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 Crawfish DiabloPosted 01.14.2003 by Skup (10)
A few months ago, I had gone out to one of my favorite pubs, a little place called R.P. McMurphey's in Wyandotte. It's a great Irish pub with a really nice menu and a good selection of drinks. I had originally gone in hopes that they'd have the blackened grouper, which is quite yummy. Unfortunately, it wasn't available, so I decided to try something different.
I ordered a dish called "Crawfish Diablo." I'm always open to new experiences -- but this is one time close-mindedness would have saved me some agony. Crawfish Diablo is a Cajun dish. It's very spicy and served with some kind of red pepper sauce. Let me tell you: it does NOT mix well with alcohol -- which, unfortunately, is the other reason I go to R.P.'s. They're one of the few places that carry Baker's Small Batch bourbon. Having finished my meal and a few drinks, I went home. On the way, I got the strangest feeling in my stomach; similar to the feeling you get at the bottom of a large hill on a roller coaster. But I belched a hearty belch, and the feeling passed. This should have been a warning of things to come. Upon getting home, I checked my answering machine. My girlfriend had called. Being chivalrous and gentlemanly, I returned her call and invited her over. While I was on the phone, I poured myself another bourbon from the bottle in the cupboard. This led to another bourbon, and another... by the time she got there, I had in the neighborhood of 7 or 8 stiff drinks in me. I was obviously feeling a little tipsy. To make it worse, the feeling from earlier had returned; the crawfish were clawing at my insides. Her and I are quite comfortable in our relationship, so I had no problem with excusing myself to the facilities. Diablo had awakened. Sitting down on the throne, I could feel my bowels churning something fierce. Then, it happened: the lord of terror unleashed his fury, in the form of the most horrible fluid imaginable launching from my anal cave. My only complaint about Cajun is that it burns worse on the way out; my bunghole was on fire, and the stench was growing thick. My already-irritated stomach audibly voiced its unhappiness. Unfortunately, since I live in a townhouse, the lower bathroom has no tub, and I couldn't reach the sink. So I removed the trash bag from the garbage can and wedged it conveniently between my legs. By this time, my girlfriend was starting to ask if I was OK. With the noises echoing from my underside, I responded with "Yearphf" as my stomach decided to empty itself in a fashion opposite that of my colon. As a result of combining Cajun crawfish and Kentucky bourbon, I spent the next thirty minutes of my girlfriend's visit sweating, gagging, and launching putridness from both ends while she waited patiently for me in the front room, listening to the whole thing. One would think I'd have learned my lesson from the experience. I'm not that bright. A week later I returned to R.P.'s and ordered -- you guessed it -- the Crawfish Diablo. Later in the evening, I went to another bar I frequent. That became the first time I was ever cut off at the bar for emptying my stomach in the bathroom stall. I think the bouncer's comment was something like, "Man... If I gotta clean up a mess like that, you DON'T need any more to drink." I've since quit ordering the Crawfish. -- Skup Post new comment
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