Upset Waitress

Don’t Step Of The Evidence.

Upset Waitress — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 12:59:26 +0000

True Story. About this time last year a waitress was fired from her job at a Pizza Hut. Apparently she was more then upset at her manager for doing this, so she went and shot him to death. The authorities new it had to have been an inside job because there was a huge slice of pizza in the deceased mouth. The only other evidence was a meat lovers pizza with one missing slice, a body, and a fuzzy picture of dough being tossed over the camera. Of course there was some debate amongst the investigating officers as to whether or not it was the bullet or the pizza that killed him. Did he choke on the pizza and fall on a stray bullet? Was he attempting to clear his clogged arteries with his hand gun? And if so, where was the weapon? After a full week the only thing they could agree on was what a waste of perfectly good pizza. It almost looked like it was going to be a cold pizza case. Then they had a break in the case. It was overlooked at first. However after a closer examination of the crime scene it occurred to them that there had been witnesses. Although they had been murdered too, the killer left her foot prints on the cursory victims. Who would have thought that the very cockroaches the customers complained about finding under their pepperoni would have been the kingpin of the investigation. However, the prosecution had a hard time convicting the upset waitress, because every time he held the evidence up to the jury he would get sprayed with Raid and the women would scream and run. The moral of the story is: If you are going to kill your boss at work, make sure the health inspector has made him remove the vermin from the area you intend to use. Like I said, this is a true story.

Things I’ve Learned About Flocking Chickens.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 02:07:37 +0000

I just wanted to remind everyone that I raise my own chickens. A few months ago I got me some big birds so I can eat their eggs. I have learned a lot about raising chickens, and thought I should share some of the things I have learned with you. First off, my chickens will lay an egg everyday. This means that the poor bird ovulates everyday, which means they start every morning with P.M.S. and end every evening with menopause. A new menstrual cycle every day. That would suck eggs. Another thing I’ve learned is that chickens will eat absolutely everything. Good or bad, they will ingest it. For example, when I burnt my hand, there was tons of leftover skin hanging. I went outside to peel off all the extra dead skin. The chickens were catching the crusty flakes in mid air. They squabbled over every little morsel of flesh. When there was an extra big piece of dead skin, it looked like a scene from Rocky. Bagock-Adrian! Na na na na nana na na na na. They would peck and chase each other over the delight. Another thing is, chickens constantly shit. All over the place is chicken crap. It’s quite colorful too, and to make the colors stand out, there is always a big chunk of white included. The poo sort of looks like an Oreo cookie that has been pre-soaked in milk. It sometimes resembles a grasshopper that has hit your windshield at high velocity. One more thing I learned is just how stupid chickens really are. Out of three birds, I only have two left. One of the big dummies opened her mouth towards the sky during a rainstorm and drowned. I mean seriously. So, why did the chicken cross the road? It was stuck to the farmers penis. Anyway, to wrap up my learning experience about chickens. They are ovulating all the time, they eat everything, they crap constantly, and they are dumb enough to let farmers fuck them. I really love chickens.

Cooking Lessons.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 23:41:47 +0000

I Had to cook again today because the part-time cook we hired to replace the drunken cook who was deported, kept putting anthrax on the powered doughnuts. So we had to fire him. Who would have thought that an ex Iraqi army major would have a grudge against us here in America. No biggie. This time I only parboiled one finger. I did, however, manage to slice my arm up to the elbow. How did that happen? You might wonder. Well. I will tell you. One of the other ditsy bitches I work with wasn’t watching where she was going and bumped into my bloody Mary. In order to save my morning Elixer, I made a diving catch which knocked the chef knife from the counter to the floor. Of course I landed on it and slid about four feet. I saved my drink though. Then I got up and beat the shit out of her. Now I not only had to cook but I had to serve it as well. About twenty minutes into the lunch rush it occurred to me that I had fallen behind my beer quota. It didn’t take me long to catch up, but apparently longer than the customers wanted it to. About the third person that complained, I snapped. You should have seen the carnage that followed. When the smoke cleared and I sat down to enjoy my after the ass whoopin margarita, and called a friend to help hide the bodies. Somewhere around Midnight we finished feeding the carcases to the cats. Of course it would take us till dawn to get all of the internal organs scraped of the wall. The good news was the when it was all over and the other cook came in, the bar was open, so my friend and I could get a desperately needed drink.

Jimmy’s New Home.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 01:36:10 +0000

Yesterday as I fed my pet whale Jimmy, I noticed he had outgrown the champagne glass I had been keeping him in. So, I went to a store that sold fish supplies. I asked the clerk if he had a fairly large fish bowl. He showed me an assortment of Beta bowls. I told him that they were just a little too small. Then he showed me a few goldfish bowls. They were a little better, but somehow still inadequate. I suggested he show me some of his aquariums. He sold me a ten gallon tank complete with colored gravel and a little castle for Jimmy to swim through. When I crammed my pet whale in his new tank, it was apparent that it was just a tad too small. Although he really enjoyed swimming through his castle. Still I had to return to the store to exchange his new tank. The clerk was happy to exchange the tank for a larger one. However, he was a little confused. He asked me what size bowl I had had my fish in to begin with. I explained that I had been keeping him in a champaign glass. That confused him. How could my pet fish be too big for a ten gallon tank if I had been keeping him in a champagne glass. As confused as he was, he never asked what kind of fish I had. He just sold me a fifty gallon tank for the difference in price and let it be. Even though it gave Jimmy a little more swim space, it still wasn’t quite big enough. Then I had good idea. I took Jimmy’s castle over to Mr. Johnsons jacuzzi, turned down the heater, and dropped Jimmy in. Now he is a happy whale, but I don’t think Mr. Johnson appreciates the company.

Pump It Up.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 21:45:14 +0000

One of my most favorite co-workers has been out of work for the past 2 weeks because she is about to shit out a baby. Anyway, some of us gals got together and decided we should get her a couple of things to help her out so she can hurry it up and get back to work bla bla. One girl got her a baby blanket, another bought her some bottles. I was stumped for a while. Do I get her a cage for the kid? How about a training collar that shocks it every time it tries to cry for the tit. Then when I was at a garage sale I came across a used nursing pump. It was old and crusty. Of course I immediately thought this would be the perfect gift. After all it’s not as if I actually like her. Besides there is only a little bit of mildew and mold. What the hell is a nursing pump except an excuse to ignore your baby when it needs you most. I don’t know, but I assume you clearly want no part of the kid if all you are going to do is stick this contraption on your tit and siphon the milk into bottle so you can shove it into the infants face while you finish your crossword puzzle and talk to your friends online. This pump is so old she will have to get her handy man to jury rig a new handle, or she will get splinters in her hands. Oh, and then I found some matching stained bibs. The were so cute. All of the regurgitated food made murals of biblical scenes. One was an image of the virgin Mary. Another was of Noah scraping animal crap out of his ark. My favorite however, was the one that depicted the last supper. I just thought it was some how fitting for a bib, and somewhat ironic. If you are expecting a rug rat, let me know. I am sure I can get you something wonderful. Much like I did for the co-worker who’s dumb enough to let me know she was having baby.

