Nope, Bacon is Not Free

fainting-womanIn what world are people living where they think that extra food does not cost extra money? Sure, if you ask for extra napkins, they will be free. More ketchup? Absolutely, no problem. But please don’t order a cheeseburger with bacon and then make a big fucking deal that there is an extra charge on your bill of a dollar. It says it right there on the menu: “add bacon for a buck!” There is no swine tree in the kitchen where slices of delicious crispy bacon hang from the boughs like ripe apples. Believe me, I wish there was, because I would sleep under it and let the bacon fat drip from the branches and I would use it for moisturizer. I would wake up under slabs of bacon that fell over night. Raking bacon leaves would be my favorite piece of sidework. And in the spring time, when little tiny buds of bacon bits began popping forth from a sleepy winter, I would sit there and marvel at them while holding a baked potato hoping they would fall off into the pool of butter, sour cream and cheese. But there isn’t, Blanche. There is no swine tree, so we have to buy bacon and then, in turn, you pay for it when you say, “Oh, and can I get bacon on that?”

Your server is going to assume that you either read the part of the menu that says it’s extra or that you inherently know that bacon is not free. When your check comes and you spy that additional dollar charge, there is no use complaining about it because all the server will do is grab a menu, point to the line that says it costs extra and then walk the fuck away from you. And yes, you need to tip on the dollar so reach into your pocket and prepare to leave twenty more cents.

Bacon is not free. It has never been free. It will never be free. Until you go to the Home Depot gardening center and see a special on Swine Trees, please be ready to pay for bacon And if you do see a Swine Tree at Home Depot, alert me immediately so I can plant one in a giant terra cotta pot on my fire escape and live happily ever after.

Kevin O. Leaves 1-Star Review for Stupidest of Reasons

screen-shot-2016-10-07-at-12-38-24-pmIf you know me, you know how much I enjoy finding some random asshole on Yelp who gave a 1-star rating to a restaurant for a stupid reason. I then then like to bring that review to the attention of the dozens and dozens of people who read this blog. Today’s Random Asshole is a guy named Kevin O. who gave one star to a San Diego restaurant called Lazy Dog Restaurant and Bar. I guess Kevin was celebrating his dog’s birthday last month. His dog is named Mama which opens up a Pandora’s Box full of mother issues and bitches. Kevin took Mama to Lazy Dog because they are dog friendly. When he got there, he explained to the hostess that it was Mama’s birthday and “told her to call the owner, talk to the manager, do whatever she could to impress” him and Mama. You know, because the hostess needs to drop what she’s doing and bow down to this three-year old bitch and lick her nether regions for her. Kevin met the manager Melissa who he says was “really good” and he told her to make something special for the birthday dog. You see, even though the restaurant has a dog menu with a grilled hamburger patty and brown rice or grilled chicken with brown rice, Mama deserved something not on the menu because she is a prized bitch and ordering off the menu isn’t good enough for her. When Melissa showed up with a bowl of watermelon and rice with a fucking candle on it, that was not good enough for the fanciest Mama in the whole world. So Kevin fed Mama some ice cream off his spoon but Melissa said that was a no-go. Even though Kevin licked the spoon clean after Mama had eaten off it, Melissa informed him that she would have to throw away the spoon. (Full disclosure: I have a dog and I do NOT share a spoon with him. He licks his ass far too often for me to want to share saliva.) Kevin told Melissa that he would leave the spoon out so she would know which one Mama had spread her Mama-ass germs all over. But Kevin didn’t do that because Kevin wanted to be an asshole. Instead, he left this utterly charming note:

Dear Melissa,
Let’s play a game. One of these spoons I used to feed my dog. The others are clean. Do we throw all out? But wait, the adjacent spoons are also contaminated. As well are the adjacent forks and knives. You must choose. Waste them all or sacrifice!



Screenshot because he might delete the review someday…

Listen, Kevin. You’re being a dick. The Lazy Dog Restaurant is dog friendly, but it doesn’t mean you can act like you do at home. Mama can lick your spoons, lick her asshole, lick your taint or lick whatever the fuck she wants at your house, but not at a restaurant. They had a dog menu that wasn’t good enough for you or that bitch Mama, but you’re going to leave one star because they only brought her watermelon with a candle? What did you expect, a sirloin steak covered in peanut butter with a sprinkling of bacon bits served on a bed of your tired ass dirty underwear that she loves to cram her snout in? They have rules on their website that you chose not to follow. Rule #3 specifically states that “your canine friend can’t eat off your plate or drink from your glass. We have special bowls just for them.” It goes without saying that silverware is included in that rule, but I guess they didn’t feel the need to say that because who the fuck lets their dog use a spoon in a restaurant? You say repeatedly that Melissa is not a bad manager, but you still have no problem leaving them a 1-star review because they didn’t want to bend the rules for you and Mama. Grow up. Anyone who reads that review is going to realize that you were the problem in that scenario and not the restaurant.

