on the microphone i come correct

spent a smashing weekend in annapolis (doogie howser) MD this weekend with the captain and crew, including the lovely ms. L train, aka L Ren Hubbard, who provided the non-climatized transport vehicle. and while i was highly in love with maxing out and doing nothing all weekend except for the occasional water-ski-fall-on-your-face manuevering, i couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of excitement in my stomach as we made our way across the goethals and then the verazano and then the BQE and then down Flatbush Avenue where we turned right on 4th Avnue and then where i had to schlep my suitcase and other shite up the subway platform...ahem...i couldn't help but feel excitement a-bubblin' down below as my mind wandered on to the topic of food and the many options that the NYC has to offer.

and what did i go for upon returning to my humble abode after two days of eating crabs and slightly mediocre pizza in annapolis? why, not the superior slices of Rosarios. no, fair readers, the commando reached for his phone and dialed 1-800-Vindaloo-Vandal, aka Khushie on Essex St., aka Lamb Vindaloo with two orders of garlic Naan. I then proceeded to sit in my un-air conditioned apartment last night with sweat dripping off of my arms and into my spicy herb sauce and crush an indian feast fit for a sacred cow. needless to say, i felt a slight discomfort in and around the gluteous maximus come morning time.

but i had no fear, because these things usually subside early enough in the day and i can continue on my way. my fearless counterpart on the other hand has informed me that he has just returned from an all expenses paid vacation to the pergatury known as, "all-you-can-eat indian buffet". do i need to tell you...what the f*ck you can do...with an all you can eat...indian... buffet? INDIAN!!! what madman dares venture out, in the light of day no less, to an all you can eat buffet filled with rogans and vindaloos and tiki-marsalas? what level of effort does it take to put on a face of bravery for the remainder of the day and pretend as though godzilla is not doing tai-b0 in your lower intestine? perhaps average americans such as you and i will never know. but for one brave man...er...captain, carefully navigating the sea of spices that is sure to produce titanic sized vessels of stink, we salute you.

sing the theme song: there's no stopping the buffet force/just gobble that shit/ditch the knives and forks/and when your plate's all clear but you want some more/ just go up again/ that's what a buffet's for/ uh yeah, roganzilla gonna getcha, uh yeah, gonna do a tap dance then jump for joy