Ever receive bad service while dining? We all have, right? So do you not leave a tip? Complain to the management? I've certainly fielded a few complaints in that regard. But I never called the police and had the complainees put in the slammer.
Here is the story:
"Nobody, nobody wants to be forced to pay a tip or be arrested for terrible service," Leslie Pope said when her happy hour ended in handcuffs.
Pope and John Wagner were hauled away by police and charged with theft for not paying the mandatory 18 percent gratuity totaling $16 after eating at the Lehigh Pub in Bethlehem, Pa. with six friends.
Pope claimed that they had to wait nearly an hour for their order and that she had to get napkins and silverware for the table herself.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
"The Bird is the Word!"
Society has gone mad-beserk. More evidence as Tennessee Titans owner shoots the bird to the opposing Buffalo Bills fans. And gets fined $250,000. Must be nice to have that kind of dough lying around.
The 86-year-old Adams issued an apology a couple of hours later, saying he got caught up in the excitement of the moment.
Can anyone spell dementia?
The 86-year-old Adams issued an apology a couple of hours later, saying he got caught up in the excitement of the moment.
Can anyone spell dementia?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
"The Largest Car Company in the World" or "Synchronicity"
If you scroll down one more post or foray, you-the reader-will notice a post or foray I wrote 5 years ago. About a vw bug I drove back in the day of wine and roses. An excerpt:
The bug was my vehicle of choice-not by design, mind you-but because we were somewhat lacking in funds. The family had bypassed the Big 3 who cranked out those huge, gas guzzlers back in the day-and yes, the precursor to global warming-and settled instead for the economical and thrifty product from Germany with the motor in the back, of all places. Gas was around 25 cents a gallon, and you could go approx. 250 miles on a tank of gas. Do the math, eh? 25 X 10 [ that's how many she would hold ] and voila: $2.50 to go 250 miles. And she purred on regular petrol- Ethyl be damned.
While perusing the internet tonite I came across an interesting article. Toyota is not the largest car manufacturer in the world. The title now belongs to Volkswagen. Who would ever have thunk it? I was always a legend in my own mind and way before my time.
The people want an empire, apparently, with that unassuming little black VW bug at the head of it.
The U.K.’s Guardian explains, "Volkswagen-Porsche has overtaken Toyota to become the world's largest car manufacturer as the German group benefits from state-backed stimulus packages around the globe." VW has "produced 4.4 million vehicles so far this year, outstripping its Japanese rival which has seen four million cars roll off production lines since January."
The bug was my vehicle of choice-not by design, mind you-but because we were somewhat lacking in funds. The family had bypassed the Big 3 who cranked out those huge, gas guzzlers back in the day-and yes, the precursor to global warming-and settled instead for the economical and thrifty product from Germany with the motor in the back, of all places. Gas was around 25 cents a gallon, and you could go approx. 250 miles on a tank of gas. Do the math, eh? 25 X 10 [ that's how many she would hold ] and voila: $2.50 to go 250 miles. And she purred on regular petrol- Ethyl be damned.
While perusing the internet tonite I came across an interesting article. Toyota is not the largest car manufacturer in the world. The title now belongs to Volkswagen. Who would ever have thunk it? I was always a legend in my own mind and way before my time.
The people want an empire, apparently, with that unassuming little black VW bug at the head of it.
The U.K.’s Guardian explains, "Volkswagen-Porsche has overtaken Toyota to become the world's largest car manufacturer as the German group benefits from state-backed stimulus packages around the globe." VW has "produced 4.4 million vehicles so far this year, outstripping its Japanese rival which has seen four million cars roll off production lines since January."
"Truck U"
I didn't have anything better to do, so for whatever reason, I decided to peruse some of my old stuff ( circa 2004 ) and came across this one. I don't want to toot my horn too loud, but I thought this one was pretty good. So here it is.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Truck U
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck.
The day the music died.
I was going to Rowdy U and it would be my first time away from home. I might have been a broncin' buck but I did not have a pickup truck- no rifle, no rifle holder- just a VW bug.
