I had a nightmare last night.
I dreamt that the local Casa Bonita was closing and we had to have
One. Last. Meal.
Casa Bonita is like a Taco Bell that serves beer and if any restaurant deserved to go out of business it’s this one. First of all, the food is, well, let’s not go there. Second, they encourage families to bring kids and, well, let’s not go there, either. Finally they serve cheap, flat, tasteless beer and, you know, we shouldn’t go there, no sir.
Rather than go to Casa Bonita short of an apocalypse, I’ll buy some good Mex-Tex-to-go at a hole-in-the-wall place where the cook is getting yelled at by his wife and his kids are whacking cockroaches with a hammer, buy a six-pack of Bohemia and I’m rocking.
Pull my finger in the morning.
Anyway, back to the entertainment, my nightmare. I was standing there with a bunch of kids. It was a birthday party and I was in charge. I remember thinking that I could sprout wings and simply fly away but every time I looked behind me another kid appeared.
Across the street was my favorite Mex-Tex restaurant, Pico’s. The Pico Toucan was winking at me and holding a giant 128-oz frozen margarita. Scantily clad Picochita’s were scurrying around taking orders from excited customers and squealing their way into the kitchen where you could hear in the background…
“Junior, you worthless slob, I need Enchilada Dinner Numero Uno right now! Right now, do you hear me! Don’t make me come back there and kick your ass…”
Ah, the restaurant biz. Nothing like it.
Meanwhile, in my dream, Casa Bonita became more surreal.
“Penguin, party of four! Penguin, party of four!”
A troupe of 400 penguins strolled past me. I pondered on setting a table for 400. Do they need highchairs? I could see the server taking orders: Fish tacos? Very nice choice, and you m’am? Fish tacos? My favorite and you sir? Fish tacos, they’re very good today. And you, m’am? Fish tacos, we’re featuring salmon, is that OK? Great! And you sir? Fish tacos, it’s our specialty. Sir? Undecided? May I suggest Fish Tacos, they’re very good today. Fish tacos? You won’t be disappointed. M’am? Fish tacos, very nice choice…
I looked down and the kids were now wearing little tuxedos. They looked like penguins but with kid faces.
“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
The kidguins were jumping up and down and chanting in unison: Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Exasperated, I threw my arms wide and shouted, “I haven’t had four 128-ounce margaritas! Hell, no, we ain’t there yet!”
At my shouting the kidquins got all quiet when all of a sudden the ground started to tremble. Something big was happening, but what?
Without warning a Southwest Airlines 737 painted like Namu broke through the ice, it’s nose cone opened to reveal gigantic teeth (Note to Self: be more polite to SWA ticket agents in the future.) and chomped down on the kidquins snapping them all up in one ferocious bite! The Namu Whale Plane nosed over into the hole in the ice, the legs of little kidquins kicking into the thin air.
As suddenly as the Whale Plane had appeared, it was gone.
Quiet descended. I was alone. My heart was pounding. Oh, the humanity! All those kidquins! Their parents, their friends! What will I do?
I heard a whistle and looked up. The Pico’s Parrot was beckoning me to come over. He had a 128-ounce margarita in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other. A Picobabe was giving him a neck message. He jerked his head but didn’t speak. Whatever, I heard “Come on over, big guy.”
I looked back at the wreckage of Casa Bonita, heard the sirens in the distance and knew that I didn’t want to be answering any questions.
Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a 20. The Parrot winked. As I strolled across the street, nonchalant-like, I thought