“Barbecue Man may appear to be asleep,” Mr. Schlesinger roared, climbing off the couch, “But Barbecue Man is always awake and in control!”

Auhhhhhhhuhhhhhhh… no respect?

Those boys in the kitchen keep messing with my culo. First it was sneaking fatally hot fatali peppers along with red beans & salsa roja loca into irresistable brisket burritos and then giggling for days as I walked around all funny with a puckered culo like a child sand-chafing his thighs at the seashore under a hot sun. What burns going in, burns going out. Yes my intestines are very sensitive to heat, I am glad it is amusing to all you in the kitchen that my intestines are so sensitive. I am glad that my intestinal sensitivity coupled with chronic brisket addiction provides so much amusement.

Then the other night I get a phone call from my friend Jess’s number, who also works as a server. I had asked her to give me a call that night whenever everybody all got out of work and went to the bar next door to celebrate Bryan’s birthday because I wanted to go over then and meet up with them all and say “Happy Birthday” to Bryan. And yes I do know what a run-on sentence is, but the mind must keep running on regardless of how I lay out the words, my babies. So its Monday night and I am expecting that phone call but I’m in the bathroom when the phone rings.

I am in the bathroom probably the end-cycle of brisket digestion when the phone rings. I cannot pick up the phone because I am in the bathroom and the phone is in my bedroom. I was reading an article in Harper’s titled, “A Natural History of Peace”, so obviously I could not just waddle out of the bathroom to pick up the call. The machine picked up, or rather, my wireless voicemail kicked in, and a machine in Virginia picked up or changed color or something, I have no clue. I thought nothing of it because I was reading about how aggressive behavior can be bred out of chimp communities, etcetera, on the porcelain throne.

After I finished my bizness in the bathroom, I put on my sneakers and went out to the bar to say, “Happy birthday” to Bryan. I did not check the voicemail before I left the house, why would I? I assumed that Jess had left a courtesy message briefly detailing their location and formally inviting me out to come say, “Happy birthday.” So I didn’t check the message until today, the next day.  Jess did not leave the message. It was the boys from the kitchen, specifically with Mr. Thompson (pictured below) on the horn. They were fooling around on my behalf (bottom half, culo) again.

It is definitely Mr. Thompson talking in the audio file I have recorded from the voicemail. The machine in Virginia recorded Mr. Thompson, who blasphemously claims on the tape to be Jayson Lord, and it changed colors at that false declaration because it is a lie. When Mr. Thompson claims to be J. Lord breaking up with his girlfriend and slyly implying that he wants to be hooking up with my culo in the near-future, let me be clear, Mr. Thompson is lying. Them kitchen boys sure like to push my culo buttons.

Its not that I don’t stand up for myself. One day I told Nick Soto right to his face, “I’d like to roll that culo up in a Philly just so I could smoke that ass!”

Anyway listen to the mp3 of the phonecall here. For those without mp3 players (darrr darrr darrr), here is a text transcript of what I hear on the tape:

“Hey Arthur, how are ya man? This is…uhh…Jayson. Thats just the way that is, man. I was just wonderin’ I mean Nora and I, we had a falling out. Its not that I don’t love her but, my interests lie elsewhere. So would you please give me a call… actually, you know, instead of giving me a call why don’t you just talk to me next time I’m working. Why don’t you and I just do our thing. I think, I’m pretty sure we can work something out. ???? loves you, and I think you’ve always known that. That goes for me too. And I think, we got a special bond and its a good thing. So… bye. ”

Jess comes on at the end of the message to say, “Hello? Bye.”

Well you all may of got yet another laugh out of my culo, my culo just bizblogged all your asses! Iiiiiiiiiiiiits alllllllllllllllll looooooooovvvvvvveeeeeeeee……….. (please don’t thump on me, sirs)