The bug was my vehicle of choice-not by design, mind you-but because we were somewhat lacking in funds. The family had bypassed the Big 3 who cranked out those huge, gas guzzlers back in the day-and yes, the precursor to global warming-and settled instead for the economical and thrifty product from Germany with the motor in the back, of all places. Gas was around 25 cents a gallon, and you could go approx. 250 miles on a tank of gas. Do the math, eh? 25 X 10 [ that's how many she would hold ] and voila: $2.50 to go 250 miles. And she purred on regular petrol- Ethyl be damned.
That was one of the secrets to good gas mileage. The damn thing could barely get up to 70 mph. Sometimes 75, if you were going down a steep hill, and you and any other passengers were leaning forward towards the windshield. Added inertia or something like that. And this was pre-Energy crisis, so the speed limit was 70. And just like today, nobody went the speed limit. More like 80, 90, 100-just like today-some things never change.
So if you wanted to pass someone-which was rare in a bug-you had better put the petal, er, pedal to the metal, cos you might get blown off the road. And normally mild-mannered folks would roll down their windows and shout the nastiest of epitaphs my way. And many a time, I was a recipent of the infamous middle finger.
"Get that piece of shit off the roads!" would be the normal response.
And it was one of the kinder/gentler messages yours truly received.
"Hey, you piece of dog shit. You're puttin' the American worker [ i.e. Big 3 ] outta work when you buy imported shit from overseas."
Well, I was rowdy back then and I'd engage a conversation with my attackers-albeit briefly-as they were zooming by.
"We can't afford a Big 3 car, you bastards. Truck U."
And that was my destination. Truck U.- College, here I come. Driving a bug from Germany and heading for the bright lights of higher education.
After being insulted-"Hey, does that funny looking car have a motor, fart face?"- heckled, and abused throughout my journey, I pulled into the parking lot of Payne Hall. I was a freshman-more abuse was on the horizon-and couldn't park in the dorm's lot-just unload; it was reserved for upperclassmen. The plebeians had to park in the Siberian section of campus and walk a coppola miles back to our fraternal domicile.
My buddy, Keith, would be my roomie. We had gone to Rowdy High together and had become best friends. He had arrived a day or two before me and had picked the lower bunk leaving me the top.
"But, Keith, I have vertigo. And I sleepwalk. And I might fall on you during a fitful nights sleep."
I don't think I used words like fitful back in the day. It was more like:
"I ain't sleepin' on the top bunk, you piece of horse shit. Just because you got here first don't mean shit."
Keith would simulate playing a violin. And unless I wanted to "kick his ass" the arrangements had been chiseled in stone.
Keith was my best friend. He helped initiate my entry into the wonderful world of smoking. Fags, as we called them in those days, were 25 cents a pack, allah petrol. He was carrying on a family tradition-both his dad and mom smoked- and, me, wanting to be Kool and the Gang, began the long, arduous road to addiction. Thanks, Keith. Especially if you're reading this.
He also introduced me into the wonderful world of soft porn in the downtown district of Golden Pond. Remember, we were teenage broncin' bucks and tho "the times they were a'changing," they weren't changing fast enough for us.
These movies today would be rated "R" for Rowdy, er, risque, but in those medieval times,[ back in tha day ] they were the best things going for horny teens with accelerated ragin' hormones. Sure our shoes would stick to the floor as we made our way to our seats. Shirley, it was a few cokes that had been spilled accidentally. But we could never be sure so I could never bring myself to buy any popcorn or candy.
To enter the emporium, the patron was supposed to be 18. We were 16 and looked like we were 14 at the max, but the ticket taker never discriminated and we were always allowed in. Keith became obsessed with perusing the flicks of Golden Pond's adult cinema. A frequent customer, but I did go with him many a time.
We saw movies like "The Lustful Turk" which was filmed-believe it or not- in technicolor. Most belonged to the black and white genre. Most of the participants, er, actors smoked grass and took off their clothes. We got to see a lot of T & A, and would rejoice-titillated is more like it-if we got to see some bush, er, pubic hair.
