Today, my roommates took me out for a little birthday feast at Bugaboo Creek. While I am not the biggest fan of Bugaboo Creek Steak House, it was convenient and full of meat. Lou, Chris and I had some laughs and put our stomachs through their respective paces. Groggy as hell, we awaited our check.
As we sat there, we heard this faint clapping from across the huge dining room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a troop of different sized and shaped waiters and waitresses marching towards us–one tall sorority-sister-looking woman was fisting a giant stuffed moose puppet. I had one thought and couldn’t help from letting it slip past my lips: OH, GOD!
Suddenly, we were flanked with no means of escape. This meat-wielding Greek chorus started chanting some “Happy Birthday” cheer, which Lou speculated is sung so Mr. Bugaboo doesn’t have to pay any “Happy Birthday” royalties to ASCAP, BMI or SESAC. The entire time I was transfixed on that moose head–for 2 reasons, really. First, I couldn’t help but think that this was such a miserable part of the job, and I didn’t want my eyes to reveal the humiliation I felt for them. Second, I was sitting next to a tall attractive woman with her hand up a moose’s ass. Wouldn’t you watch?
Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, the song ended, and the woman shoved the moose doll in my face and exclaimed, “Now, kiss the moose!” Lou started yelling, “Kiss it. Kiss it!” Chris was muttering, “I’ll kill you if you don’t kiss that moose.” I reached around to the back of the moose’s head–visions of snotty-nosed kids licking it, herpes-riddled housewives smooching it, and the employees rubbing their junk on it in the back room–and went in for the kill.
As we drove home, my imagination took over and I started creating this futuristic sci-fi thriller that begins with the narrator saying, “In the year 2010, a Swine Flu pandemic gripped the world and changed humankind forever. The original drug-resistant mutation was traced to a moose puppet at a Bugaboo Creek restaurant in Watertown, Massachusetts… chusetts… chusetts…”
I’d like to thank Lou and Chris in advance for any potential STD or incurable disease that comes my way–and for potentially bringing on Armageddon. This is shaping up to be a memorable birthday week already–and the real day isn’t until Thursday!
