h a l f b a k e r yIt's not a thing. It will be a thing.
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Menu choices include potatos thrown against the wall, stomped on by horses, headbutted, thrown into a fan, punched with brass knuckes, et al.
All sanitary precautions are carefully heeded, and you get to watch the whole thing go down. That's mostly the point, anyway.
...by aliens
http://news.bbc.co....tainment/572903.stm
[po, Aug 29 2005]
Horse nappy
http://www.cyberhorse.net.au/stablemaid/
......... [ConsulFlaminicus, Sep 01 2005]
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Annotation:
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a perfect accompanyment to any first date. |
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I dont know about having people headbutting my food. |
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HOWEVER, the idea of watching your food get cooked in an entertaining way has always been fun. |
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You could have a "Willy Wonka factory" set up of machinery that runs all throughout the restraunt which cooks your food or atleast gives you the illusion that its cooking your food. (Weather if its a potato or entire meal(s)that get put together ) |
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You can watch your food get cut up, mixed, baked, and thrown around through a puzzle of contraptions and devices until your food is ready and shoots out to be eaten. |
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It would be interesting to me while I eat. |
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I know a couple of kids who would think this was a riot. The entertainment value alone would be worth the, likely, dramatically increased cost of the food. |
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Since it IS a potato BAR, maybe you could set out a bunch of wacko tools and let people mangle their own potatoes, with, like, a giant mallet or a sandbag gun or a mini-jackhammer... |
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So it's not a drinking haunt for war veteran spuds then? |
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Reminds me of that Bob Dylan song, Million Dollar Bash. I had always wondered where to take my potatoes, and this idea is clearly the answer, assuming you are allowed to bring your own. |
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"Well, I looked at my watch,
I looked at my wrist.
Punched myself in the face,
With my fist.
I took my potatoes
Down to be mashed.
Then I made it over
To that million dollar bash.
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee,
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee,
It's that million dollar bash." |
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sp. potatoes (unless you are Dan Quayle) |
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Shirley if you were to throw your potato into a fan it would come out in neat, even slices just like in the cartoons, no? |
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//stomped on by horses// opposed to //All sanitary precautions are carefully heeded//
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You don't drive on horseback very often do you [daseva]? |
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[Susan], of course the potato-stomping horses will be required to wear special sanitary booties and hairnets before stomping potatoes. And your serving of James-Bond-Aston-Martin-mashed potatoes will be protected by a special sanitary shrink-wrap applied to the tires before impact. |
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<choking on my drink>
Its not about the hoves and hairs, its about what horses do without warning and with total disregard for socially accepted behaviour! |
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OK, you're right. I wouldn't want to mix my potatoes with road apples. (I can't seem to find a link for Depends for horses.) |
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Maybe we could develop a special breed of house-trained horses just for this job? |
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Well, the horses are a longshot, but imagine a horse with plexiglass boxes on its hooves, and a trashbag strapped to the back of its ass, tromping around in a trough of potatoes, milk, and butter, with an employee folded paper hat on its head for effect, and when your finished laughing, you can put your napkin in your lap and pour the rest of your beer in that once frosty mug. Food's almost ready! |
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"And the croissant for best annotation of the day goes to...envelope please..." |
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For dancing, the bar has a mash pit. |
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I wouldn't go to a place like that unless the kids were to look at me and --- "pleeeeease" --- shut up! No, not even then. I can think of a way they could persuade me but it would involve criminal charges and bondsmen, and I don't want to give em any ideas. |
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On the other hand, imagine this: You walk into a restaurant (or call ahead), pay for your meal and are told to leave without being served. A short time later you are whisked into a "very private dining area" off an alley or in the back of a semi truck where you are treated in the grand style. That might get a warmed bun that had been wedged somewhere other than between a horse's thighs, but I'd still need persuading to visit a place like that. |
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