Friday, September 16, 2005

"I'd Rather Go Back To Work"

These were the cries of Jenn D. as she departed the Sternwheeler Festival. G Max, the current tyrannical despot of The Lunchables, insisted we go to The Sternwheeler Fest for lunch today. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this Wheeling Festival, I'll try to hazard an explanation. Once a year about 20 boats dock in downtown Wheeling. In a feeble attempt to emulate Crockett from Miami Vice, these morons ride their boats down the Ohio River and set up shop in Wheeling. It is site of the former Wharf Parking Garage where they congregate and tell exciting tales of their journey. How they navigated the turbulent waters, the giant carp they caught last night, and the closest place to buy a case of cheap beer - these all become stories of yore. If you want, you can board their vessels. This can become a little dangerous. I mean really, you're knocking on their front door like a Jehovah's Witness, basically begging to come aboard and inspect their homes. You'd think these boat people would welcome you with open arms. Wrong. It's kind of like auditioning for American Idol and being ridiculed by that Simon dude, except the boat people are drunk and somewhat hostile. Their collective sneers are the one thing that seems to unite them.
But hey, this is really about the food. An allegiant throng of 4 people showed up for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. G Max, Jenn D., Heather and myself showed up at a pre-determined meeting place. Everyone was punctual - at least one of my earlier sticking points was adhered to. We strolled through about 20 vendors. I bought a gyro from one of those carnie stands and Jenn D. & G Max got sausage sandwiches from Tambellinis. Heather got some kind of shells & cheese concoction. We settled down at a table where a lone retarded women was sitting on the end. This red-headed woman, you might refer to her as the red-headed retard, quickly departed. Incidentally, she was wearing an unflattering red t-shirt as well. She looked upon me with the same disdain I would later get from the gawking boat people - a look of just absolute, unbridled, unwavering disgust. Anyway, as G Max started to peel back the labia-like casing from his sausage sandwich, I looked at the women folk who seemed a bit distracted from the heat. Both Jenn and Heather seemed to enjoy their respective meals. G Max stammered, "Mmmmm" and then complained about the lack of water. My gyro was, well let's just call it the patron sandwich of mediocrity.

All in all, not a glowing review for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. I say it's time to elect a new leader. One with a little more inspiration and vision, one who will lead us boldly, where no one has dined before. G Max was only concerned about one thing - dumping some Time Warner securities. Is this who we want to control our collective destiny? I say FUCK NO. The uprising will start early next week. By Wednesday, I should be back in control of the minions. Seriously, if were up to G Max, he'd have us eating Matzah (unleavened bread) as we flee Benwood. Well I may be a some kind atheist self-hating Jew, but he ain't no Pharoah and I will not bow down to him or any other self-annointed God.

The only highlight that comes to mind was the "free hand sanitizers" in the Port-a-Cleans. If it were up to G Max and his bean-counterism, he'd have imposed some kind of hand-washing tariff on the Port-o-Crappers.
I neglected to mention that Heather and G Max both purchased over-sized Italian Ices. If I recall, Heather got blackberry and G Max got Pina Colada.

So, let's break it down (scale of 1-100):

Sternwheeler Fest - SUCKED
Heather's heel - broke
Heather panites - nonexistent
G Max's leadership as President of The Lunchables - I think that has been adequately covered
Gyro - 62
Tambellinis - 88
Free water from Wheeling Hospital - Refreshing
Red-headed Retard - moronic but not entirely offensive, 38
Boat People - 12
Heather's shrill rendition of some Pat Benatar song - 72
The dumpster in front of her song and dance routine - STUNK

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