I hope you and Mama have a great life together sniffing each other’s assholes and rolling around in your own feces. The next time you take her to a dog friendly restaurant, why don’t you follow the rules and act like a responsible dog owner? My actual human mama always told me that if I can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all. I love my Mom but I don’t always take her advice: you and your Mama are both a couple of bitches.

Read Kevin O.‘s review of Lazy Dog Restaurant & Bar on Yelp

And THIS is Why We Don’t Take Reservations

christopher-walken-photo-platon-antoniouDear Party of Nine Who Did Not Show Up:

There is a reason we do not take reservations at my restaurant. You are it. You see, we are a really small restaurant with only about 16 tables. Remember last week when you called and said you wanted a reservation but we said that we don’t take them but you begged us and so we did? We should not have done that.

You called on Wednesday night and said there were going to be about eight or nine of you coming to dinner the following night and could we please please please reserve a table because you are you are so totally coming to celebrate your birthday and you don’t want to have to wait when you get there. Against our better judgement, we did it. Thursday rolls around and I am at work. You told us you would be there at 7:30 and that you would call at 6:45 to confirm. You did not call. At the busiest time of the night, I stopped seating five two-tops. Four would have been better, but since you said you might have nine people, I had to save a whole extra table. Do you know how many people I was unable to sit because of your reservation? A lot. “But it will all be worth it,”  I thought. “When the nine-top gets here and everyone has apps and cocktails and desserts and then I get to add a 20% gratuity to the check, it will all be worth it.!” I was giddy with anticipation.

7:00: You did not call to confirm yet, but you must be busy getting ready for your big dinner out.

7:15: “No, I’m sorry, ma’am, that table is reserved, you’ll have to sit at the crappy table next to the bathroom. No, we don’t usually take reservations, but we made an exception tonight.”

7:16: Every table is full now except for the five two-tops I pushed together. I hope no one else comes in right now.

7:17:  “Hello, sir. No, I’m sorry, I don’t have any place to seat you right now, sir. That is reserved. Oh, so you’ll go next door to eat? Okay… good bye. I’m sorry.”

7:19: “Hi there. Table for three? There will be about a 15 minute wait. Yes, all those tables are reserved. Oh, you’ll come back later? Okay, thank you.” They did not come back.

7:25: Almost here!

7:32: Running a bit late, I suppose. No big deal.

7:40: Ummm, where are you?

7:50: Okay, I’m getting pissed off.

8:00: You suck. Where the fuck are you?

8:01: I am breaking the tables apart and seating them meaning that now I am going to get slammed by having five empty tables all become available at the same time. I hate you. Why did you make me keep those tables open for you if you knew you were not coming? Did you lose your cell phone up your own asshole which made it impossible for you to call and let us know you were not going to make it? We went out of our way to give you a reservation and this is what happens? Never again will we “make an exception” because too many times it is not worth it to do so. Our place is small enough that we don’t need to take reservations. We can fill up just by walk-ins. I hope that the birthday celebration sucked. I hope that when they brought out the cake with candles on it, you bent over to blow them out and your eyebrows were singed off. I hope the cake was as dry as Phylis Dillers’s vag. I hope every gift you got was the wrong size and wrong color and that you got no gift receipts. I hope that it was the shittiest birthday you have ever had because you ruined a good portion of my shift. My station sat empty for over an hour and I made no money. I hate you.

So the next time you want to make a reservation at my restaurant and you say “Pretty please with sugar on top can we make a reservation?” my answer will be a resounding NO. No. No. No. We do not take reservations.

The Bitchy Waiter

p.s. You’re lucky that the person who took your reservation did not take your phone number or there would now be a flyer hanging at Queens College that says you are selling an iPad for $150 and to only call after 11:00 PM.

An Open Letter to the Meanest Person I Have Ever Had the Displeasure of Meeting

giving-the-fingerDear Renee Glicker,

I’m sure you don’t remember me, but unfortunately I remember you. Many years ago, when I was still auditioning and believing that one could make it on talent and talent alone, I was thrilled to get a response from your talent agency that you wanted me to come in for a meeting. After all, what struggling actor in New York City wouldn’t want to be represented by About Artists Agency? “This is my chance,” I thought. “This will be the door that will lead me to the right audition so I can finally be a working actor.”

I arrived at your office about five minutes earlier than my appointment was scheduled. As I sat in the waiting room, nervous about what I would say, I could hear you talking on the phone. As my appointment time came and went, I sat and waited patiently for my chance to meet you, a respected talent agent who could change my career path. Minutes ticked by and I waited. And waited. Finally, about fifteen or twenty minutes past my scheduled time, you yelled at me to come into your office.

There you were, holding my headshot and looking at my resume. You stared at my photo without ever looking up at the real me who was sitting across from your desk. Without looking away from my picture, you said, “Have you ever thought about getting your teeth done?”

I was shocked that this was the first thing you had to say to me and especially surprised that you still had not looked at my actual face.

“Well, I’d like to, but it’s so expensive. Maybe someday…” My voice trailed off with hurt.

