Current mood:

amused

Mostly, this story is for vodgut...


Borrowed from Joe the Peacock


Generally, my dining-out experiences are quite mundane and ordinary. My friends
and I hop in a car, drive to the eatery of choice, dine and leave. Given the
fact that I had to start this story with that particular sentence, one could
pretty much surmise that this particular experience was not ordinary. Should one
decide to surmise this, one would surmise correctly (sorry, I just learned that
word today and had to use it).

I went to Outback Steak House this week
with my wife and friends. Now, eating out in general isn't really all that
important an event in my weekly routine. However, I get really excited over
Outback. It is my absolute favorite chain-based restaurant, bar none. Where else
can you get a gigantic hunk of meat, french fries topped with bacon and cheese,
covered in ranch dressing, and a huge glass of super-sweetened iced tea? What
other restaurant in this country has a salad containing more fat than a Big Mac
with cheese? It's exciting stuff!

We arrived at the restaurant in a
rather typical fashion. The typical pleasantries were exchanged with the hostess
(who looked quite typical). We received the little vibratey-flashy-thing from
her and proceeded to wait the typical 12 to 15 minutes for our table to be
prepared. We sat in the waiting area in a typical fashion. So far, everything is
very, very typical.

General conversation ensues and things are just
plain fine for the next 12 to 15 minutes. Our little vibratey-flashy-thing
starts flashing and vibrating, so we gave it to the hostess in exchange for a
short blonde woman who leads us to our table – a nice big 12-top near the front
entrance. We all sit; we all give our drink order. More general conversation
takes place. Our waitress comes back with our drinks and we sip on them while
giving our food order. Everyone orders their choice of hearty cuts of meat. My
turn came and I ordered my absolute favorite dish at Outback – the rack of lamb,
cooked medium, with extra cabernet sauce and mint jelly. Drool was oozing from
my lips as I ordered it. I could just imagine the savory aroma and tender
juciness.

About 15 agonizing minutes go by, during the course of which
our drinks were refilled and even more general conversation took place. So far,
this is so boring it’s mind-numbing. I seriously commend you for continuing to
read this far.

Finally, Our food comes out. Each item is cooked to
perfection, and everyone remarks how wonderful everything is. I focus on the
lamb, which was prepared to my exact specifications. My stomach growled as I
took a moment to savor the aroma eminating from this georgeous slab of goodness.
Not wanting to rush, I drizzled cabernet sauce over the top of the rack very
deliberately and evenly, then proceeded to place a carefully measured dollop of
mint jelly on top of each shank. I sank my knife slowly between two sections of
the rack, seperating a delicate, tender morsel from the bone. I place the bite
into my mouth and savor the flavor - amazingly juicy, delicately tender and
oh-so delicious. The blend of the cabernet sauce and the mint jelly with the
tender juices of the lamb made for a spectacular flavor explosion. It was truly
a party in my mouth.

It was also the last bite of that meal I would take
that evening.

Just as I began to rave to my friends how absolutely
heavenly my meal was, the front door of the restaurant swung open and in trotted
4 cows, all walking on their hind legs, covered in blood.

I couldn't
tell you if it was the cheap felt adorning the cows or the plastic covering
their hooves, but I could immediately tell that these weren’t REAL cows. Oh,
no... These were people dressed as cows; each one splattered with a crimson
paint which I assume was to represent blood. They all carried signs reading
“Meat is Murder” and were chanting that exact phrase as they marched single file
into the restaurant.

Truly, we were shocked, as it is not every day that
one is party to a group of chanting cows picketing the Outback. The entire
restaurant, completely silenced, focused in on these 4 very very very sad
individuals. They all ceased their chanting and looked around a bit, their
gigantic cow-heads turning almost independant of the heads upon which they
rested. Once they were confident that they had the full attention of the crowd,
one of the cows (the leader, I presume) spoke:

“Greetings, carnivores!
You people should be ashamed of yourselves! Your dinner was once a living,
breathing organism! How can you dine on the flesh of your fellow mammal this
way?!?”

I’m not quite sure what they expected to come from that
question, but no one answered. This angered the already peeved cow further.


“This is utterly despicable! It is gross that you would eat animals this
way! We should live in harmony with the other life forms on this planet! Meat is
Murder!”

Again the cows began chanting this phrase in a dulled shout,
their voices muffled by the thin veil of fabric located in the neck of the cow
costume which covered their faces. The entire restaurant, having overcome the
initial shock of the talking cows, collectively murmured and generally scoffed
at the statements that poor misguided girl made (well, it sounded like a girl…
It had an udder. Who knows... The fact that this was even happening was enough
to baffle me, I really didn’t need another conundrum plopped into my lap).


