Billboard's Top Twenty restuarant review
by Mark on 12/12/2003 (5)
Armed with a 25 dollar stipend from my cheapskate editor Kris Steele, I managed to reserve a table for one at L.A.'s newest restaurant, Billboard's top 20.
I admit I was a bit apprehensive about dining at Billboard's new restaurant in L.A. Ater a 4 hour wait at the door,I squeezed into a tiny table facing a huge video screen playing a "50 cent" video. I ordered the "top twenty", a grand 20 entre' dining extravaganza. The waitress brought a giant plate to my table, and on it were a variety of recognizable fare, with one odd difference, they were all merged together in a strange admixture of cuisines.
I identified fried chicken, Pop-Tarts, filet mignon, cheeseburger and fries, curried lamb and tacos all on one serving, the sauces and marinades running together. I tasted each one, which were good to excellent in themselve, but were revolting when mixed together. I asked the waitress why this was done this way, and she replied droningly:
It's our credo at Billboard to give you a non-biased sampling of America's favorite flavors, as determined by overall sales and computer downloads. What you are eating sir, is what all of America craves in good eating!"
Dipping a piece of country fried steak into a mix of lemon chiffon tuna melt, I felt my stomach lurch.
I groped for the nearest beverage, took a swig, and projectiled it across the dining room.
"W-W-hat is THAT?!"
I croaked
"Sir, that's our premier beverage. It;s a mixture of Moet champagne, grape pop, and strawberry milk shake, we call it Champopple!"
Wiping my chin like an drooling idiot chimp, I gasped:
"T-t-that's AWFUL!"
Taking another bite, this time of squid sushi and chocolate mousse with a Red Bull chaser, I felt my colon schism into a wrenching paroxysm of spasms. I had had enough. I threw in my napkin and demanded the check. Sneeringly, the waitress sauntered off. After a few minutes a blond haired girl came with my check.
Struggling to remain conscious, my eyes opened wider than bugs on a dinner plate.
The hostess bringing...my... bill was CELINE DION!!
AUUGGGHH!!!
Unconscious and comatose, Motz was rushed to L.A. general for detoxification, and afterward was admitted to a media deprivation farm for 3 months of quiet recuperation, where he was placed on a strict diet regime of American cheese, wadded up balls of crustless Wonder Bread, and endless re-runs of a Charlie Brown Christmas Special played on a 13 inch rotary dial color TV.
Motz quips:
"For the first time in 5 years, I can see more than ten feet in front of me, and there ain't a tattooed booty ass shakin' in my face."
Editor Kris Steele is reportedly still trying to recover the 25 dollar stipend, citing: "There ain't no "me" in team, and they're ain't no free lunches, neither!"
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