Have you ever had sex with a rodeo clown? Never mind, that question is stupid. Nobody has. Not even the Insane Clown Posse and they have both the words "clown" and "posse" in their name! But have you ever stopped to think "why" nobody has sex with rodeo clowns? Me neither. That train of thought would only end up as a fiery pile of crap at the bottom of Shonash Ravine.
Anyway, as you try and wrap your mind around rodeo clown sex and the possibility that Harry the Bull and his band of Gifted Bovines is somehow responsible for the complete lack of some true bull on clown action, turn your thoughts to a little slice of Food Network Television that features Chef Robert Irvine trying to save failing restaurants from their own stupidity and turn them into Dollar Store phenoms with a better menu.
One particular episode that recently caught my eye was filmed in Lake City, Minnesota and the location is only a few hours away from me. I couldn't resist. This was going to be a nice surprise or an utter disappointment.
The atmosphere of the place was not bad and I was greeted warmly and sat immediately. In fact, the color scheme was welcoming and I noted several of the improvements which I had seen on the show. The place was at about 25% capacity so I didn't expect any delays. The long drive had me famished and I could have eaten the ass off a dead rhinoceros! So I sat . . . . 8 minutes for my water . . . . . 15 minutes for my appetizer of fresh cheese curds. Now, here is where things actually get interesting; the curds were outstanding and the three home made sauces of spicy ketchup, honey mustard, and horseradish mayo were all quite flavorful! A pleasant surprise, but I wouldn't expect anything less from recipes by the great Chef Irvine. I ordered my burger at the same time as the appetizer so I expected to be served in short order.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
With very little to do, the servers apparently concluded that they didn't need to participate in the actual practice of serving and my water ran dry. Where's Jesus when you need him? After 37 minutes, I noted that the booth behind me, which had been seated when I arrived, finally got their food. Not a good sign.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
48 minutes in and I flagged one of the ladies down and got a refill on my water. She apologized for the delay but had no conclusion as to the whereabouts of my burger. In the meantime, a young hippie family seated across from me had allowed their 4 year-old to play loud video games on their iPhone without regard to the rest of the clientele. My flaring nerves cast a look of such searing hatred towards the alleged father that he immediately grabbed the phone and turned it down (much to the dismay of his child).
Chirp, chirp, chirp (at least it wasn't a stupid iPhone game anymore).
72 minutes. ENOUGH! I got up and asked one of the servers for a status and they had no answer. I handed her cash to pay for my now digested and wanting released appetizer. Then I walked. Disappointed, hungry and pissed off!
This was, by far, the slowest service in burger history. I applaud Chef Irvine for his work, but perhaps he should have stayed home and allowed this one to fail because all he apparently did was prolong the misery. A misery that, along with wanting loins of Joan Rivers and her plastic vagina, would only be satisfied by becoming the enslaved rodeo sex clown of Harry and his Gifted Bovines.
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