All of my friends were looking at me, expecting me to make something
happen. I answered their silent questioning with a deafening “WHAT!?!” followed
by a softer, yet stern “Why are you all looking at me? What am I supposed to
do?”

Mike answered “I don’t know… It’s talking cows! I just expected you
to do something.”

”Well, I don’t know what to do. I mean, like you said
- It’s talking cows, man! What exactly do you say to talking cows?" I
took a sip of water, then continued, "Clearly, this situation is unstable enough
as it is without me injecting myself directly into it.”

Apparently, fate
disagreed. My loud exclamation of a query was sufficient to draw the attention
of the bovine conspirators toward my table. I looked over at my right shoulder
to find a felt-covered teat resting on my collarbone.

The lead cow
spoke: “Sir! Surely you must have something to say! How do you defend your
actions?”

How does one answer this question???

”I don’t really
know that I can defend my actions, cow. I wasn’t aware that I was going to be
called upon to do so this evening. Perhaps if you let me know in advance the
next time that you and your friends plan to dress as cows and invade a
restaurant I will be dining at, I can be better prepared.”

She looked up
and back at her cow friends, swinging the gigantic foam cow-head back and forth.


”Ahh, a smart-alec! Guys, we have a comedian here! Well, mister funny
animal murderer, we have no need for your sarcasm!”

Having never
experienced anything quite this surreal before, I just plain didn’t know how to
react to this situation. Given that these were 4 people dressed as humongous
cows yelling as they marched through a restaurant, I knew that tact was right
out, so I just said what I was thinking.

”Well, maybe not, but you have
a severe need for psychiatric evaluation.”

Perhaps this was the
wrong answer.

She launched into a tirade: “NO! It is YOU who needs your
head examined! Did you know that the steak you are eating is actually poisonous
to your system? Hmm?”

”It’s, um... It's lamb.”

She reached her
hoof out and seized the rack of lamb from my plate.

“IT DOESN'T MATTER!
Beef, Lamb, whatever! Red meat does not get digested by the body the way
vegetable matter does! It sits in your stomach for days, spoiling from the heat
of your body before it is broken down!”

Before me stood a very volitile
cow with a hunk of lamb in its vinyl-gloved hoof, cabernet sauce and mint jelly
dribbling down it’s arm - er… leg, holding my dinner up as an example for the
rest of the restaurant to see. Addressing the rest of the room she shouted, ”Do
you see this?? This is POISON to your system! It is not good for you! So why eat
it??? Why slaughter this poor animal so that you can be poisoned by it’s flesh?”


Mike spoke up: “Well... Because it’s DAMN tasty.”

The cow-woman
whipped her head round, spinning the foam cow-head just a little too far to the
left. She bungled around a bit as she adjusted her head back to forward,
smearing lamb and sauce all over it in the process.

”Tasty?!? It tastes
good, that’s why you eat it? What if I told you that urine tastes good? Would
you drink that?”

“Wow, you know how urine tastes?” Mike asked.

A
bit taken, the cow responed, “No! God, of course not! I was just saying –“


”Then why would you say urine tastes good?" Mike continued. "Are you
some kind of a freaky girl? Do You drink pee-pee??”

”No, you jerk!" She
lashed out. "I was just proving a point –“

”AAAAH, whatever," Mike
interjected. "Just shut up! No one's going to listen to you! You drink pee, you
dumb cow!”

Mike has such a way with words. The cow became
frustrated. “No, YOU shut up, you infantile –“

I had to break in.
“Infantile? You are calling HIM infantile? You are dressed as a cow, running
around a steakhouse carrying a hunk of lamb in your hoof, woman! I don’t really
think that you have a right to accuse him of acting like a child. I honestly
think you guys need a psychiatric consultation. I know a GREAT doctor, he’s
worked wonders for me…”

“Shut up!” She said in a way that implied that
she really thought I would. Of course, I didn't.

”Seriously, you are
crazy. You need help.”

“You have no right to speak to me that way, you
bastard! You don't even KNOW me!”

Mike took the hand-off. “You are
holding his dinner up in the air. I think he has a right to talk to you just
about any way he wants, you fucking cow.”

The cow swung her head back
toward Mike, causing it to spin too far once again. As she corrected its
position, she commanded, “Don’t call me a cow, you JERK!”

”You have
spots and an udder. What else would he call you??” I asked.