Most of the plots were bizarre, if they even had a plot. But we didn't care. We just wanted to see women naked. [ if offended, please see the opening paragraph ]
Which means we've come full cycle. And a good stopping place for part one of Truck U.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Truck U
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck.
The day the music died.
I was going to Rowdy U and it would be my first time away from home. I might have been a broncin' buck but I did not have a pickup truck- no rifle, no rifle holder- just a VW bug.
The bug was my vehicle of choice-not by design, mind you-but because we were somewhat lacking in funds. The family had bypassed the Big 3 who cranked out those huge, gas guzzlers back in the day-and yes, the precursor to global warming-and settled instead for the economical and thrifty product from Germany with the motor in the back, of all places. Gas was around 25 cents a gallon, and you could go approx. 250 miles on a tank of gas. Do the math, eh? 25 X 10 [ that's how many she would hold ] and voila: $2.50 to go 250 miles. And she purred on regular petrol- Ethyl be damned.
That was one of the secrets to good gas mileage. The damn thing could barely get up to 70 mph. Sometimes 75, if you were going down a steep hill, and you and any other passengers were leaning forward towards the windshield. Added inertia or something like that. And this was pre-Energy crisis, so the speed limit was 70. And just like today, nobody went the speed limit. More like 80, 90, 100-just like today-some things never change.
So if you wanted to pass someone-which was rare in a bug-you had better put the petal, er, pedal to the metal, cos you might get blown off the road. And normally mild-mannered folks would roll down their windows and shout the nastiest of epitaphs my way. And many a time, I was a recipent of the infamous middle finger.
"Get that piece of shit off the roads!" would be the normal response.
And it was one of the kinder/gentler messages yours truly received.
"Hey, you piece of dog shit. You're puttin' the American worker [ i.e. Big 3 ] outta work when you buy imported shit from overseas."
Well, I was rowdy back then and I'd engage a conversation with my attackers-albeit briefly-as they were zooming by.
"We can't afford a Big 3 car, you bastards. Truck U."
And that was my destination. Truck U.- College, here I come. Driving a bug from Germany and heading for the bright lights of higher education.
After being insulted-"Hey, does that funny looking car have a motor, fart face?"- heckled, and abused throughout my journey, I pulled into the parking lot of Payne Hall. I was a freshman-more abuse was on the horizon-and couldn't park in the dorm's lot-just unload; it was reserved for upperclassmen. The plebeians had to park in the Siberian section of campus and walk a coppola miles back to our fraternal domicile.
My buddy, Keith, would be my roomie. We had gone to Rowdy High together and had become best friends. He had arrived a day or two before me and had picked the lower bunk leaving me the top.
"But, Keith, I have vertigo. And I sleepwalk. And I might fall on you during a fitful nights sleep."
I don't think I used words like fitful back in the day. It was more like:
"I ain't sleepin' on the top bunk, you piece of horse shit. Just because you got here first don't mean shit."
Keith would simulate playing a violin. And unless I wanted to "kick his ass" the arrangements had been chiseled in stone.
Keith was my best friend. He helped initiate my entry into the wonderful world of smoking. Fags, as we called them in those days, were 25 cents a pack, allah petrol. He was carrying on a family tradition-both his dad and mom smoked- and, me, wanting to be Kool and the Gang, began the long, arduous road to addiction. Thanks, Keith. Especially if you're reading this.
He also introduced me into the wonderful world of soft porn in the downtown district of Golden Pond. Remember, we were teenage broncin' bucks and tho "the times they were a'changing," they weren't changing fast enough for us.
These movies today would be rated "R" for Rowdy, er, risque, but in those medieval times,[ back in tha day ] they were the best things going for horny teens with accelerated ragin' hormones. Sure our shoes would stick to the floor as we made our way to our seats. Shirley, it was a few cokes that had been spilled accidentally. But we could never be sure so I could never bring myself to buy any popcorn or candy.
To enter the emporium, the patron was supposed to be 18. We were 16 and looked like we were 14 at the max, but the ticket taker never discriminated and we were always allowed in. Keith became obsessed with perusing the flicks of Golden Pond's adult cinema. A frequent customer, but I did go with him many a time.
