Restaurant Gal made it down to my neck of the mangroves this weekend. Complete with the chaos and a kid on her tit. Yes The Boy she had in tow, with his big bird looks, Slingbox, and Brad Pitt eyeballs, was a magical companion for my poop throwing monkey child. I mean, it was so cool watching a 9yr old and a 23 year old sitting at the little kid table comparing their broken thumbs and arguing as to which was more fun, peanuts or corn in their crap. The Boy set a wonderful example for my curtain climbing brat child. Next thing I knew, my kid was flipping the middle finger to all the strangers showing them how birdies fly. I think he had a few too many sips of Heineken. Either that or he had been sneaking sips of her young-uns Petrone. Regardless, Restaurant Gals baby 23 year old boy didn’t shit his britches even once, even when they were engaged in their massive farting contest. Which is impressive, considering we could hear three tables away from the quadrapalegics table that we made them sit at. You should have seen that poor guys face. I could tell he wasn’t near as impressed as we were. Of course we made them stop when the paramedics were called because the poor fella passed out and fell out of his wheelchair. All in all it was a lovely time had by all. We finally went home around nine-thirty. We would have left earlier but we couldn’t get past the fire departments hazardous materials vehicle. I am going to have to beg for a little financial help to pay off the fines imposed upon us by the E.P.A.. Who would have guessed you could kill an entire flock of endangered birds just by farting. Oh for fucks sake, we didn’t get to eat chocolate cake. But there is next time. There is next time.