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Notes on Your Dinner Photos

With regard to the photos of your dinner:

Please stop posting these.

Seriously. I mean, any fucktard with even the most basic communication skills can place an order in a restaurant. It’s not something to be bragging about. (“Looky what done happened! I gots food.”) In fact, I’d venture to guess that it happens, with some relative success anyway, hundreds of thousands of times per day, often by persons visiting a foreign land where they have even the most minimal control of the language.

Instead, save the suppertime selfies for the following occasions:

A. You’ve gone completely fucking rogue, and have customized your order to such an extent that not even the waiter can describe just what in the hell went on in the kitchen when delivering your meal, and is stopped by another patron who questions, well, just what in the fuck that is.

B. Somehow, the order is so drastically different from what you ordered that, well, a similar scenario to the above occurs.

C. You’ve made a terrible decision, and what you ordered simply does not jive with the mental image you conjured when reading the menu.

D. You have suffered massive brain damage, and are convinced that the food on your plate is your new friend, and that this is truly a moment to be remembered, because “Doug” (as you’ve named your chop salad) has totally mispronounced “Bouillabaisse” in such a manner that you expelled a bread stick from your left nostril.

Hell, if you’ve mastered the art of ordering your own food, and avoided a bruise or two after bursting into laughter while ordering the “Hung Wang”, or snickering at the waitress’ offer to bring out the “Gentlemen’s Relish” or the “Pulled Pork”, (or my favorite Finnish bread, the “Jussipussi”), by all means, post that bastard up! But, if it’s simply the steak with potato and veggies, well, keep it to yourself, Ansel Adams.

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Brian

Brian