This is the story of a man.
Not a wise man. Just a man, like you or I.
This man's name was Frank.
There's something you should know about Frank.
Frank had delusions of grandeur.
While Frank believed that he had the brilliance of Einstein, the inventiveness of Tesla,
and the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger,
Frank was actually afflicted with the intellect of Dan Quayle,
the creativity of Al Gore and the grip of Bob Dole.
We never said this was going to be a pretty story, folks.
Frank also envisioned himself a great orator. Frank believed that he was like E.F. Hutton, in that when he spoke, people listened.
What Frank didnt' know was that EF Hutton filed bankruptcy sometime in the mid 1980s.
Yes, Frank's speaking skills, weren't great. He often was as incomprehensible as Bill Murray's character in Caddyshack.
This might have had something to do with Frank's legendary Tequila Binges.
You see, Frank's drinking was in keeping with that of, Ozzy Osbourne, Anna Nicole Smith, Vince Neil, and the rest of Motley Crue. That's not to say that Frank's habits mirrored those of the people I just mentioned. Frank actually drank as much as all of those people put together.
And Frank didn't exactly partake of premium Tequila, like Cabo Wabo Tequila.
Frank often thought that Quality was over-rated, and quantity, was under-rated.
Yes, frank drank nothing but Jose Cuervo.
Now I understand that many of you may actually be drinking Cuervo as we speak.
To you, I apologize.
Not for my comments, but for the hangover you'll have in the morning.
Now, this was not the extent of Frank's delusions.
He also fancied himself a gallant knight, riding a fiery steed.
He believed his fiery steed, which he named, Ralph Ramirez
Blew smoke from his nostrils on every thirteenth stride.
Unfortunately, Frank's fiery steed was neither fiery, nor was he a steed.
You see, Frank wasn't wealthy. Frank didn't have a college degree.
Frank worked weekends at The Burger Palace in one of the poorer sections of Pasadena.
So, Frank couldn't afford a horse. Instead, Frank owned a Huffy which he procured from a dumpster in Petaluma.
Now, Frank's Huffy was no average Huffy. No, Frank tripped his ride out in style. Frank had a car stereo, complete with 6 by 9 inch speakers, a Graphic Equalizer, and XM Satellite radio. The only problem was, Frank's Huffy had no chain. Frank had to waddle his way up hills and coast down them. This made for a slow going in the desert.
Or at least until Frank came to the Golden Corrall.
Frank was pissed as a peckerwood when he ran into that kookoo bird in the Mohave on route to the golden corral. The foul that committed the enfraction of cracking Frank's side-view mirror had no idea what kind of captain he was dealing with. Anyone or anything, for that matter, would never go overlooked in such an event.
So frank thumbed his library of remedies for such a situation in that frijole bean sized brain of his. And he decided after pummeling the cucu into the end of his life to hang it on the noose around his neck. And the ancient mariner, Frank, graciously glided great glaciers of sand alone, aimlessly for thirteen wretched days.
You see, Frank noticed an emptiness within him. A yearning, if you will. An unquenchable desire. Yes, Frank was hungry. And what better place to meet the needs of his stomach demons than in the walls of The Golden Corral.
The Golden Corral was known all over Nevada for their Spanish Rice, Burritos, Chimichangas and Tamales. But what Frank really loved about The Golden Corral was their frijoles.
Their frijoles were the stuff of legend. Some believed that Custer would have survived the Wounded Knee Massacre had he just had some of The Golden Corrals Frijoles. Not because his men would have been mightier warriors for eating them. The Indians wouldn't have been able to get close enough to ambush the cavalry, due to the stench.
On the flip side to the benefits produced from the consequential output of eating frijoles, some have speculated that the stench can cause a green house effect and essentially be a catalyst to the Global Warming issue via the burning ozone hole in the sky.
The first concern that surfaced regarding the global disaster indeed could have been due to Frank's filthy fragrance forged from the bowels of the Grand Canyon back in the Fall of '62 (1862) when chasing down that bastard Pancho.
Needless to say, Frank and his frijoles habit go back a long way. A lingering way, actually -- Rooted in the day he quit biting his toe nails. Frank emerged free from the habit only to gain the burden of constantly searching for the next great bowl of frijoles.
Sadly, Frank never did quite peel that "onion" better known to shrinks as his "psyche" to discover the madness he often found himself in during his frijole eating frenzies.
Nope, Frank was rather simple-minded. But he enjoyed good humor in front of the ladies such as kindly asking them to "pull his finger". He knew they melted over that kind of charm. And when they did pull his finger, they certainly did melt - literally.
Sometimes, Frank would notice after staying in a town anywhere from Tahoe to Deadwood to Mobridge to Orange City, that people would stare and snicker and sneer at him. He didn't know exactly why as he shrugged this suspicion off on his way out of town shortly thereafter. Maybe they didn't like his horse - after all, who has ever seen a white horse with a big green spot on its back before? "These small town types were not culturally sensitive to his horse," he would rationalize to himself. Or better yet, "The frijoles in this town stink anyway!".
While dining at the Golden Corral, Frank's mind drifted back to the time he was forced to do battle with Beelzebub the Evil Armadillo.
After several hours of battle, Frank finally vanquished Beelzebub. As a condition of his release after surrendering to Frank, Beelzebub provided Frank with the Answer to the "Ultimate Question of the Universe". "Forty-two", Beelzebub told Frank, but refused to reveal the question.
Forty-two was precisely the number of Frijoles Frank was able to ingest before they began to take effect.
Shortly after leaving the Golden Corral, Frank noticed that his bowels were beginning to bulge. This grinding he felt in the pit of his intestines was overwhelming. Unfortunately, Frank found himself in the middle of the desert, with no access to any gas-x, or even baking soda, for that matter.
Now, had it not been for the build-up of fumes in Frank's bowels, the trip through the desert, and this story, would be a lot longer. Fortunately for us (unfortunately for Frank), the donkey knocking at the back door was about to be released. When the valve finally did give way, this gave Frank's ride an unexpected boost of velocity, the likes of which haven't been seen since the land-speed record was set back in the 1960's. When the sand had finally settled, Frank found himself stranded in the heart of the Texas panhandle, just outside Dumas. It was here that Frank would meet the love of his life (well, the second love of his life).
As frank rode into town, he noticed that the tires of his steed were literally shredded. Distraught, Frank walked into the local tavern, hoping to find another bowl of frijoles. Instead, he found Maria. Maria was a vision of beauty to Frank. Mainly because she was carrying a bowl of frijoles.
Frank promptly asked this vision of beauty to dance. She smiled meekly, and accepted. Unfortunately, no music was playing, but Frank's engorged bowels provided the back-beat.
Many have pondered the make-up of this woman's constitution. Because, as they danced, flies were dropping from the stench. It was about this time that Maria noticed a look on Frank's face that she immediately recognized. Having served thousands of customers Frijoles over the years, she quickly realized that frank was about to evacuate his bowels.
Maria quickly rushed Frank to the restroom in the back of the tavern. Frank got to the commode in the nick of time. When his bowels released their load of fully digested frijoles, Frank's relief was unparalleled. Unfortunately for the Tavern owner, so was the devastation. When all was said and done, there was a basketball court sized crater where the Tavern once stood, with only Frank and Maria left looking into each others eyes.
Maria quizzically asked Frank, "Are you ok?"
Frank simply replied "My love, I think I just passed the frijoles"
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