Clean Living in the Great Midwest


by JRM

April 20, 2005

So I’m at the Home Country Buffet shoveling chicken and dumplins into my face at an accelerated rate, wondering to myself how some of these pathetic patrons would survive without the place. Suddenly I catch a glimpse of a dog’s wagging tail out of the corner of my eye. Although it’s odd, I don’t think too much of it. I see all sorts of weird shit at the Home Country Buffet – people wheeling around oxygen tanks with them, people so obese that they have to get the ‘wait staff’ to go get their food for them (all the while yelling what they’re hungry for from the table, “don’t gimme nonna dem damn sweet pertaters, ya’ll overcook ‘em here! Git me somma dat cheesy-rice instead!”), people viciously beating their children at the table and other assorted oddities.

I figure that if a dog could open the door and give the seven-hundred year old lady at the front counter eight bucks, he should be allowed to eat there. Besides, the dog would probably be much better behaved than half of the kids in there. I think nothing more of it, go about my business and move on to the spaghetti.

So now I’ve got my face as close to the plate as possible so that I can minimize the time it takes me to get the food from the table to my head. It is my goal to finish this plate and then get more plates to finish so that I might maximize my steam-table-cafeteria-food consumption during the hour that I am allotted for lunch by my place of employment. In short, I’m a fat piece of shit and I’m not paying one bit of attention to what’s going on in the restaurant.

Just then, the damn dog walks right past my table. Following closely behind the dog was the single greatest pair of legs I have ever seen in my entire life. As I have allowed my priorities to be set by my most primitive human instincts, spaghetti quickly became very unimportant.

As they walked away, my eyes followed those legs up to an unbelievable ass. I followed the ass up to a t-shirt that was loosely enveloped around a perfectly toned back. I followed the back up to the two little bumps that were the hooks of her brassiere, and the brassiere up to straight, pure blond hair. Holy Jesus! There was smokin’ hot chick in the Home Country Buffet! Why in the hell is there a hot chick in the Home Country Buffet? A hot chick in the Home Country Buffet is as out of place as a duck in a titty bar.

She and the dog sat down and she quietly began to eat her lunch, taking dainty little bites (dainty little bites also have no place at the Home Country Buffet). As I was gawking, I realized why this dainty hot woman was eating at the Home Country Buffet with a dog. She is blind and she was walking around running errands. She got hungry and told the dog it was time to go somewhere to eat. The service animal obviously saw the Home Country Buffet and realized that it was a place where people eat. Then the dog smelled the Home Country Buffet and recognized that they also had hot dog food available.

I’m not personal friends with any blind people, but over the years, I’ve been around quite a few folks who happened to have been blind. Some of them were born without the gift of sight and some of them have lost it through accident or disease. I’ve seen old blind people, young blind people, rich blind people, broke blind people, fat blind people and thin blind people. But I have never, ever, in all of my time on this planet, seen a fucking drop-dead-gorgeous blind person. And with that, all kinds of inappropriate questions flooded to the front of my tiny little brain:

1. Have you always been blind? ‘Cause if you have, is there any way that you can begin to appreciate just how attractive you are?

2. Hey, you know how they say when you lose one of your senses, all of your other senses get sharper to make up for it? Do you sit at home and touch your own face? While your enhanced sense of touch, I have to know, what does an orgasm feel like for you?

2. I’ve read that each of these dogs is trained with a specific owner in mind. Since you’re hot, did they teach the dog to attack the ugly people who hit on you?

3. If we got together and I closed my eyes so that nobody saw anything, is it still adultery?

Alas, I began to feel guilty and let her eat her lunch in piece…never to know the answer to anything. At least I had an endless supply of chicken and dumplins to keep me company.

Okay, that’s all I have…sorry. Maybe next week.



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