The grim and sinister baby-changing table in the can at Kerbey Lane has graffiti all over it. It’s where all the infant junkies of South Austin go to get changed. I knew you would want to see it, but—and I blame my dog Bert for this—the pictures came out like crap on accounta when I was snappin’em I had to jump up and down on my one functional leg so as not to tip over into the toilet. Which toilet, though it is cleaner than the baby table, is nevertheless nowhere a spinster aunt wants to be. So all I can show you is the somewhat creepy bathroom hall.
I don’t know what other people eat at Kerbey Lane, but I go for the Cholesterol Platter, served all day: two slices of French toast, two slices of bacon fat, and two scrambled eggs.
I required this meal today after my vigorous workout at physical therapy. The workout pretty much consisted of tapping my foot, which used to be one of my strongest talents. The fact is, I made the Olympic Toe-Tapping Team in 1980, although of course I never got to compete, because that was the year the USA boycotted the Olympics to protest the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan.
Nowadays, I couldn’t tap a toe with pigs. In PT, after raising my foot an inch off the floor about 15 times, I thought my calf muscle, which has lain fallow for 2 weeks, had caught fire. This evidence of my paucity of buffitude caused my physical therapist, the gifted Lori Schwanz, to emit a chuckle.
Back at Kerbey Lane, Stingray ordered a biscuit and a sausage patty, which ingredients she then formed into a hideous little breakfast burger. Shocking stuff.
Pig enthusiasts: don’t bother. I already know pigs are cool. Let’s just let this one go, hey?