Luncheon Dust-Up at Gumpwood CC Proves that Apes Evolved from Club Members

Gumpwood f/k/a MCC: Scene of the Great Poking Incident of 2014

Now that our local Snobatorium located at the terminus of Fairview Avenue is no longer restricted, I have greatly enjoyed many a lunch there at the "Captains Table" in the "Men's Grill" with the manly men at my same station in life.  The  lunch buffet there is truly a thing of culinary beauty reasonably priced. (Aha, the connection to a Lunch in the Gump theme). The conversation is keen, spirited and conservative.  But, as we have previously noted in a prior post, lunch at Gumpwood CC can sometimes involve unabashed buffoonery and perhaps even an occasional kerfuffle. However, the correspondence from the participants in a recent dust-up have documented events so bizarre that acknowledging they occurred at your club would embarrass even the low-born members of what used to be called Bonnie Crest Country Club (soon to be a Wal-Mart) and perhaps even the usual rabble at Sundown East-home of "The Beast."

The protagonists--long time members of Gumpwood and the legal profession (I suppose I now use that term pejoratively)--were former members of the same law firm. One of them, as you will recall from a previous post, has the grace and tact of a Honey Badger. The other has an ego that can fill any room. It has been said they deserved each other as partners. In any event, apparently on Oct. 1, 2014, these two bull moose had to be separated by a Marine staffer after some harsh and profane words were exchanged.  (One wag lamented that instead of separating them the Marine should have furnished each man a trenching tool.) However, due to the Marine's quick and brave action a true altercation was avoided and one would have hoped that when the dust settled these two attorneys would shake hands and make up.

Of course, for one to hope for a civilized resolution of hostilities between these two "gentlemen" it would require complete amnesia of their past history. For in truth, the end of physical hostilities was only the beginning of a bizarre display of literary buffoonery the likes of which Gumpwood has never before seen.

First came the account from the alleged victim of the Honey Badger.  It was written upon his formal law firm letterhead to the president of Gumpwood. It was by and large a blow by blow account of the events written without a hint of embarrassment. After naming all the witnesses to the dust-up, the author recounted that as he returned to the table with a plate of food the Honey Badger yelled: "You Mother F*er don't you ever send me a letter like you sent me or I am going to whip your ass!." Incorrectly thinking it was a joke the victim ignored the Honey Badger. But that only enraged the Honey Badger who pointed his boney finger yelling "You Mother F*er" while charging to the end of the table. The Badger then invited the author to "go outside so I can whip your ass right now."

At this point, perhaps, I should remind you that these two stalwarts of the legal profession are not 17 or 7 but each about 70 years old.

Here I will simply quote the victim:

"Everyone in the room watched (Honey Badger's) tirade. It is well know that (the Honey Badger) carries a pistol in his car and I am now highly nervous at how I am going to be able to use the facilities where I have been going for 40 years. I am over 70, diabetic and have had a triple bypass.  I do not intend to have my life end at Gumpwood Country Club being assaulted by (the Honey Badger), a known bully and blow hard."

The victim ended his correspondence with a plea to the good judgment of the club president as to how to address the "assault" of the Honey Badger ("I actually think his finger poked me in the chest.")  Although criminal charges were considered, the victim developed some modicum of judgment and decided not to press charges because it would only drag his witness friends further into the middle of  "this absurdity."

One would like to also assume the victim's letter was not intended for public consumption.  Not so with the response of the Honey Badger who, after apparently mulling over whether to respond for a few days, on Oct. 7 set the tone of his letter to the club president in the second sentence when he replied with accusations of unethical and deceitful conduct. This letter, and the letter to which it responds, began circulating the internet shortly after Oct. 7.

It got even more personal. The victim's appeal to sympathy due to his age and medical problems carried no weight with the Honey Badger: "I am so sorry [the victim] is a diabetic and I suggest he quit stuffing his fat little toady face and get in shape.  [The victim] being 70 means nothing to me. I am 71 and have chosen not to deteriorate into an amoeba-shaped squid."

The above statements appeared on the letterhead of the same law firm in which the victim had previously been a partner.

Having thoroughly insulted his victim, the Honey Badger went on to essentially agree with every fact set forth by the victim EXCEPT the "poking" claim. While admitting he had about all he could take from "this limaceous cretin," the Honey Badger emphatically denied touching the cretin because: "I learned a long time ago to never put one's hand in garbage."

"See here you limaceous cretin!"

The one bright light in all of this came in the form of an anonymous "editorial" in the "Montgomery Egadvertiser." The editorial first reminded the reader of the famous Scopes "Monkey Trial" of 1925 which escalated the long standing debate between creationists and evolutionists.  The editorial noted:

"In an ironic twist, a related matter was partially and inadvertently settled during the first week of October in the Men's Grill at the Gumpwood Country Club in Montgomery, Alabama. Two septuagenarian members, while not addressing the question of whether man evolved from monkeys, did prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt that, in at least two instances, monkeys did certainly evolve from human beings. This episode also provides empirical evidence that not having the oxygen level set high enough on your CPAP machine will assuredly result in irreversible brain damage. Furthermore, it debunked the belief that there is no way that the food in the Men's Grill could ever be made any more unappetizing. Spectators report that the events of that day were reminiscent of scenes at the old Copa Club on a Saturday Night at closing time during the 70's. "

The gratuitous dig at the food in the Men's Grill was, in my opinion, a cheap shot but the other observations are spot on.

