Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
On Saturday night, I took Rice-Boy Larry to our favorite chicken house. It's right across the street from our apartment, which makes the location very convenient for the both of us. Anyway, we switched up our usual order. Instead of getting fried bird, we went with the super-spicy chicken which comes drenched in hot sauce. It was a painful experience, yet pleasurable in a strange sort of way.
We struck up a conversation as we stuffed our fat faces with poultry.
I said, "I talked to Granny in the morning."
"Yeah? And what's she saying these days?"
I chewed on some food and took a swallow of beer. "Your brother took his friend to Waffle House, and he stiffed the waitress on the tip." I paused for dramatic effect. "What a disgrace. I can't believe a son of mine would act in such a shabby fashion."
Larry took a sip from his can of Coke. "Ken never tips. He's a real cheapskate."
"He never tips? What the fuck is wrong with that boy?"
"It's our generation. We believe that tipping is for the birds. If you can't make it on your salary, then go out and get a real fucking job."
I blew my nose. All that spice was messing with my sinus cavity. I threw my snot rag into a tin can situated on the table. This is where you're supposed to deposit the bones.
Larry continued with his diatribe against tipping. "Just look at Korea. Our waitress is great, but you aren't going to leave her a penny, are you?"
I nodded. "True. But Korea isn't a tipping culture."
"Well, me and Ken are half-Korean, so it goes against our natural impulses."
I sighed heavily. "I'm getting older, and one day in the near future, my current employer is going to toss me out the door. Are you going to stiff me, too, when I finally get my future gig at the International House of Pancakes?"
He smiled at me. "You're going to get the same treatment as everybody else."
"Then what you're saying is that I've raised a couple sons of bitches."
"That's correct. Your boys are a couple of stingy bastards."
I laughed out loud. "You want to know the ironic part? Your brother is always badmouthing the Jews about their frugal ways. But he could teach Mr. Goldberg a lesson or two when it comes to screwing over the working man."
We got home at 9 p.m., and I drank a cup of coffee while puffing on a Marlboro Red. After that, I walked to my room and watched a couple hours of porn. My favorite videos featured a woman named Luna something-or-other. She's a young Asian lady with a big set of tits. I really had a splendid time admiring her full-figured body.
I finally fell asleep at midnight, and I actually had a dream about zombies. They were streaming out of my bathroom with the intention of eating my brains. One of them even spoke to me in an English accent. Go figure, right?
I have lots of nightmares because I'm consumed with stress. Most of it stems from my wife. She's maxed-out three credit cards, and the bills are so high that she'll never be able to pay them off in a million years. To make matters worse, she hasn't held a job in nearly a decade.
Luckily, the cards are in the Dragon Lady's name, and the creditors aren't coming after me. So it's her problem, not mine.
