| rev:text
| - So you're with a bunch of people who like chicken fried steak, and they say, hey theres this steak house you should try with us. This should be your first warning. If a steak house is known for its chicken fried steak, something is not right.
Maybe you're different, maybe you think, sure, they like chicken fried steak, and I like fried asshole. Then this is your place!
Now, you go in, and ahh the ambiance, shit on the walls as far as the eye can see, oh and not just the walls, the ceiling as well! Its jam packed, you can't hear the person in front of you, you're thinking, when's the last time they dusted all this crap? How much falls in my food from the lazy ceiling fans.
Its hot and a bit humid to, maybe to recreate that true texas experience?
So you order your tbone, medium rare, side of mashed potatoes and hell, some okra while you're at it. Good okra is hard to find in these parts.
The okra, crispy, soft inside (once its done being molten lava), perfect. Don't bother with the sauce unless your garnish for okra is tartar sauce.
Hey, a side salad come with it! Oh, the tiny diced tomatoes, ice burg lettuce, and what an interesting mix, diced green olives all over the top, in giant piles.
Now your entree comes, but the waitress, if you're lucky, has worked there 4 years! Shes got a blond dye job, too much eye makeup, and a perm. She makes sure to leave every single dish on the table, just in case you missed one delicious crumb. At some point she might drop by one basket of rolls, for a table of 8. The buttermilk ones taste homemade, not bad!
Oh yes, the entree, a tbone, super thin, in what is that? Its pooling everywhere, oh god the grease. You did order your steak with a large slathering of grease right? Well those mashed potatoes, which are thick and standard, are drenched in heavy white gravy, and all the blandness of the gravy helps soak up all that grease!
So you're almost done with your food, omg, your giant glass is empty? Where was that waitress? Oh don't worry, just grab her by the arm and she'll try to remember to refill your drink. And those extra plates, well if they're really bothering you you can ask a bus person to take them, though you might as well be asking them to lick your shoe (or eat what you just did).
Now you're full, you've paid, and because of its "prime" location, you get to cross a busy intersection to get to the car you had to park across the street.
Might as well just wait to get home to pee too, its sweltering in there, more crap on the walls and ceiling, and you pretty much have to stand on the toilet to get the stall door closed.
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