Thompson’s Theories of Diet and Health

[Thompson]

Well, we found a place, said Myra. Myra was the oldest of the Eskimo stripper girls and therefore the spokesgal. But it’s way out on Airline Highway amidst all the hooker motels. It’s called Hugh’s Diner. No shit. What happened to Hugh? His poetry reading at the bowling alley last year was unbelievably good. Killer. Anyway, we can’t bring you a steak breakfast because they don’t do that at Hugh’s and besides it would be cold by the time we got it home.

What kind of potatoes do they serve, asked Thompson?

Well, you were right about the baked potatoes. You can get one if you order ahead but nobody does that. They do have a skin on home style sautéed tater that will fit the bill, and also a hash brown that is actually brown. Plenty of onions with both. It looked to me that most egg dishes were coming out with grits. I had the grits but the other girls had the home style sautéed tater with a little sour cream dip.

How ‘bout the steak? Thick was it?

Oh yes. And you get a steak knife and a real fork to tackle it with.

Open 24 hours?

No, they close in the afternoon to clean up and take a breather. You would dig the place, Thompson. Even though you can’t smoke in the restaurant there is an ashtray at every table. Us girls sat at the counter and we all had ashtrays too. We did remember to bring you the tall six of Budweiser from the drive thru beer store.

Thanks Myra.

[Thompson]

Headquarters was moved to Hugh’s Diner on Airline Highway, smack dab in the middle of hooker’s row.

Everybody’s got to eat, said Hugh. That’s why I opened this diner and paid the cops off and did these renovations and put Willie and Waylon on the juke. Hugh liked that song by David Allan Coe about being drunk the day his mom got out of prison, and would often sing along when it came up in the que.

Hugh was the main cook. The chef. He came to work at 3am and bossed everybody around for an hour or so and then got down to cooking. His hash browns were brown and his home style taters on point. The T-bone steaks were trucked in from Texas, which was ironic, though nobody had a clue what ironic meant. Thompson said satire is related to irony, but nobody knew what satire meant either. “Just like existentialism,” said Hugh. “Nobody knows what existentialism means either.”

So they would all sit around the table and argue. Nausea claimed the best meat is close to the bone. In order to get to that meat you have to pick the bone up and gnaw at it, like a dog does. Everybody nodded their heads and picked up their bone and gnawed at it. A Hank Williams song came on the box. A live recording. Everybody put down their bone and listened.

[Hugh]

Headquarters was moved to Hugh’s Diner on Airline Highway, smack dab in the middle of hooker’s row.

Everybody’s got to eat, said Hugh. That’s why I opened this diner and paid the cops off and did these renovations and put Willie and Waylon on the juke. Hugh liked that song by David Allan Coe about being drunk the day his mom got out of prison, and would often sing along when it came up in the que.

Hugh was the main cook. The chef. He came to work at 3am and bossed everybody around for an hour or so and then got down to cooking. His hash browns were brown and his home style taters on point. The T-bone steaks were trucked in from Texas, which was ironic, though nobody had a clue what ironic meant. Thompson said satire is related to irony, but nobody knew what satire meant either. “Just like existentialism,” said Hugh. “Nobody knows what existentialism means either.”

So they would all sit around the table and argue. Nausea claimed the best meat is close to the bone. In order to get to that meat you have to pick the bone up and gnaw at it, like a dog does. Everybody nodded their heads and picked up their bone and gnawed at it. A Hank Williams song came on the box. A live recording. Everybody put down their bone and listened.

Maybe a year or so ago a bartender quoted one of my shit ass poems back to me. It was the highlight of my year. Always love it when somebody actually reads my shit. Still don't know what existentialism is. Still finding it hard to care.

[Thompson]

What you’ve got Hugh, is a way with words. It’s how you say it. The desperation runs deep.

Cynical son of a bitch you are. There’s usually a knife stuck in your own back.

I’m glad you opened and operate Hugh’s Diner on Airline Highway. The Eskimo stripper girls are glad too. I cant get them to do anything now unless they have the steak and egg breakfast first.

