Afraid To Move

So, last week Will and I went to dinner with Will's folks and friends of theirs. After dinner we went to see The Producers at The Arlington Theatre here in Santa Barbara.

We had a great time. Dinner was terrific and the show was fantastic. And the company was grand as well.

However, the gentleman of the other couple that accompanied us was...he was...kind of...umm...shall we say...well, let's just call him Ebenezer. Okay? Okay.

He was nice. Well, not really. He was okay, just wound a little tight is all.

Then, there was me.

That poor, poor man.

We were talking about restaurants in town and I had asked Ebenezer and his wife if they had ever been to Chef Karim's Moroccan Restaurant. They hadn't.

Will and I really like Chef Karim, as in the guy. He's an extremely friendly guy. He always comes out to check on everyone and makes sure that everyone is happy. He'd give you a quick handjob, maybe even a quick lick, I imagine, if you asked him. But, we'll pass on that, for now. He'd probably get cinnamon all over my penis and my hole and I don't really care for that.

So, the food is outstanding, as is the staff, as is the ambiance and decor.

However, as much as we like to watch the entertainment,

we don't always feel like dancing ourselves. In fact, we'd probably go more often if it weren't for the fact that they always try to get you up to dance and that just fucking gets on my nerves when I'm so full of lamb and couscous and pastilla that I could puke. I know, call me "silly" that I don't like to get up and roll my belly after I've eaten 40lbs of food.

So, I said to Ebenezer that it's a fantastic restaurant, but we don't go more often because they always insist on getting you up to belly dance.

Well, he huffed and he puffed and he almost blew himself down. And he said,

"I wouldn't do it."

And unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), I was feeling frisky. So, I said,

"What if I slipped you a roofie and made you do it?"

He didn't know what a "roofie" was, so I had to explain it to him that it was the same as drugging him.

And he replied with determination,

"I wouldn't do it."

And I furthered my inquiry and said,

"What if I slipped you a roofie, then duct taped your mouth and duct taped your face and made you do it?"

And he remained adamant,

"I wouldn't do it."

So, then I pipped it up even more and said,

"What if I slipped you a roofie, duct taped your mouth, duct taped your face, tied you up and made you do it?"

And he was rigid and had retreated into an even more fossilized state and said,

"I wouldn't do it."

And having left my body about two comments before, possessed by some gleeful evil maniac, I practically leapt upon him and said,

"WHAT IF I SLIPPED YOU A ROOFIE, DUCT TAPED YOUR MOUTH, DUCT TAPED YOUR FACE, TIED YOU UP, USED A CATTLE PROD ON YOU AND MADE YOU DO IT???"

And then his wife squeaked out, as if any of what I was saying was a remote possibility,

"YOU'RE STRESSING HIM OUT!"

Jesus Christ... Like he was gonna blow or something.

What I wanted to say was, "Why do you do that?"

And he'd reply, "Do what?"

And I'd say, "Live like your dead."