The Reality Of Sponge Bob.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 01:28:28 +0000

I just love Sponge Bob Square Pants. I desperately wanted to go to the theater to see the movie when it came out but my 9yr old son thought there would be way too many hidden adult jokes in it. However, when it came out on dvd I totally bought it on sale for five bucks and made my brat child watch it several times with me. He still thinks Sponge Bob is clumsy, stupid, idiotic, and overall retarded, but for me, that talking pourous yellow dish scrubber is a trip. He might be a tard, but tards are funny. Especially when they fart bubbles. I fart bubbles in the bathtub, and occasionally in a heavy rain, but not every time I poot. I enjoy Patrick too. He reminds me of my brother. He too is inane and lives under a rock. Although I couldn’t stand David Hasslehoff in Night Rider, or Baywatch, I thoroughly enjoyed him in this flick. It prompted me to listen to his music. That was a mistake. Squidward reminds me of my neighbor Mr. Johnson. He is always yelling at me to turn off my Yoko Ono CD before I leave for work at four in the morning, or at least turn it down. I just give him my best Sponge Bob laugh and drive off to work serving crabby patties. Which brings me to Mr. Crabby. My boss is so Mr. Crabby. He never does anything without seeing dollar signs. If he doesn’t see them he doesn’t do it. You might wonder who in my life is Plankton? I only know of one eyed midget, so I suppose he would have to be it. His name is Pedro. He used to have two eyes until the drunken cook accidentally mistook him for a large bottle of wine, because he was wearing a shirt with a picture of grapes on it. He tried to open him. It took twelve doctors to get the corkscrew out of his eye socket. This is why I like this movie. It so closely mimics my real life.

I Wish I Were Home Computing.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 23:54:54 +0000

The internet sucks. Everything about it sucks, and not having the internet sucks the big one. I have to physically leave my house to go to Mc-Fricking-Donalds with my power book to get online, or I am at an internet cafe where there is nothing but distractions. Like the three hundred pound geek picking his nose and ass and eating it. There is absolutely no privacy here. They have no tables so you have to sit up at a bar and order their crappy coffee so you can get a discount for the online usage. They wont let me smoke in here either. I desperately need a cigarette to hide the taste of the poo water they say is coffee. The guy beside me is literally punching his keyboard, because he just lost his connection to the transvestite porn site he was stroking himself to with the hand he kept in his pocket. He keeps typing louder and louder the more he gets excited. People that type this loud should be shot. Shot with a gun that’s shaped like a web cam. Possibly a large gun in the shape of a monitor with a nuclear missile launcher in it or something. On my other side is a couple of teens playing some kind of war game. I swear if I hear the word “Dude” one more time I will thump them both. General information: A dude is an infected butt hair on an elephant. Anyway, enough about the cafe. I am getting good internet here soon. I am going to steal it. I have seven computers so I have to do all this networking crap all over again. I have to get all new routers, hubs, and modems so I’m shopping online for those right now.

I really liked my last blue Linksys router, so I bought a newer one with an updated look. I’m fussy about my equipment and it all has to match. The one I found on sale has nice rounded edges and a super flat top. This is important to me because it will be perfect as an ashtray stand or coaster.

Sticking with the Linksys theme, I bought two of these cable modems on sale. They will sit on my shelf above a couple of computers and serve as bookends too. Now all I have to do is figure out how to hump off my neighbors connection without him knowing. It should be easy. I think I will just go over there wearing my new bikini and a hand full of wires to be untangled. I will ask him to sort out the mess of red and green wires. While he is doing that, I will make the important connections. Then I will trot home in triumph.

A Night Out.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 01:54:59 +0000

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.

CCTV.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:42:46 +0000

I bought a new T.V. the other day and I can’t get it to stop giving me the closed captioning. Now not only do I have to listen to the crap my old man watches, I have to read it too. I find that the words on the screen are incredibly distracting. The only time I don’t have text on the screen is during the commercials. I find that rather disappointing. It has been my experience that the commercials are often more entertaining than the shows that the networks run. Like the Lavitra commercial. You know, where they discuss how small a mans penis is, or how he has a soft pecker all the time. I used to think the Summers Eve commercials were low. “Mom, have you ever had that not so fresh feeling?”. Pfffft. <—(PUSSY FART) I’m much more entertained by the erectile dysfunction disorder pill pushing commercials.

Power Me Up.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 20:58:42 +0000

Just in case I hadn’t complained enough about computer crap I have one more thing to bitch about. I need a decent power supply. I often find that I run out of battery when I need my computer most, and of course I am never near an outlet. So I have been checking out different websites. I found this one and it seemed fairly decent. It is http://www.xoxide.com/powersupplies1.html. I unfortunately know more about software than I do hardware. Unless it is for the bedroom. Speaking of the bedroom, I need some hardware that I can use to restrain my old man. I am getting tired of him being so handsy. I need to get something with springs and a bear trap. Oh, and a pogo stick for his ass. I bet I could use one of those power supplies for that.

I Need Interweb.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 20:30:42 +0000

I had a wonderful post for everyone to read but since my internet is down, I had to go to a local coffee shop to get internet and when I logged on it messed with my computer memory. I LOST IT!! I want to get reliable internet at my house but I refuse to pay the outrageous price that the cable company wants me to. Fuckers. I need a new server that will work just as fast. If anyone knows of one please let me know. I cannot use dial-up. It is too slow. I need something that can handle the large amounts of B.S. I keep feeding you. My shit needs help!

