Look. I've told this story about two dozen times since it happened, so bear with me. I ate a steak Friday night. It was a KC strip steak, maybe 12 ounces, and it was exquisite. There was some gorgonzola goodness happening, and some twice baked potato action, and even some spinach/pear salad. It was nine dollars. It cost me nine dollars. The bill came, and I asked the waitress, "What gives? The menu says $19. This says $9. Do you just want to fuck me or something?"
"No," she said. "I don't just want to fuck you or anything. It's the price of the perfectly grilled steak you just ate. It's nine dollars. It's a nine dollar steak."
"Well, now I just want to fuck you!"
"Ha ha," she said.
"Ha ha," I said.
They call it Mirth, but they should call it Nine Dollar Steak.
5 comments:
YES!
I am so glad you wrote about this. Let's tell the whole world about the $9 steak. My only problem, is that at least give me some props for making you eat there in the first place. (cue hair flip)
Here's your props. What are you going to buy with all these props? Nothing. Enjoy these worthless props, Corinne. They are as worthless as Canadian money.
I meant at least a mention of your lovely dinner guest who watched you enjoy the steak. But whatever. Fuck you man.
Keep talking like that, and I'll bar you from playing Blades of Steel on my NES.
Flip the pass! Flip the pass! Fight!
[-jeff.]
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