It happened last night. I was walking down the street on my way
home when a car pulled up beside me and two guys got out and dragged
kicking into the back seat. I thought they were going to kill me.
But such was not the case.

There were two guys in the back with me, two guys in front, four
all together (I know my math). They took me to a farm house and
blindfolded me. Then they lead me into a large house filled with the
smell of cooking.

"Your will judge us", one of the kidnappers said.

"Are you talking to me?", i asked earnestly, as with the blindfold
I knew not who he was speaking to.

"Yeah, you", he said. "You're going to judge our cooking."

Turns out these 4 guys lived together and thought that
individually they were the greatest cooks on earth. All they did was
argue about it. So one day one of them thought of the idea of
kidnapping a random judge so there could be closure to their argument.

They sat me at a table where I sampled, over a period of luxurious
hours, a variety of foods while wearing a blindfold. I will make this
short. After a while they demanded my verdict - "Who is best?" - and
I was unable to come up with a genuine answer although I knew the very
first dish I had was quite impressive - so I named that as my
favorite.

Three of the four agreed. But one of them said it was unfair
because his dishes were created with appearance in mind. He
questioned the blindfold. He felt it was unfair to him that I, the
kidnapped one, should judge his cooking without looking at it.

Then suddenly, my blindfold still in place, I heard all about me
the sound of people fighting, as the four chefs went at each other
with vengeance. I believe some of them had some hardware. I managed
even with my blindfold to escape the scene. That's the end of the
story. But I'm telling you now, judging someone else's food is a
dangerous job.

TJ

"Tommy Joe" > wrote in message
...
> It happened last night. I was walking down the street on my way
> home when a car pulled up beside me and two guys got out and dragged
> kicking into the back seat. I thought they were going to kill me.
> But such was not the case.
>
> There were two guys in the back with me, two guys in front, four
> all together (I know my math). They took me to a farm house and
> blindfolded me. Then they lead me into a large house filled with the
> smell of cooking.
>
> "Your will judge us", one of the kidnappers said.
>
> "Are you talking to me?", i asked earnestly, as with the blindfold
> I knew not who he was speaking to.
>
> "Yeah, you", he said. "You're going to judge our cooking."
>
> Turns out these 4 guys lived together and thought that
> individually they were the greatest cooks on earth. All they did was
> argue about it. So one day one of them thought of the idea of
> kidnapping a random judge so there could be closure to their argument.
>
> They sat me at a table where I sampled, over a period of luxurious
> hours, a variety of foods while wearing a blindfold. I will make this
> short. After a while they demanded my verdict - "Who is best?" - and
> I was unable to come up with a genuine answer although I knew the very
> first dish I had was quite impressive - so I named that as my
> favorite.
>
> Three of the four agreed. But one of them said it was unfair
> because his dishes were created with appearance in mind. He
> questioned the blindfold. He felt it was unfair to him that I, the
> kidnapped one, should judge his cooking without looking at it.
>
> Then suddenly, my blindfold still in place, I heard all about me
> the sound of people fighting, as the four chefs went at each other
> with vengeance. I believe some of them had some hardware. I managed
> even with my blindfold to escape the scene. That's the end of the
> story. But I'm telling you now, judging someone else's food is a
> dangerous job.

Ooooooooookay...

In article <0f20c96f-8189-4a26-a81b-a650500508d9
@r20g2000yqd.googlegroups.com>, says...
>
> It happened last night. I was walking down the street on my way
> home when a car pulled up beside me and two guys got out and dragged
> kicking into the back seat. I thought they were going to kill me.
> But such was not the case.
>
> There were two guys in the back with me, two guys in front, four
> all together (I know my math). They took me to a farm house and
> blindfolded me. Then they lead me into a large house filled with the
> smell of cooking.
>
> "Your will judge us", one of the kidnappers said.
>
> "Are you talking to me?", i asked earnestly, as with the blindfold
> I knew not who he was speaking to.
>
> "Yeah, you", he said. "You're going to judge our cooking."
>
> Turns out these 4 guys lived together and thought that
> individually they were the greatest cooks on earth. All they did was
> argue about it. So one day one of them thought of the idea of
> kidnapping a random judge so there could be closure to their argument.
>
> They sat me at a table where I sampled, over a period of luxurious
> hours, a variety of foods while wearing a blindfold. I will make this
> short. After a while they demanded my verdict - "Who is best?" - and
> I was unable to come up with a genuine answer although I knew the very
> first dish I had was quite impressive - so I named that as my
> favorite.
>
> Three of the four agreed. But one of them said it was unfair
> because his dishes were created with appearance in mind. He
> questioned the blindfold. He felt it was unfair to him that I, the
> kidnapped one, should judge his cooking without looking at it.
>
> Then suddenly, my blindfold still in place, I heard all about me
> the sound of people fighting, as the four chefs went at each other
> with vengeance. I believe some of them had some hardware. I managed
> even with my blindfold to escape the scene. That's the end of the
> story. But I'm telling you now, judging someone else's food is a
> dangerous job.

