shit, we’ll bring the cow to your table, you can carve off what you want and ride the rest home.  Our steaks come with your choice of two sides, not that you’ll need them: fries (see burger section for name explanation), steak fries (big f@&$ing fries--just like a PG-13 movie, we are allowed only so many “fucks”), baked potato (our least favorite side), garlic mashed potatoes (the ladies love these), sweet potato (with molasses, brown sugar and butter--what, expecting some smart ass comment?), and baked beans (Farrrrt! a-hahahaha).


For the ribs section:


You know, whether you get the half rack, full rack, baby back, or any other variety or combination of pig chest, not only will you be getting some tender, tender, I’m talkin’ falling off the bones, near-liquid ribs...but...but...ha ha...my friends...you will be getting a complimentary genital swab.  You may be more familiar with the name moist towelette or handy wipe, but there is nothing more refreshing that putting our lemony scented genital swab right on your genitals and manipulating yourself in circular motions--but do it in the bathroom stalls or in private.  You can ask your Nipples and Tits cuisine consultant for extras--they’re hip.  Your chunk of chest comes with your choice of one side and a whole eighth of an apple.


For the beverage section:


You may have noticed we say “cola” instead of specifying Coke or Pepsi.  The harsh and bitter truth is: we switch it up.  You know those people that actually care what cola they get?  We give them the other and they never know.  Remember that Pepsi Test from the ‘80’s about the same time as Max Hedroom?  Man, was that ever a weird show?  The guy was a head on a computer screen.  The last time I saw head on a computer screen was when I visited hottwats.com--I was trying to get to hotmail.com.  Look, just be glad we’re not pouring RC Cola.


Birthday specials:


For the birthday boy: one Hummer Bird.

For the birthday girl: one Donkey Punch.


Shit, I gotta open a restaurant.




Copyright © 2003 John Lemut