Thursday, January 28

hey flapjack, here's how i say thank you

a while ago, i helped flapjack out of a financial jam that the poor bastard had gotten himself into. now, flapjack may be retarded, but he isn't without social graces. being the son of a shipping magnate, certain cultural niceties have been programmed into him: literally.

since he proved too stupid to learn anything the normal way, flapjack's pappy was in a bind. he desperately knew that his son, if he was going to be able to run in the family circles, needed to know how to play the intricate social games that those rich folk do. so, after many an amusing, i assume, antics at a typical finishing school, it was time to try something more drastic.

a peculiarity of flapjack's brain turned out to be useful: he learns by watching. so, his dad sat him down, for approximately three years, and played him every film ever created about the upper class. so now, he's been programmed to be the ultimate gentleman.

luckily someone snuck in a few porno films and scatological comedies, and gave him his personality.

anyway, being the toff he is, flapjack's reptile brain told him he needs to thank me with a fancy lunch, on one of the upper levels. and fuck me, did i accept! it was incredible. seabear caviar (with hair), spacemonkey (poached, divinely poached), dark-matter oysters (toujours!), high-grav lichens... the dishes went on and on, each more spectacular than the last... we were lost in a storm of taste, cascading, flowing, each partnering with the next and creating new flavors that no one will ever taste again. then we got to the wine. which, as far as i am concerned, should be served as its own course with no food to clutter up the flavor... business first, pleasure later.

yes... the wine. here's where the evening reminded me of who i am and why i hate this place. the sommelier, whom i have seen hanging around the hangar 23 bathroom (the one with the interdimensional glory hole), took an instant dislike towards me... i will assume because we decided to leave the wine to it's own course...

we chose to order a few bottles of local wine, the station having a rather extensive set of agricultural levels. i was feeling a bit, shall we say, 'perky,' so we ordered a few more bottles...

the waiter returned, with a sniffy, assy, cunty little attitude, and plopped our bottles down with no decorum... this was unacceptable... doesn't he know who we are? is he unaware of our status, our prestige, our standing? this is flapjack, the son of a man wealthier than all these so called bluebloods dining next to us, and this little door-fucker has the gall to do anything other than supplicate him?

the waiter seemed surprised that i said all this out loud to him... unprofessional that he was, he merely walked away...

i had hoped for more wine. this, it would seem, is not the way to complain on the upper levels. flapjack, meanwhile, seems a little mortified. it's funny, you can take one of these society types to the scummiest, dirtiest, most profane place in the galaxy, and they won't bat an eye... but sometimes, their programming kicks in (oddly whenever you are in their part of the world) and they become very concerned about behavior...

this, of course, simply eggs me on. an upset, crying, moaning, sniffling flapjack is always a site to behold. and shit-on-me! nobody knows who he is anyway, and those bastards denied him anyway from birth... poor flappy is stuck between two worlds...

so flapjack is blubbering that i am ruining his party, and i, apparently, have crawled on top of the table and start shouting after the waiter to bring me my 'reparation wine...' a phrase i will now use at every possible instance and encourage you to do the same.

once again, flapjack's programming turned out to be pretty good, because standing on the table and shouting, it appears, is not what one does in these restaurants to have your grievances attended to... it is what you do if you want very large, very ugly, very intimidating security types to approach and remove you...

'hands off, you goons! i demand my reparation wine now! begone!'  lucky for me, the wine made sure i was unconcerned with any adjective used to describe those bastards...

you can imagine where this ends up... profanity, smashed bottles of wine, dragging of persons, an attempt to steal some purses and jewelry on the way out... more tears from flapjack... more profanity... a valiant attempt at self-defense which ends in unconsciousness...

so thanks flapjack for a lovely meal...

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