Famous novelist at the Bistro!

Today we had a celebrity (or so he claimed) pay a visit to our humble Bistro!

I was laying a couple of cockroach baits around the restaurant when I saw a pair of sharply polished shoes appear in front of my eyes. I looked further up to see a rather small bulge around the pubic region. Looking up further still revealed a rather gay looking character with a cheesy expression, clad in a warm looking coat.

‘Good day, sir. Would you like a table?’

The gentleman sneered at me.

‘I would like the best table in the house. Bring me the wine list immediately!’

I quickly showed the man to the worst table in the Bistro. It hasn’t been cleaned since 1984 and there are plates and bowls filled with congealing food scraps covered in maggots and small rodents. Also, there is the skeleton of a long deceased patron – a blind man, if I remember correctly – sitting in the corner. Mr fancy coat looked at the table in disgust but took a seat anyway.

I returned bearing a copy of our wine list. We only sell two wines at the bistro: mineral turpentine (06 vintage), and Pepsi max. The man ordered the max after some consultation with the wine list. He was starting to get at my nerves; everybody knows that Pepsi is a cola, and not a wine.

I brought a wine glass filled with Pepsi to the table (and a large globule of poop kindly provided by our sous chef). Mr fag took a long drink and sighed with pleasure. I was disgusted, but politely took his order for lunch. He ordered the house special – gumboot sirloin – and a chef’s salad. I couldn’t help but smile – the chef’s salad is simply a piece of green paper with salad dressing made out of my urine.

I returned with the man’s order in a cardboard box. He attacked the gumboot with joy, not knowing it was actually made from a fried turd I had just scooped out of the sewage pipe in the alley opposite the bistro. He then ate a generous amount of the salad before turning green and throwing up all over the table. He wiped some of the vomit off his face and made a dash for the male bathroom. I followed closely behind.

When I opened the bathroom door, I saw the customer enter a stall with Pedro, our sous chef! This greatly disturbed me. I entered the stall next door and peered over the roof. The customer was doing unspeakable things with a salami! Poor Pedro seemed scared. I left the pair to their own devices for a few minutes, before returning with a mop and bucket. I opened the stall door and dunked the customer’s head into the bucket until he drowned. Then I took a potato peeler and peeled off all his skin, giving this to Pedro for use in our soup of the day.

Finally, I took his wallet out of his pocket. The blood stained driver’s licence read ‘Brett Weston Elice’. The name sounded vaguely familiar. I dragged the corpse out into the alley where it was set upon by three blind men. Then I went home.