Chicken and Waffles
Life is but a walking shadow ...
Friday night's antics were so good, I couldn't bear (bare?) to write about them until Monday. Let's just say the night started off with some Chicken and Waffles.
I had never had Chicken and Waffles before. In fact, I had first heard of them in a poorly made sci-fi Ice T movie starring Ice T and a plate of chicken, underneath of which were waffles. But I was out with my black friends on Friday, so they egged me on, and chicken and waffles found its way into my life (I say "its" instead of "their" because chicken and waffles together are a singular entity, so stop complaining about my grammar you pompous twit). Sweet and salty people, sweet and salty. I would in fact recommend chicken and waffles.
So I ordered my chicken and waffles at a bar called Common Share (18th and U) in DC. This bar had a larger black population as compared to the white folk, who were all upstairs in the corner by the jukebox, huddled together for warmth (so it seemed). Their level of comfort was so low they appeared to be multiplying like wet mogwais. Every time I looked over there were more white people in that jukebox corner, even though they didn't take up any more space. The population was just more dense now. They remained uncomfortable and awkward, shooting the occasional "do the black people think we're cool" glance our way. The cornered white folk were so uncomfortable, they were making me uncomfortable. Here's the kicker. The music selected by the juke-hoarding population was all Kanye West, Outkast, and James Brown, which in our minds told us they were trying to impress us with black people music that white people know about. Let me say, I was not impressed. But with a few more drinks in me, I was swimming through popped collars to play "Bombs Over Bahgdad" and "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag." Yay for cultural ignorance!
We walked back towards the metro station, drunk, freezing, laughing like school girls at a cockfight. And we stopped, of course, at the Jumbo Slice to get the largest, worst-tasting slice of pizza this side of the Potomac. Though enjoying this horrible piece of pizza, my enjoyment was furthered certainly with the realization that there was some serious making out happening on the television just above me. I took another bite of my pizza. Then I looked up again and felt like I saw some nipple ... Nah, couldn't have been. I took another bite of my pizza. I look up and definitely see nipple, so without looking back down, I take another bite of that disgusting pizza, and all of a sudden, these two people are having sex!
Why was there softcore porn on the TV at the Jumbo Slice? My friends were like "I can't watch this while I'm eating." I couldn't hear them though because I was busy rounding up the troops. "Check this out! Softcore porn!" ...Who needs oregano when you can have softcore porn? The second half of that pizza was delicious.
Friday night's antics were so good, I couldn't bear (bare?) to write about them until Monday. Let's just say the night started off with some Chicken and Waffles.
I had never had Chicken and Waffles before. In fact, I had first heard of them in a poorly made sci-fi Ice T movie starring Ice T and a plate of chicken, underneath of which were waffles. But I was out with my black friends on Friday, so they egged me on, and chicken and waffles found its way into my life (I say "its" instead of "their" because chicken and waffles together are a singular entity, so stop complaining about my grammar you pompous twit). Sweet and salty people, sweet and salty. I would in fact recommend chicken and waffles.
So I ordered my chicken and waffles at a bar called Common Share (18th and U) in DC. This bar had a larger black population as compared to the white folk, who were all upstairs in the corner by the jukebox, huddled together for warmth (so it seemed). Their level of comfort was so low they appeared to be multiplying like wet mogwais. Every time I looked over there were more white people in that jukebox corner, even though they didn't take up any more space. The population was just more dense now. They remained uncomfortable and awkward, shooting the occasional "do the black people think we're cool" glance our way. The cornered white folk were so uncomfortable, they were making me uncomfortable. Here's the kicker. The music selected by the juke-hoarding population was all Kanye West, Outkast, and James Brown, which in our minds told us they were trying to impress us with black people music that white people know about. Let me say, I was not impressed. But with a few more drinks in me, I was swimming through popped collars to play "Bombs Over Bahgdad" and "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag." Yay for cultural ignorance!
We walked back towards the metro station, drunk, freezing, laughing like school girls at a cockfight. And we stopped, of course, at the Jumbo Slice to get the largest, worst-tasting slice of pizza this side of the Potomac. Though enjoying this horrible piece of pizza, my enjoyment was furthered certainly with the realization that there was some serious making out happening on the television just above me. I took another bite of my pizza. Then I looked up again and felt like I saw some nipple ... Nah, couldn't have been. I took another bite of my pizza. I look up and definitely see nipple, so without looking back down, I take another bite of that disgusting pizza, and all of a sudden, these two people are having sex!
Why was there softcore porn on the TV at the Jumbo Slice? My friends were like "I can't watch this while I'm eating." I couldn't hear them though because I was busy rounding up the troops. "Check this out! Softcore porn!" ...Who needs oregano when you can have softcore porn? The second half of that pizza was delicious.
posted by Matt Mayer at
3/04/2006 07:35:00 PM
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