Our anonymous author concluded:

"Well no one can envy the Gumpwood Board of Directors who will have to mediate this dispute. It's kind of like trying to choose the cleanest sheet in the Ebola Clinic in Liberia."

Did I mention Gumpwood is having a membership drive?

Unused name tags at Montgomery County Bar Association Holiday Party

Chick Magnet with Real Girlfriend Rates Chicken Salad Chick/Five Guys

The love of my life...

My fictitious internet girlfriend, who has cancer, urged me to try a relatively new restaurant on Zelda Road. When you visit the bathrooms at Chicken Salad Chick you will either enter the "Chicks" or the "Chick Magnets" doors.  Limited to those two choices I fall squarely into the "Chick Magnet" category.   With "Chick Magnet" as my literal qualification, let me tell you about my recent visit to this new lunch place next to Five Guys Burgers and Fries in the Z-Red district. You could not find two lunch spots more diametrically opposed than these neighbors.

My first observation upon entering the Chick was "Trix are for Kids" or more accurately "Chicks is for Chicks."  In other words, I was badly outnumbered.  The few girly men I saw there were with anemic looking earthy girls who I guessed had already sworn off red meat and were considering going completely vegetarian. It reminded me of some jokes I had heard a stand up comedian do about guys who pretend to like vegetarian dishes when they date vegetarians but who--after bedding them--grab a Five Guys Double Cheeseburger with a bag-full of fries on the way home saying: "Man I am starved.  Mmmph. Mmmph. I can't believe she bought that sh*t!" The comedian goes on to say that he is reluctant to tell the joke to a large crowd because almost invariably one guy will drop his head in shame and his skinny date will angrily ask: "You told me someone else threw those greasy bags in your backseat!" before stomping off in a huff with higher life form vegetarian greenhouse gases in her wake. ("Why I'd bet there are fewer greenhouse gases coming from the back of an SUV than from the tailpipe of a hippie!")

Dearest Catfish.

My Internet girlfriend, my soul-mate, says she likes Catfish or that she is a Catfish.  Ha ha. She is so humorous.  She is the funniest girl I have never met.

A lunch for men with internet girlfriend soul mates...

My second observation was that the chicken salad was that finely ground up kind that I do not like that you can dip with an ice-cream scoop and plop on a slice of nondescript sourdough bread before squishing the mound flat by the top slice. I must confess I am a "chunky" chicken salad fan.  And the price was not cheap. With a glass of "Minute Maid" lemonade and a small pasta salad the tab came to $10.10.  The food was certainly good, the restaurant and servers were cute and clean.  But I have had much better "chicken" salad from Noni's when she was open near Shashy's. I have also enjoyed the turkey salad with large chunks that Allpots brought me from Bushwood CC one time when I was confined to quarters in my ankle bracelet.  So, unless you are dating a girl who really likes Chicken Salad Chick and don't mind leaving hungry, I would suggest you go next door for a burger and fries at Five Guys.

A manly burger for guys with real girlfriends!

We sort of reviewed Five Guys out at East Chase some time ago. For that post click here.  Normally we try to stay within the Gump and rate only non-chains. (Former cons don't like the word 'chains'). But in this case we have made two exceptions: Both Five Guys and Chicken Salad Chick are apparently chains.  But at least they are now squarely in the Gump and it's only a short drive from downtown to Ann Street/Zelda Road. And, I note, Chicken Salad Chick was founded in Opelika and apparently owned by proper Southerners.

Sackful of Five Guys fries needs its own chair.

So when the gang tried the new Five Guys on Zelda Road during the week between Christmas and New Years we learned several things:  First, do not order the regular fries for more than one person.  They fill the sack with enough fries to feed four fat people.  Second, get large numbers of ketchup cupettes filled and gather reams of napkins while you are waiting.  Third, avoid the free peanuts during your wait because you won't have any room left to eat your burger and fries if you do.

Preparing the landing zone for the big burgers...INCOMING!

I would point out that we did witness first hand a lower echelon miracle of sorts (would that be called a minicale?) Just before the Notre Dame blowout during our trip to Five Guys we noticed that in the short time it took to take the bag to our table that our bag filled with a burger and fries and already been soaked through with grease stains in the likeness of Alabama Coach Nick Saban.  We have the picture to prove it.  Of course, because of the terms of my parole I could not place an actual bet on the game, if I had a bookie I would have loaded up on Bama after seeing that greasy sack Saban face.  He was even in full blown "Saban Rage" mode.  Also, if I had known that Alabama quarterback A.J. McCarren had a carney-like tattoo on his chest the size of a basketball that would have sealed the deal because everyone knows that Catholics are deathly afraid of the carnies.