Shop Till You Drop.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 20:13:32 +0000

I hate grocery shopping. Actually I hate any kind of shopping. I simply can’t stand the hoards of people pushing and shoving to get the last of an item of the shelf or to get a better position in the only checkout line open. I also have trouble deciding which is the best buy, twenty rolls of single ply toilet paper of ten rolls of two ply. I mean, really is there a difference? Sure, the two ply takes a little more work, because you have to separate it yourself, but it requires less storage space. So, really it is a toss up. Another thing I hate about shopping is that horrible music they insist on playing. Really. Who is the tasteless moron that picks what music should be played? I am almost positive that every store in America uses the same retard to make musical selections based on what would make there shoppers so insane that they will actually buy those stupid tabloids when they get to the cash register. Which reminds me, Did you here that Oprah is have Elvis Costello’s love child and that Ron Howard was going to make a made for T.V. special about it, featuring actual footage of the birth. It is going to be called Bitter Harvest Too.

Word Power.

Upset Waitress — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 20:06:20 +0000

Have you ever noticed how words have power? Few have more power than the word no. One such word is sale. This word will make most women giddy. It has the power to make children beg, or even do chores. Many people have been encouraged to camp out in the most adverse conditions for days just to get what ever is on sale. This word has often managed to get rid of all the crap you don’t want anymore. I am not sure where it’s power is derived, however, it is a force that can not be denied.

When A Waitress Cooks…Herself.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 14:57:45 +0000

Look it here. This is my hand now. It will never be the same. Like dell memory, I never used it much anyway, so I’m not overly upset about it. Accept now it’s ugly. It’s not as ugly as George Bush or Don Imus, but it is fairy ugly. I let it go to long without getting medical attention. Now I have an infection. The doctor is going to have to scrub off the dead flesh and give me antibiotics. On the plus side all of my customers got to eat a little piece of me. I made sure that every plate was garnished with human flesh. I never had so many complements on my food. I had quite a few complements when I put my pubic hairs in the food but apparently the taste charred flesh is preferable to any of my bodily fluids that I often apply liberally. It must be the smoky flavor and crispy texture that makes the difference. I think maybe I’ll save the flesh that the doctor removes, bag it up, and sell it as pork rinds. I wonder if anyone will notice.

Vaseline Stock Just Went Up.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:29:51 +0000

Gays are allowed to get married in California now, which got me to thinking. How is it that a butthole can be the deciding factor for a legal marriage? That’s just crappy. Is it really that big of a fricking deal to marry in the same species? This gay marrying thing couldn’t have come at a better time too. California’s economy will get a big boost with the sale of all them flowers, men’s jewelry , and Spandex. Another good thing, same sex marriages will help with population control. Like old people, they don’t make babies. And we all know, babies stress the environment something major.

Respect Thy Cook.

Upset Waitress — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 23:27:07 +0000

Well it so happened that the drunken cook went to jail and then was deported so I’m stuck cooking until he swims back into the country. This will break up the monotony I guess. It will also give me a chance to really fuck with some food. If you Think I’m an evil waitress, you haven’t seen anything yet. I’m an even more twisted cook. I don’t care about the patrons as it is. I care less about the waitresses. Bitches. I hate other wait staff. They piss me off to no end. They always try to steal my tables, and are constantly being nice to their customers, and that makes me look bad to the untrained eye. A lot of their tickets mysteriously disappeared today. Oops. I used them as meat filler, and as a base for the clam chowder. There was a metal bread tie pounded into a chicken breast sandwich too. Oops. One of them never even got a plate of food for her serving tray because she acted like a big douche. She kept nagging me, “Where is my food? These eggs are cold. I didn’t order that. Is that your toe nail? The water is on fire.” I eventually had to accidentally duct tape her to the slimy shit in the back of the walk-in. Oops. One of the other waitresses started to complain about having to cover the other ones tables. I think the frying pan up side her head cured that problem, because for the rest of the day all I heard from her was motorboat sounds and a couple of squeaks. I can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow. I left the flat top on and put eggs, bacon, and hashed browns on it so that when I come in in the morning, all my cooking will be done. That way all I will have to do is kick back and drink a beer, and point to where the twits can get there food. Crap. I would love to tell you more, but the police and fire marshals are here. They want to know if I know how the fire started and who the charred corpse in the walk-in might be.

Wait N.C.

Upset Waitress — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 01:13:40 +0000

I think I had mentioned before that I had been looking for a change of scenery. A new place to spit in peoples food. So, I have planed a trip to North Carolina. I called a few places to rent. I finally decided to rent from a place called Outer Banks rentals. The best thing about it was I would get to visit thirty restaurants in need of a professional saliva applicator. I don’t know if I will like it in North Carolina, but I have already spit in the food of every tourist from there. Since none of them have complained, I think I can get a job there easy.

A Sticky Situation.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 23:49:53 +0000

Recently the boss decided to add a new type of wine to the wine list. When the new wine arrived it occurred to me that something was wrong. Instead of ten bottles they sent ten cases. Each case had ten bottles. I immediately called the boss. He said just to put it in the walk-in until he could fix it. Well, two weeks and four broken toes later, I had to do something about it. Frankly I was tired of tripping on it, and I was running out of lies to tell the drunken cook. He could smell it. I told him it was red wine vinegar. Then I was hit by the memory of the Christmas party three years ago. The cook smelled like vinegar until the fourth of July. So, now I had to think of something quick. As he ran to the walk-in I stuck out my foot and tripped him. He fell into a box of fly paper. He had to go to the hospital to have it removed. It took off all his skin. Now he has to stay wrapped in bandages for six weeks. I went to see him and said I was sorry. Instead he thanked me for giving him a good excuse to take Morphine.

A Place To Sit.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 23:31:56 +0000

If you are anything like me you like to enjoy your dinner in the late afternoon or early evening. The only problem is I wanted to move my dining area outside. It makes it nice to watch the sunset. So, I shopped around for some patio furniture and bought a nice table and ONE chair. You know, so no one else could join me while I’m eating my tofu, greens. Now that I have a comfy place to sit and eat away from everyone the damn lizards keep trying to eat my salad, the birds are shitting in my hair, and the squirrels steal my nuts. I guess it didn’t work out as I had planned. Instead I got every stinking non-human, furry, feathery, scaley visitor to my patio dining room. Does anyone know where I can get a flame thrower?

Put Your Head on Straight.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 22:46:06 +0000

After a twelve hour day it takes a bottle of tequilla, scotch, whiskey, and a few beers to start relaxing my neck muscles. Then after that a xanax or two because my head feels like someone on a treadmill has been jogging on my brain. Shortly there after I can finally move head and face forward. Now that I can reach the straw, let the drinking begin. I start with screw drivers in order to tighten the screws that were worked loose by first customer. Then a whole lotta Pina coladas, to hold on to the four hours of vacation I had this last year. Some rum and honey buns to get my blood sugar back up. At last when I’m at ease I’ll settle in to a sweet cup of Khalua and coffee so I can stay up for the late movie. A nice warm glass of brandy to settle me into bed. Damn. I have to go to the store. I’m out of breakfast beer.

