SOUR 你嘅 臭 GRAPES

No love, no affection, no warm cuddling, no wild sex with gay abandon.
And no fried chicken.

The fried chicken would make up for a lack of the other four things.
Sort of.
But, apparently, there is NO fried chicken either.

I should have learned by now that if I rely on my SF friends for fried chicken I will get royally screwed.

This evening there was a rematch. Someone, I forget who, was unhappy about the results of the fried chicken cook-off several months ago.
Forty pounds of chicken. Four contestants.
Same people as the previous event, and I heard that the fried chicken that evening was just about fantabulous.
Why, they raved about it for weeks! afterwards!

Unlike the last time, I got there early.
But, as one of the contestants was disqualified because we waited for him for half an hour - he couldn't flag down a cab with his bucket of chicken - when the contest was opened up I held off.
I felt it was the gallant thing to do.
It would be so sad when he got here, with his losing entry, if everyone was already full, and no one wanted his fried chicken.
That's okay. Let the rabid piranhas descend on the other three batches like a horde of hungry locusts.
I'll wait. I'm sure his fried chicken is fine.

By six thirty five there was no more fried chicken.

Eric waited. A nice blonde mother of grown children waited.
A woman with a lovely bosom waited.
And I waited.

Last time I didn't get any fried chicken.
And I was so looking forward to it, too!
Today I waited for over two hours.
And didn't get any fried chicken.

How frikkin' long does it take to catch a cab in San Francisco?!?

It has been a year of no love, no affection, no warm cuddling, no wild sex with gay abandon.
I'll settle for some fried chicken.

Left the bar about ten minutes ago.
By which time I had lost my appetite.
Hadn't had a conversation with a live human being since seven o'clock.
The mother left with her roommate. The young lady with the nice bosom was disconsolately staring off into space.
Eric was chatting with miz T.
I was in a corner by myself.
My personal magnetism succesfully kept everyone away.

No social interaction. No love, no affection, no warm cuddling, no wild sex with gay abandon.

AND NO FRIED CHICKEN!

As a matter of principle, seeing as America is determined to deny me any and all fried chicken, I will avoid that dish for one HELL of a long time.
You don't want me to have fried chicken? Fine! That's just fine! Really!
It's TOTALLY fine!
I won't have any fried chicken!

Don't need your horrible greasy nearly burned chewy tasteless southern relative of miniature velociraptor anyway!

Hmmmph!


Dew nei-ge low mow, sei meikok naam fong kuei.
Ngoh m-yiew!


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================