König Kunde

Ist etwas länger, aber am Ende lacht man Tränen. Versprochen.

The Flamingo Palace in Phoenix will be getting a call from my therapist/lawyer/priest after the way they violated my taste buds today. I ordered their Orange Chicken. My brother and nephew also ordered seemingly regular dishes (teriyaki chicken, sweet and sour pork). I figured this would be a simple task for a seasoned Chinese Restaurant, especially one with raving reviews like the ones seen on this site (Screw You, Liars!).

When my doorbell rang, I saw a small Asian man holding a droopy bag, looking both scared and apologetic. He resembled what I imagine the stork looks like when he delivers a bag of miscarriage to an expecting couple. That should have been my first sign. My second sign should have been when he refused the tip. When we divided up the contents of the lumpy sack of sad, I realized the inividual servings were very small. Little did I know, this was going to be the biggest blessing of my night... well, that and the fact that we have more than one bathroom. I bit into my Orange Chicken. I didn't cry when my mother abandoned me. I didn't cry when my best friend died taking a bullet for me. I didn't even cry on September 11th. I cried today. My mouth convulsed with such distortion that I'm sure anyone looking at me would think my face was turning inside out. Tears began to flow. In all fairness, I may not have been crying. My eyes may have simply began to water as a reaction to not breathing. You see, upon consuming the one bite of food?, my stomach also began violently contracting. It was like a bucking bronco refusing to be tamed. How my stomach could sense the debauchery that my mouth had barely encountered is beyond me but it refused to succumb to the natural eating process.

My stomach was trying to detach itself from my digestive system and it had every right to do so. Confused and scared, I began shoveling the plain white rice down my throat as a sort of chaser. I chose the rice because the chicken started resembling gremlins and there was no way I was going to let one of them sons of bleeps get wet. Unfortunately, my stomach wasn't able to tear itself away in time and ultimately had to suffer the wrath of Flamingo Palace. I dont know anything about biology or chemistry... I'm even bad at math sometimes. But I know that there is no way food can enter your stomach and leave your butthole at the same time. Still, I'm positive that's what my body did to this meat...for lack of a better term. That former "bite" of food shot out of my tailpipe like it was being chased by ... well... more bites of Flamingo Palace. That's when the burning started. I've been wetting tissue with cold water and dabbing my starfish with it in attempts to cool the inferno that has been raging ever since. My O-ring feels like there are elvish words flaming around it's perimeter and I fear that someone is going to instruct me to take it to Mordor and throw it in the lava.

As I write this review, I mourn my brother and nephew. I don't know if they're dead but both have been lying very still for hours and neither is moaning or twitching anymore. It's been frighteningly long since I've heard either one scream. On a positive note, the rice was, at very best, edible. Granted, I'm drawing comparison to the ball of sin I had burning it's unholy way around my insides. So, Flamingo Palace, I must ask you: What did I do to you? If there was a way to rate less than one star, I would. Maybe zero stars. No. No, I think I'd make you go around giving stars back to the people. To say your food is poor is insulting the word Poor. And the word Food. And I hope all of you liars who gave this place good reviews find Jesus. You are evil pranksters and I bet you're the same people who pee on the toilet in public restaurants.

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