The Death Of A Salesman.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 19:32:20 +0000

Life is short, health is fleeting. That’s what the man who came to my door soliciting term life insurance quotes. I told him if he didn’t get off my porch his beneficiary was going to be wealthy. I don’t think he understood. He just continued on with his sales pitch. He said, “Thank you. You have just made a wonderfully verbally, simple, example as to why Term life insurance is important. Life can turn ugly at a moments notice without warning.” I stopped there and asked rather brashly, “Who the fucuk are you calling simple and ugly!!”, as I reached for the baseball bat. He took a half step back, and said, “Wonderful. I seldom get to see someone who not only can present my pitch with words and illustration.” Well that’s when I swung at his head. As he lay bleeding on my front steps he groaned, “I do believe you have made my point rather vividly. Can I interest you in the deluxe package? Or. Would you prefer the basic policy?” To make a long story short, as much as I hate door to door salesmen, I truly admired his dedication. So, with his bloody index finger I signed up for the deluxe package. He smiled and passed out from loss of blood. That’s when I took the snow shovel and scraped his carcass off my porch and over to Mr. Johnsons house next door. I rang the door bell and said, “Good luck on your next sale.”

Watch This.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 01:42:23 +0000

I was walking down the street the other morning when this “gentleman” offered to sell me a Patek Nautilus. I said to him, “I would but I have no use for a submarine. Even if it does go twenty thousand leagues under the sea.” He gave me a funny look. Then he told me that he was selling watches. I posed the question, “Will it go twenty thousand leagues under the sea?” Now he looked agitated. He screamed, What is a league anyway?!” I thought for a minute. I looked around and then said very matter of fact, “I don’t know, but there are major ones and minor ones, and that watch better be able to handle twenty thousand of them or I’m not buying it.” He walked away mumbling to himself and tugging at his hair.

I Licked Your Toast.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 12:09:53 +0000

I don’t lick customers toast because I’m hungry. I don’t even like butter. The closest thing animal fat I will eat is used cisco, but there is something satiating about licking ones slice when I’m angry. It’s no fun handling bread right after dipping my hands in money. It’s not the same as dropping it and picking it up from the floor either. That’s just involuntary. To lick it though, being completely aware that I’m slobbering on a burnt piece of sliced bread, well, that’s just conspiracy. Not only am I making myself feel better by licking the toast, but I’m also scraping my tongue clean.

Fertile Mertyl And Others.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 00:02:00 +0000

The world must be on fertility drugs. I have received ten baby shower invitations this week. It seems no one has learned a damn thing from reading my posts. If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times, children make terrible house pets. Still everyone insists on finding out the hard way. I’m not sure how this baby shower thing is supposed to work. If it hasn’t been born yet, how the hell are we supposed to give the stinking thing a shower. Besides I am pretty sure you should give a baby a warm bath, unless you have post pardom depression, in which case I’m fairly certain you supposed to just drown the fucuking thing before it becomes a problem. However, if you were truly enterprising, you would sell it, or put it to work in a sweat shop. Just ask Kathy Lee for her advice on the best textile factory to utilize your childs nimble fingers. Otherwise, my advise to all is DON’T DO IT! Just practice.

Need It Or Not.

Upset Waitress — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 23:54:56 +0000

I received this ad in my E-mail as if someone were paying attention to my every move. Having trouble losing weight? Now you can get Phentermine no prescription. It got me to thinking. I can’t for the life of me understand why people don’t just give up and eat what they want. I realize there are health issues. However, many people are just vain. To make changes that are not health related seem wrong to me. I despise doctors that perform plastic surgery that is not to correct a life long deformity or to fix damage from an accident. I feel that it is wrong to take advantage other peoples insecurities. Unless of course you are an upset waitress. It is my contention that the F.D.A. and the drug companies are selling us crap so that they can line their pockets with money and keep us just ill enough to want or need their products. Not unlike our current president screwing with overseas oil production to raise the price, meanwhile trying to convince us we need more oil so we should drill in wildlife preserves. All the time refusing to inform us of the true hazards. There is little difference between the vile actions of either of them. I think it is time to remember what is truly important. Family and friends are all that matter besides our own well being. Keep that in mind the next time someone tries to sell you something you don’t need. You don’t need what they are selling nearly as badly as they need to sell it to you. Even if it will hurt you.

End rant.

No Place To Go.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 19:58:48 +0000

I may be moving if the economy doesn’t improve. To that end I have been looking at some Atlanta jobs. I think it may be time to move to the big city. I decided on Georgia so that I could stay close to my redneck roots. Maybe I’ll move to Alabama. Then again maybe not. Although if the Clampetts can do it I could move to Beverly Hills. Who am I kidding. The last time I was shootin’ at some food the only thing that came bubblin’ up was toxic waste. I really need to find a better place to hunt. Hell I don’t know I should probably just stay put. At least here I know what to expect. Crap. It’s just that everyday I am reminded that there is no gravity here. It is just one giant suck hole. They should rename this place Hooverville.

Vacation?

Upset Waitress — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 19:59:48 +0000

I was thinking, and we all know how dangerous that can be. I decided that it was time for another vacation. The only questions left were where, when, and how much will it cost me. I did a little research on the Virgin Islands. After speaking to some one at St. John villa rentals, I decided that my vacation was going to be slightly more local, and less expansive. So I went to a local bar, bought a lot of drinks, some other mind altering substances, and went to the movie theater. As soon as the movie was over I went to a local flop house to sleep it off. When I awoke I did it all again. Now that I have had a “vacation” I can get back to my usual routine. Which normally consists of ten hours of serving morons, drinking, and flophouses. Wait a minute. Damn it. Now I have to start thinking about a vacation again.