[oettinger]

Nausea is a Whigan, whisky only diet, no meat.
Chef boyar-Hugh is something I wouldn`t serve in jail.
A bag of lays for everyone!

[Thompson]

Nausea is a Whigan, whisky only diet, no meat.
Chef boyar-Hugh is something I wouldn`t serve in jail.
A bag of lays for everyone!

I’ve seen Hugh eat a chicken leg in one of his karaoke videos. The chicken leg looked like it had been sitting in an ashtray for a week. That’s why I was skeptical when the girls told me about Hugh’s Diner on Airline Highway. Then it dawned on me — the chicken leg was a prop. He did it on purpose.

PS — googled Whigan and came up with Wigan. Then it hit me that Nausea is a Vegan. But that can’t possibly be because he doesn’t look sickly at all.

[oettinger]

You`re positive on both

[scream ale]

he doesn’t look sickly at all.

That's the whiskey working it's magic

[Nausea]

he doesn’t look sickly at all.

That's the whiskey working it's magic

Actually, it's the unicorn sperm I snort. I allow myself this one non-vegan option, to stay young and fresh.

Don't worry, the unicorns are free-range. I hunt them on rainbows mostly, and manually extract the sperm.

[scream ale]

Actually, it's the unicorn sperm I snort.

Fuckin druggie

[Thompson]

Has anybody looked at their teeth lately? I mean there really is no need to if you don’t have a toothache. Since I haven’t brushed my teeth (too grueling) in some time I decided to have a look see. I couldn’t find any teeth. There were just a bunch of black nuggets hanging from the inside of my jaw. Kinda scared me to tell the truth. So I quit looking in the mirror.

I remember a Bukowski line that stands out — “I like myself, I just don’t like the way I look in the mirror.” — or something like that. He had a way with words too. I was under the impression the old guy gave up the booze when he was diagnosed with whatever it was that killed him, luekemia (sp) or some shit, but I just finished watching a documentary that proves that incorrect. He was pulling on a bottle of Heineken the night before he went to writer’s heaven, smoking one of those hand rolled jobs of his, and laughing.

[Thompson]

I bought some weed today. They deliver now. Nice guys. You have to follow the rules and choose from the menu. They have acid, mushrooms, vapes too. Very good weed at a very good price. You can’t roll this kinda weed, it’s too sticky and too powerful. You stick a small amount into a small dope pipe and hit on it slow. Brings things into focus. Inventory is what you do. How many beers left? How is the Taaka bottle holding out? Where is the dog? The weed does that shit to you. Then it wears off. Pretty fast. Is it worth it? Sure.

[oettinger]

They have acid

Who does? Sign me up asap!
And yes, I`ll take the elephant dose. My brain needs that much to get funky

[Thompson]

I got on Skype and nobody was there. Rye and Coke was there but he went away.

[Thompson]

So I get in the mail today a letter from Medicare saying my allotment for services has been used up for the year or the rest of my life, I couldn’t tell. In the letter was a list of shit they paid for. “Well, Goddamn,” I said to myself. $3500.00 for a ‘high level’ meeting of the team of doctors to discuss my release options?

I had a big argument with social security about them taking $175.00 a month out of my measly $1200 a month and it was useless. You get social security, you pay for Medicare. So I guess they got what they deserve. I’ll never see the inside of a hospital again as long as I can formulate a thought. I threw away my Medicare card, actually I seem to have lost it, but no never mind. My folder filled with deductible bills owed is getting thick and it will get thicker. Har har. What they gonna do, take my dog?

I guess I should be grateful the doctors eventually got the big ball stuck in my colon out. I came home weighing 97 pounds. Jesus. I went to Walmart to get a belt and the belts were all too big, so I got a pair of overalls instead, small. They told me if I started drinking again it would be curtains. A curtain call, I thought. Set her up then. A bottle of Budweiser, a proper beer glass, and a vodka neat.