Before she
could reply, Mike decided to try a different tact. In an attempt to reason with
the incensed bovine, he offered, ”Look, you guys are clearly not winning any
support here. Why don’t you just gather what little dignity you may have left
and take off?”

She stuttered and stammered a bit, not sure what to say
next. The other 3 cows just stood there in silence, holding their “Meat Is
Murder” signs slightly in front of them. Looks were exchanged throughout the
herd, each one waiting for something to happen. The rest of the restaurant had
slowly but surely returned to their dining, occasionally checking out the events
as they unfolded at our table.

Finally, the lead cow returned to forming
complete words and stringing them together into thoughts. “NO! We are not
leaving! We aren’t the bad guys here YOU are, you... you CANNIBAL!"


"Cannibal?" Mike asked.

She ignored him, continuing. "You are
the ones perpetuating the slaughter of innocent animals, and for what? HMM?”


"Wait a moment - CANNIBAL??" Mike asked again.

I knew that his
line of inquiry wouldn't really go anywhere, so I decided to go for the kill.
“Mike told you earlier. They taste good.”

This really lit her fuse.
“GRRRRRRRR! ONH MY GOD! You are so... so IGNORANT! Why don’t you see the error
of your ways??”

”Cow," I answered, "The only error that I have made
tonight has been refraining from lighting you on fire and pushing you out the
door. Why don’t you put down the lamb and just go home?”

The cow began
jumping up and down madly, flopping her oversized cow-head to and fro as she
screamed at the top of her lungs. The once succulent but now incredibly messy
juices from the lamb meat in her right hoof were flying all over the place,
splattering on the table and our clothing. The entire time, she was yelling the
most insane cadence of anti-meat statements, each in time with her jumping. I
was afraid that our friend the cow was going to shake her head completely off.
Before I could stop her, however, the manager FINALLY made his way over to the
table to help diffuse the situation.

“Excuse - EXCUSE ME," he said
sternly to the excited bovine who was ignoring him. "LOOK HERE! I have called
the police, and they should be here any minute. I must demand that you leave
this restaurant IMMEDIATELY!”

”We are exercising our right to peaceful
protest!" The cow responded. "We don’t have to leave! It's our First Amendment
right to -”

”Yes, you DO have to leave! RIGHT NOW! Get OUT of here!”


“We AREN’T Leaving, right guys???”

She turned to her left, and
turned to her right. Alas, there were no other bovines in sight. (Yeah, I
thought it was clever too.)

Her companions made the most tactful exit
they could the moment she started throwing her tantrum. Alone and without
recourse, the irate and angry cow slumped a little and decided that discretion
was the better part of valor (well, as much discretion as one can exercise when
dressed as a cow and covered in red paint), making her way out of the
restaurant.

The restaurant erupted into raucous applause.


Everyone except me, as I was occupied with mourning the loss of my
precious lamb, which lay in a heap on the table beside my plate. It wasn't the
fact that it was mangled beyond belief that kept me from eating it... It was the
thought of where the cow's hooves had been. I was nearly to the point of
breaking down and crying when the manager returned to wax apologetic about his
late response.

“I am SO sorry this happened to you folks!”

I
tried to reassure him, ”Oh, it’s not your fault -“

“No, really... I had
no idea this was going on. I was in my office on a phone call when one of my
employees came in and told me what that some cows had entered the building and
were protesting, screaming about how meat is murder and other such nonsense! I
simply cannot apologize enough!”

”No, really, it’s ok," Mike said. "It’s
not like you dressed up like a cow and drizzled meat-juice on us.”

He
chuckled nervously in response, pleased that we weren't ready to lynch him. I
felt so bad for this poor guy... Here he was, running a respectable
establishment – my favorite, in fact – and he now has to make apologies for
goofy retards who have decided that their station in life is to dress as hooved
mammals and annoy customers at a restaurant, making sure that everyone in the
immediate vacinity knew that they not only had an opinion, but a dire need for
people to hear about it. Being a generally decent person, He offered to comp all
of our meals, but we all immediately dismissed that idea.

“Well, you
shouldn’t have to pay for that lamb," he said, pointing to the wreckage that was
once my dinner. "I will definitely take that off.”

”No, sir," I
responded, "It really is okay. Seriously, this was totally not your fault. Just
make me a promise.”

”Anything, sir. What can I do for you?”

”If
they ever come back, throw them on the grill and serve them to the customers.”


He did end up taking the lamb off of our bill. He also went so far as to
have another rack of lamb sent out for me. It was almost twice the size of the
original.

And it was DAMN tasty.