I went to a shitty circus the other night.
I was ultimately entertained though because of the fact that you can find lots of entertainment value in something like a shitty circus! Probably more so than a snotty circus, since at a snotty circus, you’re expected to be entertained because you’ve paid good money for it, where as with a shitty circus, you haven’t, so you’re not.
It did cost good money for the entertainment value I got, and when I say value, I don’t mean value as it refers to something of value monetarily, and thus being equally compensated. What I mean is the value of the realization that what I was going to get, was equal to the absurdity of the fact that it turned out not to be the value I was expecting just because I paid good money for it!
And there are two obvious, yet opposing facts to this entire scenario if you haven’t already figured them out: one is that you don’t always get what you pay for, since, in my case, I paid good money for a shitty circus, and the other is that you do get what you pay for, since, in my case, I was able to find entertainment value in something shitty that cost a lot!
Just to give you an idea of the value of the evening, the performer’s costumes looked like something you’d pick up at the drug store for Halloween; you know, the kind that dissolves if it gets wet. Then you had the performers themselves; every other one of ’em weren’t what you would refer to as “svelte”. They’re the ones that initially applied for the snotty circuses… circus’es, circus’s, circus’… and were told that perhaps they should try Circus Vargas instead, the one I went to!
The meal I had afterwards was shitty too, yet I’m not sure I found any value in it. I’ll get to that in a minute because first I need to point out the most absurd thing about this entire story: I didn’t pay for any of it because I went with my friend “Go Bears!” Kellie, and she treated me that night! But she happens to agree with everything I just said, so just replace her name with any of the subjective personal pronouns in the above paragraphs and the outcome will be the exact same.
So anyway we ended up going to Pickles Deli in Newbury Park after the circus, and I was really hungry by then since watching a shitty performance really gives me an appetite, so I picked the biggest dish on the menu, which was Danny’s Famous Broasted Chicken.
Broasted was not what I expected it to be though. You’d think it was a combination of the words “broiled” and “roasted”, right? Well so did I, but apparently it means “fried”, since that’s how the chicken came out. Yep, it was fried chicken alright, sure as the sky is blue, and I knew this because it was super crispy on the outside and dry as cardboard in the middle, with an oily, crispy coating, and you can’t get it that way by broiling and roasting!
I guess Pickles seems to think that they can call it whatever they want and send it out fried because who the hell knows what broasted is anyway, is that even a cooking method? And why can’t they just call it what it is: fried?! I mean, call me stupid, but when it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a goddamned fried chicken!
I’m not sure that they’ve told Danny about this either… I’m not even sure that Danny makes the goddamned dish… I don’t even know who the hell Danny is… and why is his goddamned, stupid dish famous?! What’s it famous for, lying it’s ass off, confusing the customer?!! Not only that, but at the entrance, they have a giant sign showing their Certificate of Excellence award given to them by Tripadvisor! Really?! Who was the asshole that decided they deserved that? Was his goddamned name Danny from Circus Vargas?!
I’ve been trying to watch my waistline but I was starving so I ate some of my FRIED chicken anyway, but I wasn’t enjoying it since I was expecting BROILED and ROASTED (or roasted, then broiled) but it was too late to change because it takes Danny (or whoever the moron is that does the cooking) 15 minutes to prepare it, and I wasn’t going to wait for another dish to come out and get disappointed all over again!
I think I should get a Certificate Of Excellence For Eating Goddamned Food That Isn’t What You Were Told It Was Going To Be!
1940 Newbury Rd.
Newbury Park, CA