We saw movies like "The Lustful Turk" which was filmed-believe it or not- in technicolor. Most belonged to the black and white genre. Most of the participants, er, actors smoked grass and took off their clothes. We got to see a lot of T & A, and would rejoice-titillated is more like it-if we got to see some bush, er, pubic hair.
Most of the plots were bizarre, if they even had a plot. But we didn't care. We just wanted to see women naked. [ if offended, please see the opening paragraph ]
Which means we've come full cycle. And a good stopping place for part one of Truck U.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
It’s not a good sign when it takes you nearly 5 seconds to spit out the name of your breakfast"
Slideshow: the 20 worst breakfasts!
3. Worst Drive-Thru Breakfast
McDonald’s Deluxe Breakfast with margarine and Syrup
1370 calories
64.5 g fat (21.5 g saturated)
2,335 mg sodium
161 g carbohydrates
Does this really look like a breakfast for one person? Of course not. That’s why this is the worst fast-food breakfast in America by an unhealthy margin. The fact that this breakfast is 210 calories worse than McDonald’s Large Triple Thick Chocolate Milkshake tells you everything you need to know. Carbohydrate-based breakfasts are the scourge of healthy eating habits and a hard-working metabolism, and this one platter packs more cheap carbs than you’d get from 11 slices of Wonder Bread. Unless you’re ordering yogurt, breakfast at McDonald’s shouldn’t require utensils.
3. Worst Drive-Thru Breakfast
McDonald’s Deluxe Breakfast with margarine and Syrup
1370 calories
64.5 g fat (21.5 g saturated)
2,335 mg sodium
161 g carbohydrates
Does this really look like a breakfast for one person? Of course not. That’s why this is the worst fast-food breakfast in America by an unhealthy margin. The fact that this breakfast is 210 calories worse than McDonald’s Large Triple Thick Chocolate Milkshake tells you everything you need to know. Carbohydrate-based breakfasts are the scourge of healthy eating habits and a hard-working metabolism, and this one platter packs more cheap carbs than you’d get from 11 slices of Wonder Bread. Unless you’re ordering yogurt, breakfast at McDonald’s shouldn’t require utensils.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
"How to Eat a Chicken Wing"
How to properly eat a chicken wing. A chicken wing snob will demonstrate via the video.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
"Scrum"
Not sure when the word "scrum" first eased its way onto the landscape. And dictionary.com didn't give me a good definition-something about a play in rugby. We're talking football here. American football.
Long story short! Scrum: ( my definition ) When 6 or more football players from each team end up in a heap on the ground-normally in pursuit of a running back or a loose ball, aka fumble.
This word came into vogue in the new millennium. And all football announcers use the term. I don't like it, of course, cos I'm from the old skool. lol!
I just can't see Curt Gowdy or Pat Summeral saying that back in the 60's, 70's etc.
"Who's got the ball, Pat?"
"It's somewhere in the scrum, Curt!"
Nah!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway. tonite's tale involves a scrum. And how embarrassing for the player. It's a short clip:
You may see players in the same uniform run into each other or accidentally trip someone or inadvertently bring someone down in a scrum, but I can't remember ever seeing a guy seek out his teammate and bring him down like McIver did.
P.S. Evidently, the umpire made a racist comment towards a player. My Japanese is a little rusty so ....
Long story short! Scrum: ( my definition ) When 6 or more football players from each team end up in a heap on the ground-normally in pursuit of a running back or a loose ball, aka fumble.
This word came into vogue in the new millennium. And all football announcers use the term. I don't like it, of course, cos I'm from the old skool. lol!
I just can't see Curt Gowdy or Pat Summeral saying that back in the 60's, 70's etc.
"Who's got the ball, Pat?"
"It's somewhere in the scrum, Curt!"
Nah!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway. tonite's tale involves a scrum. And how embarrassing for the player. It's a short clip:
You may see players in the same uniform run into each other or accidentally trip someone or inadvertently bring someone down in a scrum, but I can't remember ever seeing a guy seek out his teammate and bring him down like McIver did.
P.S. Evidently, the umpire made a racist comment towards a player. My Japanese is a little rusty so ....
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