One day, Chef Gordon Ramsay came to our humble little banged up cafe. He said he liked the look of the place and just thought he'd swing by and hang out. We were pretty chuffed.
Then when he sat down, he pulled out his little Despicable Me lunch box and tucked right in. We were not pretty chuffed any more.
Sure, Chef Ramsay is a legendary chef, and probably even a pretty good one, and his lunch box food might even be a little bit better than our food.
Still. Really. What was he thinking? Why did this otherwise intelligent person who surely had the inkling of a clue of what it's like to try to make a living selling food think it was okay to bring his own food into our cafe? And take up valuable seating during our very small window of opportunity (lunchtime)? What was he thinking? Was he on crack?
Minions were dispatched to inform Chef The Dreaded One. Needless to say, Chef The Dreaded One was displeased. Actually, saying she was displeased is an understatement on par with saying Donald Trump is “a bit of a nong.”
Cue
the theme from The Good, The Bad & The Ugly...
“But I thought you were called The Dreaded One,” Chef Ramsay whimpered at the end of the hellish blast of tirade, “because of your lovely dreadlocks.”
Another hellish blast of tirade.
“Oh God no, you're absolutely right,” Chef Ramsay sobbed, tears streaming down his face like tropical rain, his chin wobbling like world peace. “What was I thinking? How could I have been so inconsiderate to think it was okay to bring my own food into your tiny little establishment? You'd have to be a complete nitwit to think that that was okay, and I doubt that any of your customers are nitwits. Oh nit me I'm a nitting good chef, but I'm nitting shit as a considerate human being.”
(Clearly, this was fiction. Although if Gordon did come into the cafe I'd like to see a head to head with him and The Dreaded One).
“But I thought you were called The Dreaded One,” Chef Ramsay whimpered at the end of the hellish blast of tirade, “because of your lovely dreadlocks.”
Another hellish blast of tirade.
“Oh God no, you're absolutely right,” Chef Ramsay sobbed, tears streaming down his face like tropical rain, his chin wobbling like world peace. “What was I thinking? How could I have been so inconsiderate to think it was okay to bring my own food into your tiny little establishment? You'd have to be a complete nitwit to think that that was okay, and I doubt that any of your customers are nitwits. Oh nit me I'm a nitting good chef, but I'm nitting shit as a considerate human being.”
(Clearly, this was fiction. Although if Gordon did come into the cafe I'd like to see a head to head with him and The Dreaded One).
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