There is one of just two things I think about during my last class of the day. I think of dinner, specifically what I want to make, and I think of RollerCoaster Tycoon. If I were to tell someone what I'm most passionate about, truly interested in, it would be building theme parks and cooking. I can't come up with anything that might incorporate these two lovely activities, aside from baking cakes that look like roller coasters. Bakers are fags, so that idea's out.
I'm left with . . . what? A dream unfulfilled? Hell no, I'm too persistent to give up that easy. I've decided on a course of action that I feel will suitably cater to my unique needs. Much like a special ed teacher, I approach this situation with caution. Always I'm mindful of flying feces and retarded fists of fury. I'm a cowboy taming a wild bronco bucking about like a palsy victim.
That imagery is probably more than is needed to truly explain this idea. I'd like to be Wolfgang Puck or Emeril Lagasse, but still retain my heterosexuality. You see, these two fun bags got down and dirty in Orlando. Emeril kicked it up a notch and hung out for a while at Universal Studios while Wolfgang most likely sucked off Micheal Eisner to get that awesome gig in that mega-verse of theme parks.
The beauty here is that these two can hang out in a damned amusement park all day if they so desire and they have throngs of fans willing to pay exorbitant prices to dine in their restaurants. Then, every time some unsuspecting Asian tourist happens along and gets the false impression that these two are the coolest cooks in America, he goes back to where he came from and spreads the word. If Emeril were so inclined, he could go to Japan and be knee deep in pint sized pussy. If only Alton Brown or me had there gig ...
But, look at the life of luxury these two titans of chef-ery enjoy; they can ride all the sweet rides they want, cook whatever the hell they want and call it delicious, and then they slam all the Asian tail they want until sunrise. Lather, rinse and repeat until they grow old and die.
What I don't really understand is how these two get by in America when neither of these top chefs can speak English. Emeril does his best impression of a retarded southerner while Wolfgang speaks like he's from wherever the hell he's from. I didn't bother to look this up, he's from Norway or Sweden or some fucking place, I don't live in Europe, they're all the same to me.
I figure if I can break onto this sweet scene, all these glories could be mine... and then some. You see, I would organize my Asian followers into a tiny band of marauders pillaging the countryside until one of these theme parks would let me design a roller coaster. I've all the experience I would ever need in this line of work from all my years of designing coasters on my computer. Here, everything comes full circle, back to daydreaming about RollerCoaster Tycoon and cooking dinner.
