When Alice comes into my shop to buy the meat for that Brady family, who work her like a damn Filipino I saw in those sweatshops when I was liberatin’ Manila back in the old WWII, I want her to get the best cuts of meat.
I mean, if I can be frank…Ha! I’m not Frank…I’m Sam!
But seriously, the meat she gets from me at the shop is the only meat I’ve been giving her lately. We can’t get 2 minutes alone without one of the Brady brats or one of their dumb dumb parents to call Alice for a snack or some homework “emergency.”
Emergency? I’ll show these kids an emergency. When Harold – you know, my apprentice down here at the shop – got his little Beatnik beard caught in the slicer, it pulled his face right in. Started getting some nice cuts of Harold chin if you know what I mean. I had to buy TWO gallons of bleach. And Harold doesn’t look like a San Francisco fruit anymore if you know what I mean.
Anyway, these Bradys got 6 freaking kids man. 6! How many freaking kids do you need? And they’re not even all theirs. Like, three are his and three are hers. It’s pretty freaking weird if you ask me.
But every time me and Alice are getting frisky, one of these brats knocks on the door. And we always have to stay in that compound over there, never at my studio apartment. Even if I clean it.
Anyway, I try to give Alice the best cuts to keep all those ungrateful rugrats nourished because they really run around with all kinds of energy. If I didn’t know any better I’d think they’re all on drugs, even the tiny ones. I even heard this rumor that the oldest boy has been giving it to the mom.
Anyway, I’ve reached my word limit and realized I never got to talkin’ shop about cuts of juicy healthy red meat. Sorry. Next time.