Day 4, Lunch: Journey to the Food Court

THIS BLOG CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE, SO READ ON AND THEN SEND ME A NASTY E-MAIL LATER ABOUT HOW IT OFFENDED YOU.

I had a luncheon scheduled today with opposing counsel; the plan was to discuss potential settlement over a good meal. I knew I would have to be careful, since we tentatively picked the always excellent Stephan Pyles.  Now that would have been difficult.

Opposing counsel cancelled the luncheon last minute.  I suspect it's because he's afraid of me and has already recognized I'm the superior advocate.

Given my lack of plans, my assistant recommended I go to the "food court." I politely asked her what the fuck she was talking about, and she informed me there was one in our building and proceeded to describe Hell it in detail.

Sigh.

I typically try to avoid the smelly plebeians that wander the lobby of my building by taking a back corridor to my elevator; this way I don't have to shower, run the risk of being asked for spare change, or contracting AIDS.  Regardless, I dejectedly headed downstairs to look for this "food court."

Unfortunately, I fucking found it.

Nausea struck me like a rolling thunderclap, and my gag reflex threw up a white flag.  I was surrounded by a scent that can only be described as a combination of a bear's asshole and a wicker basket full of dog shit.

I found some kind of "ethnic" establishment that had an unpronounceable name and ordered the MARCO POLO, which turned out to be steamed dog dicks, but I'll get to that later. I was momentarily pleased when I saw that I could order a combination of brown rice, broccoli, steamed chicken, and a drizzle of olive oil.  I felt adventurous and added an order of egg drop soup.

$11.00.

After barely making it back upstairs alive, I sat down to examine my "feast":

Notice anything wrong? Yep, that's right. Plastic utensils.

Remember when I told you I ended up ordering steamed dog dicks?  Well, I found out after the first fucking bite.  After spitting it out into my simplehuman® wastebasket, I looked closer and discovered the problem:

I had been duped.

This wasn't steamed chicken, it was fucking dildo rubber or whatever the fuck they use to make dildos.  Into the simplehuman® wastebasket it went.

I tried the egg drop soup, expecting very little. It met those expectations admirably, because it had fucking corn in it. I don't know what fucking egg drop soup planet these people came from, but you don't do something like this unless you're Kent Rathbun. HEINOUS.

I finished my soup in the kitchen:

On second thought, I should have dumped it down the goddamned toilet.