Restaurant of the Dead

Restaurant of the Dead by J.B. Pravda

I had long grown tired of the parvenu habituated bistros now so
ubiquitous amid the hurly-burlesque of whole municipalities of hectic
lost souls.

Fueled by willingly ingested apocryha concerning the properties of
certain ancient though newly-parsed resinous concoctions known to have,
in some stunningly photographed cases, literally frozen time and its
partner crepitude.

The original partners (a status I had demurred, fashionably citing
'illiquidity'), made a festival of the grand opening, having featured a
colorful retired Egyptologist with an actor-like British demeanor and
several variously 'wrapped' and unwrapped mummies of the old Universal
B movie ilk, albeit the cleavage and perfumerie had a decidedly updated
Hollywood bent.

Adorning the walls midst the pricey Braunschweig &; Fils hieroglyph
wallpaper were tastelessly posed fashion blowups of a global A list of
dessicated visitors from several retroactive millennia.

"Ladies &; Gentlemen, we welcome you all to the world's first
culinary emporium, bringing you the latest biochemical discoveries to
your palate and plate aimed at imparting to your very alive systems
such properties as have enabled our time-defying thematic guests to
join us here today!" The polite applause was as much from hosts as
guests; "So, enjoy the complimentary hors d'oeuvres,
and&;#8230;..dine like a royal Egyptian!"

In one of the largest lawsuits of its kind, the plaintiffs, a class of
patrons, including several passive investors in the venture, sought
unspecified damages, compensatory as well as punitive, for the
medically curious effects of years of consumption of the restaurant's
exotic menu.

In commenting on the frivolous nature of the action, noted Beverly
Hills defense attorney Ank Tutmose wryly observed that, despite the
campy hype commonplace nowadays and, the rather high educational level
of all the plaintiffs, it was well understood via disclaimers all over
the menu from day one that the only proven preservative qualities
actually known to science were those contained in the suntan ablutions
which were complimentary with each food order; the allegation that they
plaintiffs' internal organs had continued to age normally was, well,
totally consistent with ancient practices.

In what can only be described as maximum rhetorical chutzpah, Tutmose
concluded chidingly by positing the following: "Hey, even the pharaohs
knew this stuff was meant to keep one looking good in the afterlife; we
feel confident that the case will be dismissed and entombed in the
annals of the ridiculous."

As he had predicted, the judge ruled in favor of dismissal in a
particularly scathing, though legally questionable ruling; opining that
'none of these complaining parties has begun to make a showing that
they constantly wore linen and spent sufficient time in cool dark
places', Judge Spurgeon Lovejoy lived to regret that particular dictum,
it having been revealed at his impeachment hearing that he had been a
heavy investor in the chemical company responsible for the exaggerated
claims repeated innocently by the restauranteurs, as well as the linen
supply company which never seemed to take off.

As I write these painful words, I, myself, have noted the cruelest of
ironies imbedded deeply within the half-truths and overall chicanery of
this tale of 'The Crypt', as the, now, wildly successful chain is now
known-------you see, I foolishly divorced the judge, unaware that he
was simply seeking an excuse to sensationalize and cash in on what he
and Tutmose had planned all along----instead of my name, he would often
scream out 'law' while screwing me; it is, however, of some consolation
to me that I have no difficulty winning the attention of young
attractive men, although this has meant the endless humiliation of
tasteless jokes about the 'cobwebbed' orifice of their lustful
affections.

That' it; I now travel to the afterlife, hoping that, at least, I may
find my visage timelessly adorning some unborn franchisee's wall in
some as yet unknown place.