cooterburger

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Until my diet, I didn't realize how much I'd depended on dining/drinking for Stank material. What would you like to hear about? Work? Turkey breast? How I changed the batteries in my hotel remote and it felt kinda wrong to pay for them myself? Yeah, me neither.

Let's call the restaurant nearest my hotel "Cooterburger." My first time there, I eviscerated a customer who was being a dick to the bartender, and by my second visit, the entire staff knew my name and drink order. This has not, as one might think, equated to free drinks. It's a world gone mad.

The last time I ingested a calorie was at Cooterburger. There was a drunk sitting on my regular stool. I find that irrationally irritating, and the first bar that takes my suggestion of a "Reserved for John" sign and velvet ropes fencing off my stool will have my business forever. As I surfed real estate, the man leered at the waitresses and generally creeped me out. One of the waitresses brought me my food and greeted me with a hug. Now the creep was staring at me. He stared at me without blinking for several minutes. Not wanting to hear anything whatsoever that he had to say, I ignored him. Finally he yelled to me, 10 stools away.

"Hey. Hey. Hey! How come you getsth a hug?" he slurred badly.

I stared back, assessing, frankly, how much the imminent punch to the face would hurt.

"I find it helps to not be you."

He didn't understand. I would have rather taken the punch.