Cracker Barrel Sucks

I left the dreary winter days of Chicago to enjoy the new year in sunny Scottsdale. I met up with some family and it was nice. On Jan 1, we (the Mrs., Baby Jake, my mother-in-law, and father-in-law) drove on up to Las Vegas. Some of these road side places are sketchy so we decided to stop and the Kingman, AZ Cracker Barrel.

The woman who worked there seemed the the XX chromosome equivalent of Forrest Gump. When asked if she could give us some toasted sour dough bread, she replied "I'll Try". What kind of response is that? If I worked for Boeing and United asked me to make a plane that wouldn't blow up, I don't think they would take to kindly to "I'll try". Either you can or you can't, that is it.

So our mulleted sloth waitress brings me my food and I inhale the macaroni and cheese, carrots, and chicken so that I can watch the baby while my wife eats. Two hours later my stomach starts to ache. When we get to the hotel, I start to feel violently ill. My stomach hasn't felt this bad since some Turks poisoned my food in Istanbul. For a straight ten minutes, I was spewing my guts watching my Cracker Barrel food be deposited into the porcelain Kohler toilet.

The next two days I couldn't consume anything fried, chocolate, or alcoholic. I also had to stay horizonal for 24 hours watching Judge Maria Lopez and Springer. Tomorrow I am going home from the Vegas trip with nothing more to show than 1 hour playing cards, a pair of paints from Banana Republic, and perpetual disdain to Cracker Barrel and all its 400 pound regular customers.