From: "iDRMRSR" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: Sat, Jul 10, 2004
Of late, for a "treat", I've been taking Little
Mister Sister out to a new
Cracker Barrel around here. Mostly he considers it a treat, as the food is
mostly things made of flour or things fried after being dragged through
flour, then covered with gravy made of burnt flour.
The decor of these places is meant to simulate your
summer kitchen. Washboards, old spice cans, old thermometers, oil lamps.
The traditional overworked "country look" of the late 19th or early 20th
So we're sitting at the table waiting for breadlike
items and breaded fried
things to appear, when a quick scan of our table area reveals...
WE'RE SEATED UNDER A PRISTINE DOBB'S HAT ADVERT!
From: email@example.com (Paul Casino)
I worked in a Cracker Barrel in Hamburg, PA for two
years of my life.
We had an old add up that featured what looked like a Dobbshead in the
smoking section, right above Table 14! Here's where it gets odd: I
worked there waiting tables, and was oft assigned to the "Dobbstable"
as I called it, to the confusion of all other co-workers. The table
was next to the kitchen door, so the greeters tried not to sit it, but
when they did, and when I got it, I'd go so far as to say 70% of the
people whom I had to serve there were dyed in the wool SubGeneii, and
didn't even know it. The table just seemed to attract WEIRD people.
I even once had a young couple sitting there sitting
before so much as a "Hi. What are we drinking today?" from me, the guy
looks at me, points to the Dobbshead and says "Who is that guy? I've
seen that before, I don't know where."
"Well...that's "Bob", sir." I said.
He SLAMS his hand on the table and says "J.R. "Bob" Dobbson! My
college roomate was talking about that guy all the time! He had some
stupid book with him all the time."
"No, it's DOBBS. Not "Dobbson".", I explained.
"Dobbs, Dobbson, close enough." he flippantly remarked.
I let it slide. I shouldn't have. What I should have done was
leaned down close, grabed him by the cheeks, pulled his head inches
away from mine, looked him in the eyes and said "It's not 'close
enough'. This guy could buy and sell you a hundred times over and
still have enough moolah left over to buy out Disney from underneath
Eisner's iron fist and turn out animated Bulldada complete with
subliminal messages to warp the brains of millions of children across
America and their sucker parents who bring them to the theatres
expecting good clean familiy fun from Disney. But what they'll get is
a dose of "Bob" Fucking DOBBS right in the frontal lobe. And so will
you. So will ALL OF YOU. Recognize or be vaporized, bitch."
What I did say was "Oh, sure. Something to drink?"
(Afterthought: He turned out to be a nice guy and left a ten
dollar tip on a twenty dollar bill.)
Before I go to sleep at night, I sometimes have
about how either: a.)How the church brought two people together who
have never met and will never meet again for one brief moment of time.
OR b.)How he'll likely burn with the rest of the pinks, but burn WORSE
because he spent tiem in a dorm room with the Book of the SubGenius
RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM and did NOTHING. Didn't repent, didn't quit his
job, didn't SLACK OFF. I'm not sure which one is right, but it makes a
Original file name: Cracker Barrel.txt - converted on Saturday, 25 September 2004, 02:05
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