If It Looks Like A Dump, Smells Like A Dump…

Upset Waitress — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:21:44 +0000

I met a fellow blogger over the weekend. She was heading my way so we agreed to meet. I warned her that the Keys is a big dump, her hotel will be a dump, and that everything smells like someone took a big steamy dump. Except for the dump which smells like dirty, rotted, ass. Anyway, by the time I got out of jail Restaurant Gal had finally arrived. Time to party. Well, we had to wait for her cute car to get smooshed up by a drunk mangrove monkey that left the scene only to be found later in a trailer park built from driftwood. He didn’t have home insurance obviously, however as luck will have it, he did have shitty car insurance. After the police report was made and life returned to a semi-normal state, we went out for dinner. I ate my usual twigs and stems. Then it was off to the bar. Which oddly enough smelled like a steaming pile of dump at the dump with a hint of bile from the dried vomit left over from the partyers the night before. Once we were sufficiently inebriated it was time for some creative driving. With one eye closed and my head hanging out the window so that the smell of crap continuously slapped me in the face to keep me from passing out. I drove fourteen miles back to my house, which oddly enough was only two blocks away from the bar. Anyway, Restaurant Gal met me the next morning at the dumpy hole in the wall I call my job. She didn’t eat, I didn’t blame her. I had to lock the drunken cook in the walk-in because he took off his pants when he heard I had a friend coming. To end this, Restaurant Gal wanted to go home bad. While saying good bye I stole her beautiful hair clip. She says she’ll be back when the flying pigs are ice skating in hell.

See you soon RG!

Cold Hot Apple Pie.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 13:58:14 +0000

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night. I tried to go back to sleep. I counted sheep. When that didn’t work I sheared them. Then I thought, what do people in drug treatment centers drink to go to sleep? Warm milk. So I went to the community kitchen and heated up some powdered milk. I took a sip. BLAH! I had to find something to eat with it to give my taste buds at least a love tap. Off to the fridge for some kitchen riches.

I needed sweet. Not candy sweet, not cake sweet, not even sweet meat could satisfy me. I needed a miracle. Then as if Moses had parted the red mold sea, a beam of forty watt soft appliance light glistened off the golden arches of a crispy, perfectly tanned pastry filled with forbidden fruit. Nothing hits the spot like a cold hot apple pie.

Exercise Your Childs Mind.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 31 May 2008 20:50:47 +0000

Today I asked my son if he knew what ellipticals were. He said, “Sure I do.” “They are circles that got sat on.” I laughed and told that that was not what I was talking about. “Then what are you talking about?” He asked. “I am talking about an exercise machine.” I replied. He shouted, “Cool! A machine that does exercise for you. Now we have more time to play.” Chuckling I said, “No. it doesn’t do it for you, you exercise on it.” He looked bewildered and stated, “You must have good balance.” “Why do you say that?” I asked. He said, “Because it”s hard to stand on something round, even if it is partly squashed. It must be really hard to exercise on it.” I smiled and gave him an ice-cream for being so smart.

I Still Hate Him.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 31 May 2008 20:50:32 +0000

I still hate him. He says he loves me. I think I hate him even more for that, because it makes it hard to hate him. BASTARD! Just when I decided that I was secure in my reasons for hating him, he has to give me new ones. It confuses me. I don’t like to be confused about things I thought I was certain of. It was almost as confusing as deciding how I should lose weight. After I read an Anoretix review, I decided that good diet and exercise were the best solution. However, once I found out how difficult Proper eating and exercise were, I considered trying a pill diet. Now I am confused again. That’s right. I was talking about how I hate him. BASTARD.

The One I Hate.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 28 May 2008 19:57:40 +0000

Being a woman sucks because you have to deal with men. The one in my life is a lazy, skinny, stinky, slob. I lost all respect for him because he’s unmotivated and unambitious(jobless idiot). His taste in TV shows and movies suck the biggest of pricks(Mash, True Grit). And he’s constantly in the crapper(shitting his life away). He keeps Cottonelle and other horse supplies in business with all the shitting he does. I feel bad for his asspipe. He’s never saved money, he does not know how. Don’t get me wrong, he is a good person. He has a good heart, does volunteer work in our community, and would die for me and our son, but god dammit, he’s a total fuck hole! Why would he go and piss off an already upset waitress? I hope I’m not the only one that feels deep hatred for the “other” half. Damn him to hell.

Three Days Long. Episode I. The Maddness Begins.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 24 May 2008 23:54:06 +0000

The price of oil hasn’t put a dent into all the fuck holes that come here for the Memorial day weekend. No it hasn’t. As a matter of fact, it’s the opposite. Instead of a family of five in one mini-van, it’s five families of five in one mini-van with home theater sconces on the sides. Pfft. They are carpooling down here. They all pile out of the vehicle in a manner that reminds me to buy tickets to the circus, or failed immigration policies. I served a flood of water with an orchard of lemon. I had to smack countless uncontrolled children. Finally, I had to separate every check, as if I were keeping church from state. To be continued…

What Makes Me Happy?

Upset Waitress — Thu, 22 May 2008 19:40:13 +0000

A lot of things make me happy. I noticed today that the things that make me the happiest start with the letter “B”. Blogging for example. Now combine that with Beer and this is how happy it makes me.

Happier than a retard with a puh puh puh puppy.
Happier than a puppy with a r r r retard(curl hand here).
Happier than Moi at a sample sale at Neiman’s.
Happier than a fly on a turd.
Happier than Dick Cheney stepping on puppies, kittens and orphans…
It makes me happier than a lesbian under a pussy tree.
Happier than Joyce Dick Lam Poon at a genital naming conference!
Happier than a legless midget in a whore house.
Happier than 72 Virgins trampling a muslib.
Happier than a priest at a Boyz To Men concert.
Happier than a Catholic Priest at an unsupervised all-boy quadraplegic deaf-mute day camp.
Happier than a fat chick on a Harley.
Happier than Jeffry Dahmer in a morgue.
Happier than Obama at a “Support Your Local Marxist” event.
Happier than a Jihadist strapped to a dirty bomb on a White House tour.
Happier than Sally Struthers eating an Ethiopian.
Happier than a Nazi in a synagogue at a bake sale.
Happier than a Michael Moore with an axe to grind.

Feel free to add on. I’ll link your “happier than” to your site!

The Nazi-Tot.

Upset Waitress — Thu, 22 May 2008 01:39:30 +0000

No. I am not talking about Hitlers youth. I’m talking about a Passover treat you just can’t pass over. A Neo-Nazi taste creation. The food you’ll love to hate. This is a side dish that allows the Jewish community to devour the Third Reich. That or wrap a piece of string around it as if it were designer jewelry. No longer will the swastika be feared. It wasn’t until it was adopted by the Germans that the swastika was a symbol of hate. It is an ancient symbol of power. Now it can be looked upon as delicious, bite sized, and yumminess. I am not prejudice, I hate everyone just the same, so don’t boycott the Nazi-tot. It is to be served with kavita fish and Kosher foods of your choice. They are also a wonderbar side dish for traditional foods world wide. It may sound odd, but the controversial design affords the perfect amount of condiment application. Although it seems as if the sauce will concur the crispy potato flavor of the tot, it falls short of complete control. Soon reparation is made to your taste buds, and a wall is built to separate taste.

