Bill O'Reilly Waits On Your Table

oreillyHello, and welcome to the AHOY 05 Grille, “the home of fare that’s balanced.”

I’m Bill, your humble server, and this is my No-Spill Zone.

As for tonight’s menu: I recite, you decide!

Our special is meatloaf, not to be confused with the fat, moronic singer, of whom I offer no opinion. It comes with your choice of potato: mashed, baked or freedom-fried.

Here at AHOY, we don’t do rice pilaf. You want pilaf? GO TO HELL! The U.S. Constitution gives you the right to eat like a pansy, but as far as I’m concerned, if you want rice pilaf, you’re some quasi-socialistic, National Public Radio nutcase, and frankly, Tinkerbell, you make me puke. You know who’d order rice pilaf? Al Franken. Guy thinks he’s funny. Hates the United States of America. One of these days, he’s gonna get a knock on the door. End of problem. You want pilaf, OUT, GET OUT, NOW! BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT!

Don’t me wrong. Here at AHOY, the customer is always right, unless she's some lying, left-wing shakedown tramp. I’m talking about the most evil woman that ever lived, worse than what I've met in the back rooms of Thailand sex clubs. Great boobs, though. She comes to work here wants a peek at the menu. So I suggest a hot shower in my hotel room, where I’ll rub her with a Middle Eastern lunch menu treat until her nipples stand out like Catholic priests at a Kerry rally, and she bolts to a lawyer. Good riddance.

meatloafNow, I’m not pushing the meatloaf, merely because it’s the Special. I don’t play that game. I’m no AHOY toady. I judge every Special on its merits. I opposed the gorgonzola-filled ravioli. I opposed the eggplant au gratin. I can play you the tapes. I refuse to serve the free-range chicken. As far as I’m concerned, America treats chickens the way they deserve to be treated: LIKE CHICKENS. Fact is, you can be kind to poultry. It doesn’t matter. They still hate us. All our meats hate us. Cows, pigs, veal… despite everything we do for them, they hate us. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t favor torture camps. I just say, “OK, Clucky. You hate me? Fine. I’m gonna eat you.”

Whoa! Will you shut up and let me make a point? Yeah, I am pro-meatloaf. I’m proud to support this meatloaf. At the lefty palaces, they serve “medallions of sun-dried tomato on beds of mixed greens.” What the hell is a sun-dried tomato? It’s a tomato that some pinhead left out in the field. You want tomato with your meatloaf? Pour ketchup on it!

All right. What’ll it be? What’d you say? “Falafel?” That’s it! OUT! We’re done here. JOHNNY, CUT HIS NAPKIN!