Howdja like to wake up in the morning to a massacre? Well that’s what you can expect when you have two killer cats with outdoor access that live in Goddamn Hicksville!
There happens to be a lot of wildlife around here, and I’m not talking about the good kind of wildlife either, where there’s lots of alcohol, spit-swapping and bible-burning involved… or panty-sniffing… that I know about!
I’m talking about animals. I live in the suburbs (which explains a lot of the crappy food I write about, by the way) and the only wildlife we have here are the birds and lizards and chickens and coyotes and… and… and donkeys and the people who ride ‘em!
So I get to wake up and find the dead body parts of creatures my cats killed and see and blood splattered all over my kitchen, which is interesting because I wonder how those damn cats knew that’s where food was prepared in the first place?
Yep. My two adorable, sweet, fluffy, purry cats are murderers-in-the-night. I have woken up to bird and lizard pieces strewn about my floor countless times! I’m afraid to walk barefoot in my own home, just in case I step on something that needed to be cooked! Well, at least the bird parts, I’m not into lizards… unless they’re on a handbag.
Okay, okay, I don’t really mean that, I love all wildlife and it pains me to know that these poor, innocent creatures were subject to a serial killer! I mean, howdja like to wake up to sweet little Fluffy standing on your chest holding a serrated knife and exhaling bad breath in your face?! Remind you of an ex-lover maybe?
Food massacre, that’s what these Goddamn furry things are really into, not the belly-rubbing and chin-scratching that they’d have me believe! They’re blood-thirsty killers, and not only that, they wanna make me their accomplice by bringing the dead bodies into my house! I don’t want any part of it, and if it continues, I’m gonna have to call the Goddamn dumb cops! Oh yeah, right. Can you imagine how that’d go down? I mean, I know cops are stupid as hell but they’re not that stupid! Wait…
Anyway yeah, food massacre. Doesn’t sound good to me either but that’s what we got when I brought a big group of my hikers to Draught’s Pizza in Thousand Oaks. We had just finished a grueling 1.5 mile hike and walked into the joint like a mob and took over, which was a good thing since the place was half-empty. It was a Sunday after all, I’m sure all those wild Thousand Oaks residents must have had a helluva weekend and decided to stay in.
They had lots and lots of beer on tap, which made my group of mini alcoholics very happy, so that was good. But the pizza? Eww, bad. I ordered their gourmet thin crust Margarita pizza and the only thing that saved it was the fresh basil, everything else sucked. Their dough just didn’t taste good and they used tomato paste as pizza sauce so it was cloyingly sweet (plus the deep red color made me think of the blood splatter in my kitchen). Where’s the fresh sauce? Where’s the dense, chewy dough, where’s the dead animal? Well I can tell you it’s not here.
Our server, if that’s what you wanna call him, was stuffing his face instead of giving us food to stuff ours with, and I was almost jealous since he got to eat before we did. There’s nothing like watching your server eat on the line, wipe his grubby hands on his black uniform and then proceed to serve you your food. I wonder where else his hands were that night? Hmm, why’d I have to go there?
There was one saving grace about the place and that was the beer. I had a Pilsner and it was very cold and refreshing. Everyone was enjoying their beer too, so I guess that means they serve good beer. Plus, they have a lot of it, so if you’re into beer and don’t give a shit where you drink it, go here. And if you wanna see a food massacre go here… or come to my place.
398 N. Moorpark Rd.
Thousand Oaks, CA