Freddogg Off The Chain

A man walks into a bar and orders Potato Crusted Halibut with cheese along with wild rice, skinny gourmet asparagus all to be kicked off with an appetizer of seared tuna slathered in Wasabi sauce.
I called my wife last early Friday evening as I was out looking for column and blog material. ‘I have three words you have never ever in your entire life used in a sentence.”
“O’K.” she said, and then patiently waited.
“Potato Crusted Halibut” I paused and repeated it more slowly. “Potato Crusted Halibut.”
I looked around the upper level bar at the Lewes Yacht Club overlooking the bay and inlet and there were lots of white wine drinking “halibiters, and kabobbers” talking about trips abroad and the travels of their high performing adult children and all I could think was all of them and me too for that matter should be driving gasoline supply trucks through downtown Baghdad.
Let’s focus the war and exchange volunteer young soldiers with citizens who have reaped wealth and property and ordered potato crusted halibut.
The man next to me said,”this is very good and a big piece of fish but I can’t eat anymore.” The bartender asked “Box it up?” and he said, ‘No throw it away” then I whispered to her “box it for me I’ll take it home for the cat” she looked back like I was joking and I looked back like I wasn’t.
I drove home with the Potato Crusted Halibut and a stolen beer glass and summoned Raven, the bent spine psycho skinny pet shop inbreed Siamese from Charles Manson kennels.
“Here’s some Potato Crusted Halibut for your sorry boney ass,”I said. ‘He ate it while purring, the snob.”

Freddogg