You can see the rage of St. Nick burning through the receipt

But back to the food.  The burgers are good but pricey. The coma that ensues upon eating at Five Guys means that it really is a place you should visit no more than once a month unless you are skipping meals before a visit.  Caution: Do not operate heavy machinery after a Five Guy's meal. This is definitely man vs. food.  Not chick v. snack.

Which brings us full circle and wraps this post up neatly.  There are two restaurants next to each other in Z-Red that could not be more different to a Chick magnet with a real girlfriend I have actually met...in person.

A Nincompotpourri of Nincompoopery

We are declining as a society into a bunch of nincompoops. A recent article in The Washington Post documents how supposedly educated and successful people can accomplish a trifecta of nincompoopery such as (1) leaving their lights on; (2) with keys in the car; (3) with the engine running. (Well, "at least the battery won't run down...."). Well, so you say Missy.

Before embarking on my diatribe for today I must give credit where it is due. The idea for this little column was sparked by an article by Gene Weingarten that bears reading. You can find it here.

So, here's the secret poop of the nimh...

My brush with malevolent nincompoopery occurred at the Gump's exclusive Bushwood Country Club & Snobatorium. There, for years, one of the main attractions was the art of making cocktails as practiced by one known only as "Reggie." Famous Gump-wide for his performances at weddings, bat mitzvahs, receptions and parties of all ilk, Reggie was THE bartender you hunted and waited in line to be served by. When the nouveau riche and slightly tipsy MA mom would ask for a "light" vodka and water, Reggie would always smile and say: "Sorry ma'am, I just pour 'em, I don't weigh 'em," as he poured and the glass runneth over with the water of life. When the pleasantly intoxicated captain of industry would ask for "a half Scotch and Water" good ole Reggie would reply: "Sir, I failed fractions" as he handed the chocolate-brown glass back to the patron. Reggie, the world will someday acknowledge, was the reason we have the word "Reggied."



All in all, for years Reggie was the hero of the drinking class at Bushwood. His "fair pours" were legendary and the oil of much conversation. Why, it was once suggested that if Reggie served the leaders of the Middle East at a cocktail party we would have world peace by morning or, at least a real good start for Hangover III. Perhaps a slight exaggeration. The point is that members and guests at Bushwood received a more than fair quantity of their favorite adult beverage at the hands of Reggie. Things were, as some say, ducky. Extremely ducky. Leave well enough alone I say.

Enter the nincompoopery of one of our most brilliant and well-educated medical professionals in the Gump. A person trained at one of the finest medical schools in the country and in whose hands many have entrusted their most vital of organs. This "Dr. Sunshine" (as we will call him) has multiplied buffoonery times nincompoopery to produce a nincompotpourri of nincompoopery. This brilliant example of one of the Gump's finest families thought that because Reggie was so generous in his pours that he, the eminent Dr. Sunshine, was entitled to expect everyone at Bushwood with a bottle of whiskey in their hand to provide the same "fair" service as the Master. Accordingly, this paragon of judgment required another server to pour a drink approximating one poured by Reggie and was "outraged" when he was charged for a "double" (a triple would have been more accurate).

It gets worse.

Not satisfied with berating the innocent wait-staffer who presented a drink poured to exact specifications and/or from a jigger, this mental giant decided to bring the issue to the attention of management i.e. the one some call "the man." As anyone with a modicum of sense would understand, once confronted with the issue regarding the size of drinks the manager of Bushwood had to decree that all drinks be poured uniformly at the mandated 1 1/4 ounce amount with a jigger. Suddenly, the Picasso of the Pour, the Wagner of Vodka was forced to confine his art to the constraints of a precisely engineered amount, much to the dismay of the innocent drinkers who depend so much upon the artistry of Reggie, their bartender, guru and, when necessary, their ride home.

What makes this nincompoopery even more notable is that the perpetrator of this affront to the "League of Justice" (the self-named group of roguish ne'er-do-wells who inhabit the place), had no "bleeping" idea that his complaints to management would result in the opposite effect he intended. Now we all suffer equally, thanks to a Republican who hates socialism. I say man (masquerading as buffoon), unhand my bartender!

Where now can a gentleman of the Gump go to find a friendly, heavy-handed bartender who dispenses wisdom as generously as Jameson? Woe is me. Woe are we.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the new restaurant in the A&P development in No-Clo will provide relief. I suppose I should share that "Roux" will be opening for business June 1 (yes, I have stumbled into something topical). I, of course, have been invited to the pre-opening reception and, if I am able, I promise that one of the LITG regulars will report shortly thereafter (I hope I never become too lazy to tell others what to do). Until then, I shall see you at the Pine Bar on Mondays and wherever Reggie serves without the constraints of "the man."

For now, I must bid you adieu as I drown my sorrows at the loss of a fair pour at Bushwood and contemplate the depths of nincompoopery to which we have, as a people, sunk. Woe are we all. Woe are we all.