Funny – Just too funny, but so real!

Dinosaur Trader is a stock trader. He writes about the daytrading lifestyle, parenthood, marriagehood and the often combustible mixture of the three. He created the stock blogosphere in 2007.

The other evening, Judy took our daughters out to a “book party.” That meant I had 4 hours all to myself. The first thing I did, was to call in a “Mardi Gras.” The “Mardi Gras” is a pizza, but calling it a pizza is like callingMelissa Theuriau a “woman.”

To be absolutely clear, the “Mardi Gras” is the best pizza ever conceived by man.

It’s loaded with shrimp, jalapenos, andouille sausage, tabasco, and onions. It’s truly a “man’s pie.” The “Mardi Gras” is so deadly that it been questioned for its possible role in the Gilgo Beach killings. After I eat a “Mardi Gras” Judy will avoid me for a full day because you don’t digest a “Mardi Gras” as you do normal food. Instead, you sweat it out. You breathe it out.

Anyway, I drove the 20 minutes to the pizza place. I hadn’t been there in awhile, but I found an old promotion punchcard in my wallet… one of those things where if you buy 10 pizzas, you get the next one free. Ours had been punched 7 times.

I handed it over with $40 to the girl behind the counter (the “Mardi Gras is a $24 pie). She looked at the card like it was some weird crazy thing that confused her. She cocked her head, made a WTF? kind of face and walked into the kitchen holding my card up to the light as if to verify it was a real object. She also took my $40.

I stood at the counter and stared longingly at my pie sitting atop the pizza oven. A TV was tuned to Fox News and some lobotomized looking man sat at a table, watching the show and nodding while practically drooling all over himself.

“Fucking lemmings,” I thought.

A fat woman swung open the kitchen door.

“We don’t take these anymore,” she said, holding up the promotion card as if it were a toddler’s dirty diaper.

I stood there, blinking wordlessly for a moment while she continued.

“Oh yeah, we stopped using them a loooong time ago.” Obviously, she added this last bit in order to emphasize the fact that I hadn’t dined there in so long that I was completely out of touch with their policies. Therefore I didn’t deserve much respect.

She was a big woman with many creases.

She reached up, grabbed the pizza box and slid the pie across the counter to me, all the while staring me dead in the eye.

Due to the confusion with the card, the intimidation by the creased woman or my elation at just having the pie in my hands, I forgot to pick up my change. Like a pervert buying a porn mag, I made a quick exit while averting any unnecessary eye contact with the other patrons. I walked nervously to my car and sped off.

I didn’t realize that I had paid $40 for my pizza until I was nearly home. I thought about turning around right then, but instead thought of “the creased one” and told myself that I’d just call the restaurant and pick up the money the next time I was in the area. I was really hungry and just wanted to get inside to be alone with my “Mardi Gras.”

I pressed a little harder on the gas pedal and made it home in record time, narrowly avoiding a raccoon as I made a quick turn onto my block. I bounced over the curb and parked hastily in my driveway.

“Mardi Gras” in hand, I marched triumphantly and purposefully towards the back door. I grappled my keychain with my right hand while holding the “Mardi Gras” with my left, all the while balancing on my left leg as my right held the screen door open.

As I stood there balancing, I realized the real problem… I didn’t have my house key.

Part 2 tomorrow.  The Reformed Broker by Dinosaur Trader