You gotta find a more reliable dealer for your acid, man.

On Jun 16, 7:55*am, "J. Clarke" > wrote:

> You gotta find a more reliable dealer for your acid, man.



I don't need acid man. But what I'm using is good enough and the
dealer is reliable enough as well. Anyone who puts down my dealer
puts down me. My dealer is cool. He even tried to talk me out of
using stuff in the beginning. But I wouldn't listen. Anyway, the
stuff I use is ok with me. I'm even ok when I'm out of stuff. I'm
cool man. It's a que sera sera whatever will be will be kind of world
in which we live.

TJ

On Jun 16, 6:49*am, Tommy Joe > wrote:
> On Jun 16, 7:55*am, "J. Clarke" > wrote:
>
> > You gotta find a more reliable dealer for your acid, man.
>
> * * I don't need acid man. *But what I'm using is good enough and the
> dealer is reliable enough as well. *Anyone who puts down my dealer
> puts down me. *My dealer is cool. *He even tried to talk me out of
> using stuff in the beginning. *But I wouldn't listen. *Anyway, the
> stuff I use is ok with me. *I'm even ok when I'm out of stuff. *I'm
> cool man. *It's a que sera sera whatever will be will be kind of world
> in which we live.
>
> TJ

You and the vomit chick would make a nice couple.

Tommy Joe wrote:
>
<some bullshit that I snipped>

Have you been into Andy's drugs again?

On Jun 16, 4:57*pm, Andy > wrote:
> "John Smythe" > wrote:
> > Tommy Joe wrote:
>
> > <some bullshit that I snipped>
>
> > Have you been into Andy's drugs again?
>
> I only get Flintstoned once a day!
>
> Andy


This is for you Andy, and for Smythe as well. I don't need acid,
but I do use weed on occasion. I was drinking when I wrote my story.
That's a good excuse if the story stunk, which it surely did not. I
wrote it in about 5 minutes, maybe less - another great excuse (if I
were to need one). I enjoyed writing the thing on the fly, that's all
that matters; no one is forced to read it. I love writing stuff on
the fly and then reading it later as if it were written by someone
else. My only regret is that I took the wrong turn when I didn't get
into becoming over-stuffed as they kept forcing food upon me. I could
have written it as though described by someone else, so that in the
story I died from the forced over-stuffing, but the person who
discovered my body was kind enough to dig through my identification
and find out where I live, then bust into my computer so he could
alert everyone about my death. For instance, he would come to this
group and see that I post here occasionally, so he would in turn alert
everyone to my death and how it went down - by being forced by 4
kidnappers to eat their food till my stomach burst and I shit all over
the floor from holes that happened long before the food ever reached
the end of the road. There will be more stories on the way whether
you like it or not. But to keep things fair, the stories will always
be in some way food related. I'm fair that way.

TJ

On Jun 16, 4:57*pm, Andy > wrote:
> "John Smythe" > wrote:
> > Tommy Joe wrote:
>
> > <some bullshit that I snipped>
>
> > Have you been into Andy's drugs again?
>
> I only get Flintstoned once a day!
>
> Andy



Thisis for you and Smythe and anyone else who has had bad words
for my story. I enjoyed writing it, that's all that counts. And it
was food related. There will be more food related stories on the
way. I am proud of these little stories even if they are far from
perfect. That's because they take less than 5 minutes to write and I
have no idea where I'm heading when I sit down to write them. I can
read them later and pretend they were written by someone else. I was
actually a bit drunk when I wrote this last one. I can use that as an
excuse for sub par work, but I won't I have many excuses ready just
in case they're ever needed though. My only regret looking back and
reading my story story two days later is the way I failed to get into
more torture. Those guys could have fed me till my stomach burst and
I basically shit to death, not through the traditional end-of-the-road
asshole, but through multiple assholes ripped into my body from the
inside out as the massive globs of food fought for exit that was not
immediately available. Some stranger, perhaps a kindly cop (what a
rare find that would be), would go through my ID and then locate my
home and bust into my computer and alert everyone I know either
personally or through the internet of my death. He would write the
story, not me. That would have been better, for the guy who
discovered my burst body to write the story and pass it along to the
newsgroup. But it doesn't matter, it ended as it did, and that's the
end of that.