Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name's Frank Hovis, and I'm very
glad you could join me on the lavatory this evening. Now I'm a man who
enjoys eating out - a good meal, a nice bottle of chateau... Lovely...
But you have to accept that there's always a bit of a risk, like
everything in life - perhaps the food hasn't been cooked thoroughly,
or maybe the chef hasn't washed his hands after going to the lavatory.
If you eat out a lot you have to accept that.
But I must admit, even I was surprised by what turned up on my plate
at the Cafe Cackapoop. How can I describe it? I don't want to offend
anybody. Let's just say that I ordered number 2 on the menu, and I got
what I ordered... Hot and fresh...
I'd have told the chef where to stick it except I think that's where
it had come from in the first place... I couldn't finish it...
The rest of the meal was alright, nothing to write home about, but
quite agreeable. There was a pubic hair in me sticky toffee pudding
but you get that in the best of restaurants, don't you?
But afterwards, afterwards, I had the most shocking bad breath, oh
dear. The young lady that I was with didn't enjoy her goodnight kiss
at all. For a moment, for a moment, I thought she was having an
orgasm, but she was being sick.
And I had a bit of a dicky tummy myself. Oh quite a dicky tummy, quite
a dicky dicky tummy I had. I got home, I just got home, and I threw up
into the television... In fact it was only an old black and white set,
colour now mind, obviously, but I can't watch it any more - I turn it
on and I get the smell of frying sick... Not my idea of a TV dinner...
Anyway I think the moral of this little story is, if if you're in a
restaurant and you think the food is crap, send it back.
Goodnight ladies and gentlemen, goodnight.
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