At one time there was a fabulous gourmet Chinese restaurant in Bridgehampton, NY, called HSF.
I went there so often that the Maitre D, Freddy, came to know me by name, although because there is no easy way to say the letter L in Cantonese, he always referred to me as: Aaron DeCarro, instead of Alan DeCarlo
- Ah, Mister Doctor Arron. What you want tonight?
- I don’t know Freddy. You pick. Except nothing with tentacles or suction cups, please.
- Ha. You, veh funny. You know this no sushi place. How bout some nice Peking Duck, then? You have nice drinks. Take about half hour. Crispy piece come out first.
It was entirely coincidental that one of the major local news headlines of the day was about a series of repeated sexual sodomies at a local Duck farm. Some one person or persons were regularly breaking into the coop, and after forensic analysis it was discovered that some Ducks had been sodomized. The birds had then been viciously and maliciously hacked the birds to pieces with a sharp instrument. Only small bloody lumps of feathery flesh were being left behind.
Only after appropriately patient surveillance by the police was the perpetrator caught “in flagrante” doing the dirty deed and hauled off to jail for arraignment.
The scary thing about this guy is that as far as I know, most serial killers usually start off with this type of behavioral pattern before they hone their skills enough to work their way up to humans. As such it was probably a very good thing he was stopped in the preliminary stages of his psychosis.
It was even scarier then to find out that years later this particular person, after serving his time was spotted on a construction sight as a day laborer and undoubtedly, because not like human sexual predators, he was not likely to be required to identify himself and sign into the new neighborhood as being as the notorious former Duck Fucker of the Hamptons.
Hear ye, hear ye. All ye good men and women of the Eastern reaches of olde Long Island. Ye are hereby notified with the greatest of alarm and alacrity to hide and keep sequestered from dusk to dawn all your nearest, dearest and most esteemed good valuable and cherished and still assumedly yet virginally fair daughters and water fowl.
Freddy, having a fairly good sense of humor, soon after the story of the duck- man hit the press, greeted me at the restaurant door, after which I sat down to go through the usual perfunctory ritual.
So, Mister Doctor Arron. What you want tonight?
- I don’t’ know Freddy. Why don’t you pick?
- OK. Tonight we have two variety Duck. We have nice crispy fry Un-Fuck Duck or we serve nice steam Peking Fuck Duck. Which kind duck you want? Fuck duck or un-Fuck duck? Ha. Ha.
- Very funny, Freddy. How about some Moo Shoo Pork?
I knew that pork would be a relatively safe dinner choice because although in anger I had occasionally at times referred to someone as being a “pig fucker,” I had never heard, nor known, nor read about anyone actually having done it to one.
How can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?
Just turn it over
|Peking Duck: Source||www.johnmariani.com/…/2006/060827/index.html|