OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST @ THE GOLDEN CORRAL After my last caffeine induced adventure and flailing attempt at an editorial, I was standing tall before the man once again. "Lack of content," was the first thing I heard bubble up out of the string of accusations. "You're the tattooed food critic, F-O-O-D critic; not the tattooed marginally coherent ranting lunatic!" I assume the onslaught continued ... I had pretty much checked out and was wandering around in my mind, picking at the loose edges of conscious thought. A few random statements from the conversation outside my head seeped through, things like, "You're getting pretty far out there," and, "We are concerned for you." Then I heard something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was a phrase I had heard a time or two before, a seemingly unassuming group of words that heralded the coming of something too terrible to remember! My editor was say-ing, "I've asked a friend of mine to talk with you a bit-- he's a doctor that special-izes in these kinds of things." AAAAAH-HHHHH! It was the beginning of the end. My jacket was being fitted with arms too long and my reservation was being made for a rubber room with a view! No way man! I was going to get out of this! I knew I was under contract and pretty much had to do what they wanted me to, but I wasn't planning to take any forced vacations! So I decided to play it cool: "You know that's a great idea. I've been meaning to get back into therapy," I lied. So me and the doc headed off for our little 'talk', then as we stepped into the hallway these two big bald dudes grab me, the doc produces a syringe, a quick poke and I'm gone! I wake in the usual fashion, alone in a strange room, strapped to a bed, groggy from mind-altering chemicals that haven't entirely worn off yet ... pretty basic stuff for me. But this time it's in a hospital! AAAAAHHHHHH! "Well, we've done this bit before, my boy, keep it wrapped tight and play your cards close to the chest and we'll be outta here in no time," I thought. So I did just that, I went to my groups, had a few 'breakthroughs' made some 'progress' and in 10 days time I had been given full privileges. My group consisted of a few interesting characters: my three favorites were the pyro, the liar, and some white guy named Viv who thought he was a Vietnamese prostitute. So, there we all were in our little dysfunctional family, trudging the road toward sanity and an early release, when the most unlikely turn of events took place. Our well-intentioned (though short sighted) caseworker had decided it would be beneficial to our recoveries to participate in a little 'socialization' in the form of a supervised outing at the Golden Corral in Aurora. It sounded like the opportunity I had been waiting for. We all piled out of the van at the restaurant and headed inside with our two chaperones. As I took in my surroundings it suddenly occurred to me that this place had exactly the same vibe of a circus! Man, no wonder they brought us crazies here! So we all got our trays and headed down the mile of greased caloric heart stoppage:deep-fried shrimp by the ton, macaroni everything, lard dipped biscuits, every possible stroke inducing food, in all you can eat proportions. There was a fat kid eating frozen yogurt right out of the dispenser. There were two old ladies fighting over who saw the last BBQ rib first. There was even a Klump family at the center of the room devouring everything but the table they were sitting at. Under normal circumstances I would be in heaven, but I was on a mission ... a mission of freedom! I started scheming, looking for my window of opportunity. After two full plates of delicious deep fried prawns, four huge baked potatoes, and two plates of fresh fruit, I was ready to put my plan into action and make a Batman-style get-away. One of our chaperones was up at the dessert table loading up on various pies, cakes and what not. The other one was in the bathroom, and judging from the way he looked he was going to be gone for a while, so I headed up to the register and asked for some matches. Back at the table I palmed the matches off to the pyro who immediately headed for the bathroom. Then I called the waiter over and got him to ask the liar about the time he was an astronaut. Once he was off and running I convinced Viv that these four guys at another table were G.I.'s on leave. He headed over to their table getting louder as he went with the whole "me so horny, me love you long time" bit. The rest of the fruit loops at our table began bleating and throwing things. The liar was in fourth gear and had the waiter practically pinned in the corner recounting tales of outer space travel. Then the smoke started pouring out of the bathroom; the pyro had found the trash can. Yes! The chaperones were going crazy trying to calm everyone down and I made for the door. Down the street I ran, heading for my partner Wayne's house. As we were driving home I recounted the tale of my untimely incarceration and timely escape. Then it hit me:I could e-mail the whole story into the printer directly, bypassing the editor altogether and getting the true story of his plot to silence me out in the open! He will be reading this the same time all of you are, exclaiming, "Drat, foiled again!" or some such villainous stuff. [Printer's note: yeah, that guy's a prick.] Until next time... All Rights Reserved © 2001 Go-Go Media, LLC