My teeth have been my least favorite thing about myself my whole adult life. When I was a pre-teen, my dentist suggested to my parents that I get braces, but they couldn’t afford it. Thinking back now, I am embarrassed at how upset I was with them for not doing it. Like they could just go out to the Money Tree that grew in the backyard and pick off a few thousand dollars so it could happen. Renee Glicker, you had just opened a wound and then you got some salt, because you were not finished.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you said. “You’ll never be a Cary Grant but even the wacky next door neighbor still needs to be put together.” As you said those hurtful words, you motioned your hand around your face as if to indicate that my face was not put together enough to be an actor. It was then that you finally looked at me. I doubt that you saw the hurt in my eyes because anyone who is that careless with the emotions of others only sees what they want to see.

I tried to keep smiling even though now, every time I did it, all I could think of was how crooked my teeth were. I offered to do my monologue for you and then I gave you a video tape of me doing standup comedy. You took the VHS tape and tossed it onto a pile of crap that looked like it was one step away from the garbage can and told me you didn’t need to see my monologue. Our meeting ended, I shook your hand and left your office.

When I got onto the street, safely away from your prying eyes, I began to cry. There in midtown Manhattan, I stood on the sidewalk and bawled like a baby. I sobbed, not because I didn’t get an agent, but because my feelings were hurt. How could a grown woman with that much power in her hands be so reckless with her words?

Fast forward, about 15 years: I finally got braces. I didn’t get them because Renee Glicker of About Artists Agency told me I should. I did it because I wanted them and because I could afford them and because I knew they would make me happy. So, Renee Glicker, I want you to know that the next time someone comes into your office who is full of hope, ambition, excitement and drive, you should choose your words more carefully. The words you so easily toss about and then forget the second they leave your lips, can stick with a person for years to come. Yes, I finally “got my teeth done.”

Fuck you, Renee Glicker.

Darron Cardosa


Luckiest Waiter Alive Got to Keep the Change

breaking-newsEarlier this week, Boris Klimpton got the tip of a life time. The 59-year-old career server who works at Parker’s Pub in Flushing Queens, had a life-changing moment when a customer told him he could “keep the change.” The customer, a man by the name of Victor Rhines, 72, who was dining with his wife 71-year-old Marla, had a bill that totaled $35.48. When the time came for him to pay his check, he handed Klimpton a twenty-dollar bill, three five-dollar bills and a handful of coins. It was then he told the waiter he could “keep the change.”

“At first, I thought he was kidding,” says Klimpton. “I mean, how was I to be so lucky to get to keep all of the change? This must be my lucky day.” It wasn’t until minutes later that the fortunate waiter realized that one of the coins was not United States currency. “I think it’s from Europe someplace. I’m not really sure. It’s still exciting because I have never been out of the country.”

Co-workers at the restaurant were green with envy at the unexpected windfall for Kilmpton. Says Betty, a waitress at the pub for over twenty years, “Jeez Louise, how come I never get to keep the change? But you know what? Boris deserves it. He works hard and I hope he gets to do something special with all that money.”

When pressed as to what he would do with the extra cash, Klimpton replied that he has had his eye on a new Chapstick and this might finally let him go buy it. “I hope at the deli they thinks it’s a silver dollar or something. I’ll probably go buy my new Chapstick when One Eyed Ernie is working the register. His eyesight ain’t so good so he probably won’t notice.”

When the generous benefactor was questioned as to why he let his waiter keep all the change, Mr. Rhines simply grunted and kept walking to his car. His wife also grunted but it is not clear if it was a response to the question or if the grunt was a direct result from the pastrami on rye she had eaten moments before. When they were last scene, they were driving down north on Queens Blvd with their left turn-signal flashing and a seatbelt hanging out of the closed door.

As for Boris Klimpton, he will continue working despite the extra income. “I love my job and even if I win the lottery I would come here every day. Just because I got to keep the change doesn’t mean I would leave my family here at Parker’s Pub.”

Radio Host Pulls Off Most Hilarious Joke of All Time (Not)

screen-shot-2016-09-28-at-11-40-05-amYesterday, superstar-celebrity, awesome, definitely not an asshole, radio host Dave Ryan of KDWB was seen in a video where he appeared to be mistreating a waitress at a restaurant. Understandably, people were outraged at his behavior. Of course, I wrote a blog post about it because I am always ready to jump to the defense of the food servers in our world. There was some question to the validity of the video since it was shared on his own Facebook page and his radio station was pushing it to the world. Even in my blog post about it, I considered that it may be a ploy for publicity:

“The whole video (could be) a set up meant to go viral.”
“If it’s fake, then I just helped him get more attention…”

Well, this morning on his radio show, the hilarious and endlessly entertaining Dave Ryan, released the rest of the video and surprise, surprise: it was a joke! Excuse me for a second while I go roll on the floor and laugh my ass off… I guess he really got us, y’all. He managed to pull off the joke of the century! (Please keep in mind that the century still has 84 years to go.) I don’t feel the need to apologize to the walking joke machine known as Dave Ryan since I never said anything bad about him. Well, I did say that if the video was real, he comes across as a big scabby douchebag, but it’s not real, so whatever. Good one, Dave, you silly goose!

Here’s the video if you want to waste 90 more seconds of your day.