From: joemahoney1950@gmail.com   
      
   On Thursday, January 24, 2019 at 10:05:52 AM UTC-5, Joe Mahoney wrote:   
   > My like-minded lovers of the livid lichen; my many munchers of the mango   
   morel.   
   >    
   > Many of you problee remember a restrint, on the legendary Route 1 in Saugus,   
   by the name of the Hilltop Steakhouse.    
   >    
   > The restrint's sign was a 70-foot neon cactrus, sayin "Hilltop Steakhouse,"   
   and the restrint itself was sprawlin, built to call to mind a dessit   
   roadhouse, but HUGE in size and roarin with actibitee.  "America's Largest   
   Restrint," many called it.  And    
   it was.     
   >    
   > But amidst the noise and bustle, there was one custma who always stood out.    
   In fact, serva's and otha employee's of the restrint rememba him (seriously   
   now, and they still talk about him) to this day.    
   >    
   > For one thing, he was theya every night -- I mean EVERY NIGHT -- from the   
   late 70s till the late 80s.     
   >    
   > But it wasn't just his ubiquity.  There was also his visage.  Ferret-faced,   
   assumin the twitchy lil rodents come in red, with a waxed mustache, its   
   calcified tips pointin up towids his eyes -- which was tiny, black, and   
   beady.  Pin pricks, practically,    
   evincin no signs of life or intellgence.     
   >    
   > And the man was FAT.  But all the fat was concentratered in his GUT, which   
   protruded like he had a beach-ball shaped lump o'lead in his midriff.  While   
   his limbs remained stick-figya skinny.  And his hands was TINY.  And his foots   
   too.  Baby-sized.   
   >    
   > Then theya was the way this man ATE.  First, before lingrin ova the   
   men-a-yoo, he'd demand a DOUBLE SCOTCH, the first in an endless    
   hoo-choo-train to come.  And even beef-owa that first SCOTCH arribed, this man   
   would tear into the complimentary bread    
   basket (also the first of many), GRAB for the butta, and smear PAT upon PAT of   
   it on each piece o bret.  7 or 8 pats per piece.  Beef-owa dat meal was   
   accomplified, he'd gone through 3 entya stix o butta.   
   >    
   > Then he'd orda the appitiza's:  french fries, unyim rings, mozrella sticks,   
   unyim cactus flowa, potato skins, chickum finga's, appetiza platta, classic   
   shrimp cocktail.  And don't fergit the refill on my Scotch!   
   >    
   > Then come's the main co-wis:  Chickum Pom wiff ziti, Bobba-Q Mixed Grill,   
   Prime Rib, and don't fah-git the Poke Chops.  Mash tatta's on the side.   
   >    
   > And he ate.  And belched.  And drank.  And  he belched.  But these belches   
   wasn't like any othe you heard beefoaw.  They was EXPRESSIONS OF HIS SOUL.    
   They emenated from the depths of his lowa intestine.   
   >    
   > Sometimes he poopered in his pance.  Cuz that's what happens when ya EAT.    
   No big deal, and he din't make one.  His wife would wash it out.  Usually.   
   >    
   > Speakin of his wife, he stottid bringin her to Hilltop too.  Stottin in   
   1981. He brought her most nite's, lessin they had an og-ya-mint, in which case   
   he came alones fer his suppa.     
   >    
   >    
   > And the restrint worka's noticed that befo long, this women too began to put   
   on a little weight.  Not much, say 50 pounds a day.  And the fatta she got,   
   the mo profanty she used.  The more she got like him.   
   >    
   >    
   > And that got him excited, and he couldn't wait till they got backs to their   
   little house in the burbs, where his closet fulla strap-on dildos awaitered.     
   >    
   > My fellow fellaters of the florid fungus, THAT MAN WAS MY DAD.    
   >    
   >    
   >    
   > Joe "Spiritual not Relgious" M.   
      
   BTW, folks, the reason I posted that loving tribute is cause my Dad died   
   recently, age mid-70s.   
      
   At least I think he did.  He hasn't moved in two weeks and smells really bad.   
      
   Okay, that's normal for him, but he hasn't turned off the TV the whole time.   
      
   Okay, that's normal too.     
      
   But there's something different, I'm not sure what.,.   
      
   Oh, yeah, he hasn't eaten in a while or screamed about the Mexcian threat.   
      
   Whaddaya think, toadstool tasters?  Is it time to call a docta?   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)