Collard breath…


south of the Mason/Dixon people is the south

…may be the most rancid smell on the face of the earth outside of the shitters in Afghanistan.

I’ll explain. I technically grew up in the south, as you can see with this graphic depiction to the left of this blurb. See Maryland IS part of the South non-believers! Because of this, I am in love with southern food. Fried anything, BBQ any style, stewed tomatoes and corn, cornbread both sweet and jalapeno-y, red beans and rice, Cajun or creole, and of course collard greens. Maybe I have a little more “soul” in me than most from my area, but I just love me some southern food.

Being an adventurous eater, I know that some food items don’t truly agree with me though I love them. One of these happens to be collards. Not thinking clearly, I ordered a batch from Fat Fish Blue in Orlando the other night (best meal I have had in a while. Fried chicken with their own recipe, mashed reds, red beans and rice, and an order of collards) and it was possibly the best collards I have ever eaten. Everyone at the table tried them, most for the first time, and all agreed they were great.

From the restaurant to the Adobe Gilas, the bar next door, to see our favorite bartender Roxann. A couple of beers, a congratulatory shot for killing the Surf Expo and life is good. An hour passes and still no thought has gone into the fact that I ate collards. That is until I started talking to this girl who met up with our crew. We were introduced and began talking about nothing when I felt a little gasey. No toots per se (mom hates the word fart so I wont use it here) but I did have to burp. It was a tiny one, just a one second, one syllable burp, but from the depths of hell arose Satan’s rotting dung pile…all from my mouth.

When that smell hit my nose just above my lip, I was taken aback and knew there was no way of hiding that one. She looked at me in horror and screamed “OH MY GOD!” while holding her nose and retreating to the other side of the bar. Literally screamed. I was mortified, but found it so funny that I could not stop laughing. She also found it funny and proceeded to tell the entire bar that I had garbage mouth from eating a kale like leafy green. She told all the girls she had come with so there goes that chance and she told all my friends. My friends, being the friends they are, didn’t have gum, didn’t look for any gum, and would rather watch me squirm the rest of the night as I unleashed putrefying flesh burps into the common space of the bar.

I eventually found some Jolly Ranchers, which I also got made fun of for having, but I needed something to mask my butt mouth. I was asked if I was six years old because no one eats JRs anymore, but I replied that I was happily 30. Silly broads thinking I was six and in a bar. I eventually wised up and walked outside every time that I felt the dead rising. This became rather tedious, but necessary if I was going to make or maintain friends at this establishment.

Even poor Chris of Ogden Clothing and Joe of Sharing the Stoke got crop dusted at one point and had to hold their noses. Their faces were priceless and I would not change this night one bit. Well except for Chris and I paying for every drink in the bar. I think we could have done without that. Sometimes I get a little too excited and forget that I am not made of money…yet. I said “yet” ladies.

Know how to make any sentence creepier? Add the word “ladies” at the end of it as illustrated in the statement above.

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