This Is No Ordinary Cock. No Sir!

Upset Waitress — Fri, 16 May 2008 21:36:38 +0000

Todays topic is Cock! Big, tough, head turning cock. So put on your exam gloves now. I ordered this cock the other day and can’t wait to display it. I think I’ll frame it in a pair of speedos. You can tell the artist really knows her cock. You could say She is a cockspert. Look at how erect She made him! He looks as hard as he is rigid. I have a feeling cock just comes on her, I mean, to her naturally. With her hands She used every stroke to bring this cock to life. Too bad it’s not alive. Because, I would eat it, head and all. Swallowing every last drop of it’s juices. Actually, I would bite its head off first thing. It’s an Alice Cooper fantasy of mine. Anyway, cock is very tasty. I like all kinds of cock. I once ate a black cock, and just can’t tell the difference between it and others. Sure there was a little more meat, but not enough to satisfy my hunger. The meat is tender and very juicy of most cocks unless they are free range, because it can taste gamey. Look at how the artist showed off his butt. Very firm. It is important that any cock I devour have a buff butt. The art of eating cock requires that you cram as much cock in your mouth as you can all at once. Be careful. It is easy to choke on a cock. If that happens you will have to administer the him-lick maneuver until you recover. Remember that peckers are sharp and if you eat your cock improperly you could lose an eye.

Anyway, I appreciate this piece. I appreciate the cock. And most of all, I appreciate the artist. If you are into cock, there is plenty more HERE!

Instead Of Beating My Child…

Upset Waitress — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:17:36 +0000

Okay so this is what I have been doing for therapy the past couple of days. A nautical garden party all by myself. Well, I’ve had the company of tailless lizards. Anyway, everything you see here has been stolen or picked out of the dumpster. Stolen things are much nicer just so you know, remind me to tell you about that viewsonic monitor I, ummmm, found. Remember my pussy plant? It’s planted in that boat hanging on the fence. The boat? I stole it. I had to beat back forty refugees to get it. The lobster traps? Those were a double bonus. Not only did I get the traps, but I got the twelve lobster that were in them when I stole them. The big tall grass? Yep, I ripped it out of the ground when I was visiting one of the national parks in broad daylight. In order to get it out of the park, I put it on my head and told the park ranger it was a punk rock wig. When I got it home I noticed that I was the proud owner of two endangered species. They were delicious. I also took the “Yield” sign, but that’s another project.

My New Plant Looks Like A Twat.

Upset Waitress — Wed, 14 May 2008 01:36:06 +0000

This is the newest addition to my garden. It’s called a Dutchmans Pipe. It looks more like a Dutchwomans snatch if you ask me. I guess it would make a HDMI wall plate as well, but I can’t tell you how much this reminds me of a sick vagina. I had it in the back of my ozone eating pickup truck, and by the time I got home I had three tons of bull dikes trying to take it out for a date. Anyway, the purpose of this flower is to attract itself some flies. So, the flower smells a bit like rotting flesh. Hmmmm. Maybe I accidentally bought Paris Hiltons snizz. No. It wasn’t cheap or gaudy enough. Some people say it looks like a piece of rotten flank steak, but I say it looks more like a twat. Since it is a vine, I have a feeling it is a matter of time before it creeps over the fence and gets arrested for indecent exposure.

Fuck Your Mother Day

Upset Waitress — Mon, 12 May 2008 01:33:26 +0000

This is dedicated to all you inbred shits that panhandled for a month to take your mom-sister aunt Bubba to McDonalds for a fine dining experience. Why the hell did you come to my restaurant first? I mean, really. What about my restaurant made you think you could afford anything on a menu that wasn’t back lit and hanging on the wall behind an underpaid teenager? Sure we have the roaches and rats you are a custom to at home, but we don’t allow them to eat from the same plate and give them names like you do. Well, I suppose that isn’t entirely true. We sometimes name them chili, fritters, or the catch of the day. Upon occasion we may even call them “The Special”, but it’s not the same. I just feel sorry for Ya’ll come fathers day. I am sure it will be difficult for you to know which barnyard critter to buy a Salvation Army tie for.

It’s Not Okay To Change A Shitty Diaper In Public.

Upset Waitress — Sun, 04 May 2008 01:57:03 +0000

I’m serious, quit having kids. Stop it. They are bad for the environment and they are terrible house pets.
Most importantly, DO NOT CHANGE YOUR CHILD’S DIAPER IN THE DINNING ROOM OF YOUR EATING ESTABLISHMENT. I don’t plop my ninety year old grandmother on the table next to you and rip off her shitty depends under garment and change it. It is not only rude it is disgusting. The diaper was invented to be a sturdy long lasting urine and feces receptacle for humans to wear until a suitable location can be found to change it. They are built Hefty tough. So when a kid shits itself, he’s supposed to wear it until the parents get to an appropriate PRIVATE place, and then swap it out for a new environmentally devastating shit holder. I’m no futures broker or oxygen separator, but that’s my understanding of the diaper. I shouldn’t be privy to someone else’s kids shitty ass. If you have the urge to share that with the general public, you should post it on You Tube. I certainly don’t want to see or smell it while I’m trying to enjoy my chocolate pudding skins. The end!

I Hate To-Go.

Upset Waitress — Fri, 02 May 2008 01:59:55 +0000

It’s in a box and on the counter. Give me your money and get your ass out. No. You can’t have more ketchup. No. You can’t have extra fries. I’m not giving you a straw. We ran out of lids. If you don’t shut them up, I am going to smack your kids. Pay attention. The floor is wet. If you slip and fall you had better hope you die, because we are not going to pay for your broken hip. Yes. I know your burger is raw, your onion rings are burnt, but the ostrich feathers are free. If you don’t stop complaining your going to get hurt. I won’t give you napkins, just use your shirt. If your wife doesn’t quit whining she’s going to get hit. Of course the service is shitty. JUST LIKE YOUR TIP!!!!!!

Yes I Got No Mayonnaise.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 03:15:49 +0000

A five gallon tub of mayo never came off the vendor’s truck today. Being just a small breakfast/lunch joint, this made it impossible to function without it. It was like a black hole came down and sucked up the whole solar system or something. This nasty crap is used for everything, even as a reverse natural acne treatment. Without it, a can of tuna probably wouldn’t exist because it can’t get the moisture it needs. And people that spackle it all over their sliced bread must like sperm sandwiches. I remember my granny using it to tame her afro. She’d smear it all into her hairs and it would smell like fried eggs. Which smells like farts.

