Out to Hunch

I've not been feeling my sparkliest. I could lay under this Pepto-Bismol on draft spigot forever, alternating gulps with the mentholated lozenges and -- I beg of you -- a thorough buff with a tepid shammy.

It all started when I dropped in for lunch at TGI Ebola's.


Thank God It's Ebola's is a bad restaurant. The Maitre'd is a retired plate spinner from "The Ed Sullivan Show."

The carrot sticks are very old french fries.

The bacon bits are pig dandruff.

The iced tea is so weak, the tea bag has its own wheelchair.

I tried the salad bar. The Health Department rejected their sneeze shield as inadequate, but, I must agree, the new puke guard has really improved the garbonzos.

It's a bad restaurant, although the cook is health conscious. My baked potato was wearing a hair net.

I wasn't happy about it either. I had ordered the Chives and Dreadlocks. Hold the sour cream. Double Conditioner.

My summation?

A bad restaurant.

I never eat mayonnaise with sprinkles.

Besides, I get cross-eyed picking out the yellow ones.

They only serve the Blackened Sardines when the chef runs out of Winstons.

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