For the life of me, I am unable to understand how it came to happen. How did it come to be there? What was the point of origin? It might never be known
For my part, I did go into the bathroom stall. Ostensibly, I went in there to read magazines from the magazine racks. I went into the stall, roughly pulled down my trousers and let them sit in a fresh puddle of "urine" (unknown public bathroom substance - pronounce "yur-ein"), sat down really hard on the seat (enough to dislodge it from its moorings), and thusly saw the bag of calamari.
Let me take a moment to address you and your family during the holiday season. Whatever you are into, may your days be merry and bright. The darkness is coming. Live it up one more time. One last year and then it ends, friends. Then it ends. With a wimper, not a bang.
So, there was this sack of a burlap nature sitting on the floor in the same "yur-ein" that my expensive Brooks Brothers slacks were sitting in, and I pulled it over after putting my copy of Field and Stream on my knee and reaching down for the completely and utterly yur-ein soaked bag, which I put up on my bare lap to examine, the yur-ein dripping down my fat, hairy, and extremely scarred up thighs as I looked inside.
It was filled with fried calamari and it was still warm. Now, I am uncertain as to whether it was still warm from being cooked or if the warm came from the yur-ein, which now dripped heavily onto my Brooks Brothers slacks like a syrup of some kind. I reached down after thrusting my Field and Stream into the toilet paper dispenser and pulled up my slacks. I mis-looped my belt no fewer than three times, finished the donut I snagged in the bakery earlier, and went back out into the store.
I looked around and no one was around. None of the guys from my club that reads magazines in the Walmart bathrooms was around. I went back into the bathroom and got into the handicapped stall (so I would have AMPLE room for my feast). I dragged the yur-ein soaked sack across the floor and into the handicapped stall, where the water on the floor was thick brown instead of yur-ein colored. I sat the sack in that and got my pants wrestled down again, sitting them in the brown water.
My pants sat in that brown water for some time as I looked through the sack of fried calamari, making important decisions as I did so. I decided to remove my pants completely (Brooks Brothers) and because there wasn't a hook, I folded them neatly and placed them in the deepest part of the brown water. If you are interested in more information on the art of proper clothes folding, I can recommend some pamphlets to you.
A decision had been made and I grabbed some calamari with my paw and shoveled it into my mouth. It was warm and wet. The breading was barely clinging to it. I had to twist my tongue around to catch all the warm water as it dripped like a thick oil down my chin. At first I felt sick to my stomach, like I might throw up, but calamari is an acquired taste and I needed to give it further opportunity. In this way I would adjust to the taste and this treat would be a fine way to break up a businessman's afternoon.
I don't know if you have ever had a businessman's afternoon. You probably aren't even a businessman. You are the lower classes if you are not a businessman. The camps will be for you and your useless kind. Businessman or bust.
There we go now
Truckin' down the lane
Such a ride we're on
Leafy, leafy lane
Ain't feeling' too lethargic
Momma's got the kettle on
Businessman or bust
--The Heavy Steadys
So, it was clear what I was going to do. I was going to eat this calamari that someone had left behind and after the first few naureating handfuls, the taste was acquired.
What an afternoon it was.