Trouble On My Feet.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:04:34 +0000

When I went to work today I decided it wasn’t where I wanted to be. I really wanted to be at the bar. I made the mistake of telling the cook that. In the blink of an eye he had set up a bar in the scullery. I made a margarita and chugged it. Then I had a mojito with a rum chaser. Then I really started drinking for real. By the time breakfast was over I could hardly stand. I was tripping over everything. At first I just stumbled over the chairs that weren’t pushed all the way in. Then I tripped on the wine racks. Soon I was falling over French fries on the floor. I knew I was beyond drunk and should quit drinking when I tripped into the tapestry after stubbing my toe on the floral pattern of the tile floor.

What’s Cookin’?

Upset Waitress — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 00:56:05 +0000

I went in to work hung over today. It hadn’t occurred to me that I put my clothes on over my silken teddy. We started to get busy around six-thirty in the morning. Eggs and hash never sounded so loud on the griddle. The smell of cheap perfume on the little old ladies and the smell of bait on the fisherman made me want to hurl. As if that wasn’t bad enough, while I was in the kitchen picking up my food, my teddy had worked its way out from under my clothes. I apparently got to close to the burner and set fire to me teddy. The cook called the fire department while I ripped of my burning clothes. When the fire fighters got there, and as I sat there naked one of them said trying to be funny, “Now that’s some hot lingerie.” I hit him with a frying pan.

Another Screwed Up Mess. I mean “Entropy”.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 21:09:29 +0000

Entropy is practically the story of my life. Naturally when one of my good buddies wrote a book titled Entropy: A Novel About Falling Apart, I asked him to give me a copy. He told me to buy it. I told him I was broke. He told me to go work the corner to make enough to buy the book. I agreed. Everything was looking up for me. Until all of a sudden my grandmother showed up. She beat the shit out of me with her bible and parasol, took all my money, and told me if she ever caught me working her corner again she would strangle me with her colostomy bag and bury me in her used depends under garments. Bruised and battered I went to the employment office to see if they could find me a job. They set me up in a meat processing plant. I worked hard all week on the slaughtering floor clubbing cattle. Five O’clock Friday I went to collect my paycheck only to find out that the company went bankrupt on Thursday and couldn’t pay me. On my way home I saw a help wanted sign in a window. They were looking for a grape stomper for a local wine company. I was hired on the spot. Unfortunately I broke both my ankles while trying to catch the bus to get to work. They called me to tell me how disappointed they were in me and that I was fired. After losing yet another job my creditors decided to do a little financial reporting to the I.R.S.. Now I owe them for the rest of my life. So, I suppose I will never make enough money to buy his book. So would ya’ll buy a copy and read it so you can tell me about it or maybe send it to me. Actually you better not send it to me. The mail carrier will probably go postal on me because it won’t fit in my mailbox.

A Papal Poll.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 21:01:35 +0000

The Pope met George Bush the other day. They reminded me of Harry Potter and Dumbledoor on fat burners. The Pope then began his tour of two cities. One of the reasons he came to the U.S. was to talk with the people (alter boys) that had been molested by the clergy. He did a survey of the victims.
“On a scale of one to ten how did you enjoy the forced sexual acts? Did you prefer to be molested at the pulpit, pew, or back door area? Were all of your molestation needs met? Was the priests candle snuffer long enough? Were you given an adequate amount of sacramental wine before intercourse? After sex did the Priest offer you any post coital holy water?”
As soon as he completed his survey he held a private conference with all of the bishops. I suppose as head molester he has a duty to encourage the other priests to find ways not to get caught fucuking little boys. He then rode through the streets in a funny car on his way to a large stadium to offer prayers to the rest of the flock. Unfortunately he was fined for a wardrobe malfunction where a young boys nipple slipped out from under his robe on live television.

Eco Vodka.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 01:59:54 +0000

Someone told me that I would be helping the environment if I buy McCormick 360 vodka. This is fanfuckingtabulous. So how do they make the vodka eco friendly? This is my guess…

First thing they do is put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves, because reusing gloves is just gross, and they sanitize all of their equipment with recycled bilge water. Then they mash up a bunch of rotted roots on weight benches, which emits the same greenhouse gases a landfill, or flatulant herd of cattle does. Just ignore this. Then they distill the mash utilizing solar and wind energy. They distill the potato mash over and over until the test rats die from the fumes. So to get a smooth vodka, they filter it through twenty dirty jock straps to give it that aged flavor. Eventually they dilute it with recycled toilet water. Using hydro-electricity they package it all up in used shampoo bottles. Finally, it is delivered to thousands of Russian sailors by carrier vulture. They also use pigeons, but only to stock the hotel mini bars.

Upset Tomato

Upset Waitress — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 04:02:50 +0000

I did some gardening today and had the sudden urge to screw with a tomato plant that just won’t grow. It is so ugly that I use it to scare aphids away from the rest of the garden. The leaves don’t just fall off, they run away. It was in desperate need of a transplant and since I’m not a mater hater, I took action. After hours of consideration and deliberation I decided I needed another bottle of liquor and a usb flash drive. All that thinking made me thirsty. I had to go to the booze barn several times before I figured out what to do. I used this empty dog biscuit container and cut a hole on the open other end end of the container. Yea I was drunk, but I did this on purpose. Anyway, I shoved the heirloom through the hole upside down. Yes upside down. If it won’t grow right being upright, then maybe it will grow left being root side up. I don’t know if it will work considering my thinking is slurred. Regardless, it’s supposed to be spaghetti sauce, not a fucking Amorphophallus Titanum (look it up it’s funny). I am so gonna go Heinz and stomp the first few tomatoes into ketchup. If it won’t fruit then I will break out the goat. I am sure he will enjoy getting out of the bathroom for a while.

Hot Chicks

Upset Waitress — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 03:16:51 +0000

I’m on this kick where I won’t eat animal products unless I raise and bludgeon the poor critters myself, or hunt it down and spear it to death. It just seems like the natural and healthy way to eat animals. Anyway, I bought my first two baby chickens. One complaint I have is they peep and peep and won’t shut up. I tried everything I could think of. Nothing was working. I finally got them to shut up by taping a picture of a golden brown, crispy, fried bucket of KFC in their pen. Then they started scratching as if they were trying to make it to China. Kind of like a dog does after taking a big crap. Only the chicks do it constantly, until I held up a stuffed toy Easter chick and cut it’s legs off. Now they won’t even scratch an itch. After I got the damn things to settle down I caught my son trying to cook them with a magnifying glass. Then I had to explain to him how I’m looking forward to ripping their heads off, plucking their plumage, sucking the seared flesh from their bones, then going on a few cruises . I told him if he screwed that up for me I would have him in a crock pot quicker than he could say pretty much any one letter word. That took care of all my distractions so I could get to what’s important. Writing a post for you people.

