Rough Cuts

‘Waiter, come here right this second!’ came the angry shout.

I glanced over at the far corner of the restaurant where I had just seated Bret Weston Elice the Second. Sighing, I turned to Kooper, the head waiter, and told him that I would be right back.

‘Is anything wrong, Mr. Elice?’ I asked politely.

‘Yes,’ he sputtered. ‘This steak is a piece of shit.’

I put my finger to my lips and hushed him. ‘Shh, the sous chef is in a foul mood today. You don’t want him to hear you now, do you?’

‘I don’t care if he hears me,’ Bret shouted. ‘I ordered gumboot sirloin and this is most definitely not gumboot! If I’m not mistaken, it’s poop!’

I peered closely at the charred brown lump in front of him. ‘Hmm,’ I mused. ‘I think you may be right sir. I’ll conduct an investigation to see whether speed or alcohol was involved.’

The plate of sirloin in hand, I marched towards the kitchen. Inside, I called out to the sous chef, who was slumped over a counter stroking a weiner. ‘Chef, I’ve had a complaint about your gumboot sirloin. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.’

‘Vas te faire foutre,’ he replied.

‘Fuck you too. Now, Chef, were you drinking when you prepared this gumboot?’ I asked carefully.

‘Non.’

‘Did you use excessive speed?’

‘Non.’

‘Well then, I declare this investigation to be over,’ I announced cheerfully. ‘I rule out speed and alcohol as contributing factors to this botched gumboot.’

Chef stood up, his face as red as his inflamed testicles. ‘Eh, who said my gumboot was a botch job?’

I pointed out into the restaurant at Bret, who was stirring his straw through his glass of mineral turpentine and staring wistfully out the window.

With an angry roar, he charged through the swinging kitchen doors and made a beeline for Bret. Bret’s mouth dropped open when he saw Chef storming towards him. My god, he thought. His face is as red as my inflamed testicles.

Chef stopped abruptly before Bret and waved his weiner in the air. ‘You don’t like gumboot? My gumboot not good for you?’ he raged. ‘You eat my weiner, here!’

Without another word, Chef grabbed Bret’s head and stuffed his weiner into Bret’s mouth. Bret’s eyes watered at the meaty taste, and his throat constricted as he choked for breath. Chef released Bret’s head and then whisked his meat cleaver from the sleeve in his apron. ‘No gumboot for you,’ he said sternly, and brought the cleaver down onto Bret’s right knee.

Blood gushed everywhere. Bret tried to scream but the sounds were muffled by the weiner, still wedged in his teeth. Chef yanked Bret’s leg, and had to chop at it a couple more times because the first blow hadn’t gone straight through. When the leg was finally free from its adjoining body, Chef hurled the leg onto the table. Amazingly, the leg was sporting a pink, calf-length gumboot.

Chef pulled the gumboot off the leg in one swift motion. ‘No gumboot for you,’ Chef repeated.

Revenge of the blind men

Today was one of the worst days of my life. I was raped. By two blind men.

 Let me start at the beginning.

Just before closing time, a blind man wandered into the bistro, tapping his cane all over the place, dunking an old lady head first into a bowl of boiling soup. Her face and eyes melted away after contact with the hot liquid. The blind man kept patting his cane around wildly before finally prodding me in the crotch with it. Maddened, I grabbed the cane and snapped it in half, hitting the man in his balls. I heard a loud ‘pop’ and then the man fell over, dead from a massive heart attack.

Pedro came running out of the kitchen.

‘Senor! You have done a very bad thing! You have killed a blind man. They will not like that’

‘Quiet Pedro.’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to kill the bastard, I was just making sure he would never be able to reproduce’.

We shooed the rest of the patrons out, taking the woman with the scalded face to the meat freezer where she could be used for future gumboot sirloins. Pedro and I then began our nightly task of cleaning up the shop, which involves taking a piss on the tables and pooping in the kitchen sink. We were taking a nice dump when we heard the sound of breaking glass in the male restroom. I went to investigate.

As I entered the dark room, I felt a hand grab my dick tightly.

‘OWW!’ I cried out in pain.

 ’You killed our friend’ said a voice.

‘We’re gonna rape you’ said another.

All of a sudden, I felt a small but hard object slide past my anal walls and deep into my inner rectum. I tried to scream, but there was another hard object thrusting into my mouth. I was being raped by two blind men! The blind man fucking my arsehole came first, and then the one pumping into my mouth spooged down my throat! I heard one of the men take out a flick knife.

‘Ok, time to slit his throat’

I closed my eyes and feared for the worst! Then I heard an awful scream behind me.

‘You idiot, you cut the wrong person!’

The blind man behind me slumped to the floor, dead. I laughed! Blind people can be dumb!

Well done.

Today I had a customer order a gumboot well done.

I kid you not. My fellow waiters out there reading this blog will no doubt shudder as they read those two words in combination with gumboot.

It was a disaster from the start of the meal. The customer arrived during our busy lunch period and requested to be seated in a reserved table…

 ’I'm sorry sir, but that table has been reserved. However, if sir would be so kind…’

‘Don’t give me that sir bullshit! Listen to me, I want that table and I want it now! I don’t care if the goddamned Sultan of Brunei has reserved that table, it’s mine now!’

The gentlemen leaped into a chair with a triumphant grin. Just then my restaurant mobile started to ring. I answered it.

‘Hello, waiter? This is the Maxwell from the Hyatt. I’m calling on behalf of the Sultan, he’s just left our hotel and will be at the restaurant shortly. Good day.’

I cursed and hurled the phone in a random direction. Sadly it ricocheted off a brass lantern and conked a blind man on the head. Having no time to attend to the blood spurting across his table, I rushed off to the manager’s office to see what I could do about the chap sitting at the Sultan’s table.

 After hearing my story, the manager peered out into the restaurant and spotted the irate customer who had stolen the reserved table.

‘Ah, that’s my gay lover, don’t worry about him, he can have that table. Put the Sultan at the table in the corner’

‘But there’s a blind man sitting there, with blood all over the table!’

‘He’s not likely to notice’

And so I ushered the Sultan across to the blood stained table and took the order of the bosses’ gay lover.

‘And what would sir like today?’

‘For the fifth time, stop calling me sir you pansy! And I’ll be having the gumboot sirloin please. Well done.’

And that pretty much sums up my day.