Now I Don’t Want to Cast Ass Persians or Anything…

But if I were you (and right about now I wish I were), I would avoid a certain restaurant in the Mill Creek section of town.

Let’s see how I can describe this without slandering anybody to people that wouldn;t ever eat there.

The type of food is commonly associated with kissing your sister.  No, it wasn’t Cracker Barrel. The strip mall contains a grocery store that appears to be owned by a couple named Kay and Roger.  The restaurant is located down the street from the Dairy Queen’s husband and next to a Mexican restaurant named after Rex’s cousin.

There, that should pin it down and ward off the curious.   Let’s just say the garlic chicken stir fry was very good.  Going down.

Not so much coming up.  Two exits, no waiting.  Blech.


7 Responses to Now I Don’t Want to Cast Ass Persians or Anything…

  1. […] What I love most about my brother C is he always comes through with a good gastrointestinal tale. I can’t think of a better way to start this weekend off with yet another story of how sensitive and active his innards sometimes are. […]

  2. Is this like Hutchmo’s Scavenger hunt – name this house contest? My mind is going kabosh thinking about it!

  3. Lynnster says:

    Ass Persians. Heh.

  4. ceeelcee says:

    Yeah, I’m pretty sure I crapped a cat.

  5. It’s the ghee. It’s clarified butter. When they start a funeral pyre over there, they soak the body in ghee.

    Damned chicken vindaloo!

  6. newscoma says:

    You crapped a cat?
    Wow. That’s impressive and sorta neat/disgusting way.

  7. […] such an epically shitty morning at work today that I decided to push the envelope and go back here for […]

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