Spring Break Is Broken.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 02:16:28 +0000

Booze + Students - Brains = Spring Break. This is a mathematical truth. I do believe Einstein would have made the Atom bomb for the Nazis if he knew about the spring break equation. After a long day of over privileged snot nosed kids without manners I want to invite a suicide bomber to take the table in the center of the restaurant. If I could I would feed them all the chili. This year I was prepared for those little pricks. I put laxative in the deserts, sand in the salt, and urinated in all the waters with lemon. I left the unwashed flatware on the tables. It was time to open for spring break and their savings accounts. My first table was a sweet old couple from Sioux Falls. I scrambled to undo the evil I had done. Unfortunately I wasn’t fast enough. They had finished their water before I could change it. The next five tables were the coolest old people I had ever met. A bus pulled in. I was excited. Finally, I was going to have my revenge on those kids. I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a group from the old folks home. I suppose you could say I got lucky. However, that wasn’t the case. Apparently spring break was broken. Nothing was right. At the end of the day someone came in and complained that the bathroom was full of and covered in shit. I sent the cook in with a plunger and a rag. He came out screaming at me. I didn’t know how he could blame me for the bathroom being a mess. When I confronted him with it, he simply held up a bowl of chocolate pudding we had been serving for desert. I sighed, hung my head down, And begrudgingly took the plunger and rag from the cook. Then I beat him with it until he agreed to clean the bathrooms. Spring break is definitely broken.

Is Your Fish Fresh?

Upset Waitress — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 01:48:41 +0000

Every day I have to face the ever popular question, “Is your fish fresh?”. Today was no exception. I must have had a thousand people come to my restaurant here in the sport fishing capitol of the world and ask that stupid question. I have often entertained just smacking them. However, I decided that it would be more fun to screw with them and play games. I began telling them things like… “Yes it was caught seven days ago on Mars and shipped via the Venusian transport ship Valdez”, or “No we bury it in a kim chi pot for six month and ferment it in vinegar”. Sometimes, I like to tell them that it isn’t fish at all. It is actually fillet of manatee. Other times I just say sure and walk away snickering. That always makes them second guess having just ordered the snapper. By the end of the day I had had it. The last customer to ask that question got the surprise of his life. I turned around without a word. Went to the kitchen. I grabbed the biggest smelliest fish I could find, walked out to the table and proceeded to beat the crap out of the moron. All the while shouting, “Is this fresh enough for you?” When I was done I took him out to the water and dunked him repeatedly until he came up with a fish in his mouth and said, “Perhaps this is more to your liking?” Dill weed!!!!! The end.

Busier than a cat trying to bury shit on a tile floor.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 00:21:00 +0000

Holy shit the restaurant has been busy. Busier then a dung beetle in a barn yard. Seriously that’s what my market research told me. During my 10 hour shift I don’t have time to piss. The urine just absorbs back into my body. If I were an astronaut I would just wear a diaper. I don’t suppose I will go into how I hold in my shit. It’s not pretty. Also I don’t have time to eat a full meal. I just pick off of the customers plate before I serve it. If all they order is toast, I have no problem licking off some of the butter first. Of course that makes me thirsty, so then I have to sip from their drinks. Only one person noticed the lipstick on their straw. I told them that the cross dressing dishwasher must have had lipstick on his fingers when he handed me the straw. I gave them a new one. They never noticed that the backwash they were drinking wasn’t theirs. Occasionally I would steal a frenchfry or two. There was even one time I slurped some soup from the edge of the bowl. I took it to the table, and the customer asked if the soup was good. I asked them why they would ask me that. They told me, “because you have some on your chin.” They only left me a nickel for a tip. I didn’t even have time to throw it at them. That’s how busy we are. No time for anything.

Slow Soup.

Upset Waitress — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 22:09:17 +0000

Today’s special was turtle soup. It was very popular. Every table must have ordered two bowls of the crap. By the end of the day I was so sick of terrapin I got an attitude about it. You would think tourtis tastes terrible. They say it is made from sea turtle, but I think it’s made from sea spam. Anyway, I had had it by the time my last table came in, two minutes before we closed, and ordered their turtle soup. I brought them the salad and then the entree. The man asked, “Where is my soup?” I told him I would check on it. Some time had passed by when the man flagged me down. “Where the hell is my soup?!” He exclaimed. Shortly thereafter I handed him his check with the gratuity added. He complained, “I never got my soup!” I told him, “It is on it’s way”. “On it’s way?” He queried. “How long does it take to pour a bowl of soup?!!!” He asked angrily. I said with a smile on my face, “It’ s not just soup. It’s turtle soup, and you just can’t rush a turtle.” One more unhappy customer that should be on hoodia. I probably won’t see him again, and if I do I am sure it won’t be until his soup makes it to the table.

Untitled.

Upset Waitress — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 00:24:28 +0000

How can you tell if your dog is retarded? You can simply ask him or if he starts acting like a human wearing vegan shoes, he is definitely retarded. Throw a blanket over him and see how long it takes him to get out. Another way to determine if your mutt is retarded is if he wags his head instead of his tail. If it is a cockapoo it is definitely retarded and you ought not keep it. You certainly shouldn’t step in it. If it is a peekapoo, again it is a no brainer that it is retarded, and the only thing it is good for is playing hide and seek. If it is a chahuahua it needs to learn how to spell wah wah. If it’s name is Paco you should kick it. If it’s name is Hans he wishes you a happy birthday.

Gourmet Croutons.

Upset Waitress — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 00:50:53 +0000

Don’t throw that old bread away. It’s still useful. You can sell it on ebay or make homemade croutons. Just scrape off the mold. Or leave it on. No one will notice after it’s baked anyway. Quality isn’t that important when it comes to homemade croutons. Take all your old bread pieces and cut them up into salad size nuggets. Set them on the window sill for at least a week. It doesn’t matter if it’s dusty. After the pieces have cured, coat them with oil, spices, and salt. Place them in the oven and cook them until they are hard enough to cut diamonds. They are almost ready to serve. The only thing to do before putting them on the salad is to make sure that the salad has been washed and wiped clean. If by chance someone complains that their croutons are to hard just add a little more oil to their salad.

Here you go Axey, this link for Branson homes for sale is for you!