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Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Dispatch: Fried Green Funkhouser

Quick flashback - when we were in the suite waiting for my piPhone to charge, Funkhouser gestured to the artwork on the wall and rambled about Stefon and what if this were hair and the next thing I knew he was crouching behind the bar, posing.

Posted with permission:

Funkhauser, doing his best Stefon, with props
Funkhouser doing his best Stefon, in his Yellow period.
We perused the menu at Hash House a go go at the Linq after getting the appropriate memorized and spoken too quickly greeting from our young but probably efficient five foot tall chipmunk of a server. He left us with the menus, scurried off, and we started browsing.

"Wow, so many things look great... I've heard that each dish here is enough for two people," I said.

"Yeah, I've heard that... big portions..." said Funkhouser.

We browsed.

"There's so much wasted food in the world - it makes me crazy when people take way more than they can eat at the buffet and just... throw it away! They don't even eat it! And, meanwhile - meanwhile, Funkhouser, meanwhile - lonely hungry people are starving in the Deserted Sands Retirement Citadel just down the road from Circus Circus."

"You want an appetizer?" asked Funkhouser.

I looked up at him. I might have glared a bit. Then I noticed that there were Fried Green Tomatoes on the menu.

"You know," I said, "There's this rumored secret pig farm, hidden within the city that - supposedly - they send all the buffet waste to."


"Yes, really. Well, guess what? Apparently, it's really true. They feed it to the pigs."


"No, really! And the guy's farm with the buffet pigs has been there so long that Vegas has grown around it. He stands to make a pigshitload if he ever sells the land."



"Ok, sure, you want the Fried Green Tomatoes?"

"You know what, I've never had them, but always wanted to try them. At least, ever since Ninny Threadgoode, an outgoing old woman, told the story of Idgie Threadgoode in that movie of the same name. Not sure about the 'secret is in the sauce' dressing though."

I know what you're thinking. It was complete stupid fat-mouthed folly to order an appetizer in Hash House a go go - but what the fuck, you only have your stomach pumped once! I wanted to try them F.G.T.s!!!

Then, for inexplicable reasons, I took a picture of the table, sort of. Ok, well, they inexplicably had arranged the napkins and cutlery into long black fingery things and arranged them in an inexplicable X. What the shit this has to do with anything about the farm food, I don't know.
"Inexplicable, with Traveller." from Funkhouser's Black period, photographed by Flushi Pantz.
(Do some of you not know what a traveller is? It's a To-Go cup. Full of Likker. That you stumble around with. Maybe its a Canadian thing, I don't know. The name, that is, not the stumbling around part. That part's inter-fucking-national!)

So we ordered the Fried Green Tomato appetizer. One thing I like about Funk, he's really easygoing when it comes to this stuff. He put it to me, I could order whatever and he'd share, or we could do the tomatoes, or something else... didn't matter. Hell, I could have ordered the Delivered-in-your-Pooper Flaming Farm Kebab Surprise and he wouldn't have blinked an eye (at first).

I really don't know why they put the Delivered-in-your-Pooper Flaming Farm Kebab Surprise on the menu, complete with a full description and a glossy photo. I mean...the fuck?????

It ruins the surprise.

We went back menu-hunting and I figured it would be smart to order the Hash House a go go's signature dish - the Rosemarie Fried Chicken and Waffles Sky High Cholesterol Tower. Funkhouser settled on Meatloaf and Taters on a Mack Truck Hubcap.

The F.G.T.s arrived and... wow. Why did nobody ever tell me that Fried Green Tomatoes were deep fried with a batter? You could put, dammit, what?... a fucking bar coaster in there and it would come out golden brown, delicious, and with 36% of your daily fibre needs. But with green tomatoes in... it was tastebuddy heaven.

Hash House a Go Go at the Linq Fried Green Tomatoes
Who's drooling?... You are.
We ate our tomatoes dipped in the Secret's in the Sauce sauce and sipped our travellers and within a very reasonable time these - gargantuan - meals appeared. Holy dogshit, Batman!

I mean, look at these fucking things!

Hash House a go go at the Linq Chicken and Waffles
Hash House a go go at the Linq Chicken and Waffles

Hash House a go go at the Linq Chicken and Waffles
Still Hash House a go go at the Linq Chicken and Waffles

Hash House a go go at the Linq Meatloaf
Hash House a go go at the Linq Meat Loaf on a Mack Truck Hubcap a la CTUG!
My 'meal' was two complete Rosemarie Fried Chicken Breasts. I don't know who Rosemarie is, but give that bitch a raise! They rested on a king-size bed of four dense waffles with...

...wait for it...


(And no $2 additional!)

So now, we were faced with a ridiculous amount of food. Enough for about seven people. I decided to focus on the two deep fried deliciously coated chicken breasts. And I managed one waffle. And a bit of Funk's meat loaf, which came with gooey cheese underneath and was delicious also. And the last of the F.G.T.

I've always been careful not to overeat because it sneaks up on me and I'm in agony for a few hours if I overdo it. It was hard not to overeat.

We did the best we could, and I felt not too bad - all that was left on my platter was 18 square feet of bacon-infused waffle - and Funk asked for a styrofoam shamer-container for the six pounds of meat loaf that he couldn't finish, and that still graced his cheesy hub cap.

The efficient 'here again gone again' little chipmunk appeared here again - kind of like the Great Gazoo, but without the sound effects. Okay, and with fur. And a white stripe down his back. Like that guy Jack and his sister. And so what if I'm over describing the twitchy little fucker?

He did all the things he should do, by the book, quickly, efficiently, like a pro, wasting no time. The bill would go to Funk's room where his host would take care of it - Thank You, Funkhouser!!! - blah blah blah, come see us again, it's been a pleasure serving you, flit, flit, flit, tail raised, ready to jump.

I was sure he was about to run up the wall into the ether, and just before he could wiggle his nose or pull his dick or whatever it was that triggered his magic chipmunk waiter transmogrification into the nether-world... I stopped him.

"One thing... serious question."

"Yes.... what is it?"

"Ok, these are really big portions right? Huge portions..."

He started to spout some company-provided giggly line about it.

"No, wait - really, the food was delicious, no complaints. Great service - but really... what about all the waste?"

He looked at me and his chippy-cheeked facade dropped for the first time.

He leaned in.

"OK, well..."


"There's this pig farm..."


    1. Is there really a pig farm?
      Or is it code for the now closed Glitter Gulch?

    2. Alas Robert Combs the guy who raised more than a quarter of a million pigs at R.C. Farms in North Las Vegas since 1963, sold the place in early 2017. So all the little piggies finally went to market.


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