All that worry about
conduct,
misconduct, and
Big Brother was apparently for naught. Here's Roger Goodell translated through the fleur-de-lis lenses of Superdome personnel:
1. Weapon-like contraband? Not recommended, but we ain't gonna stop ya
Superdome security sez: "Are you allowed to enter with that?" (gesturing toward 18-inch wooden cooking spoon) "I don't know if you're allowed in with that? They may want you to leave that outside."
Chef sez: "No. I'm good. It's a prop. They want me to bring it in."
2. Alcoholic contraband? We already charge $8 for a single bloody mary and we outlaw bloody doubles, so you should probably just bring your own.
Superdome security sez: "What's that?"
Jim Beam sez: "That's my fifth of Jim Beam."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay."
Chef sez: "Hey Jim. Can I get a swig of Beam? Want me to step behind the wall here so you don't get it confiscated?"
Jim Beam sez: "Shee-ottt Chef. Drink my damn drink, fool. If they take this one, they know I have another back at my seat. And if they ask me to leave, they know I got an extra ticket back at the truck. They don't want to kick me out Chef."
Superdome security sez: "What's that?"
Under-21 Cafe 641 patron sez: "Uh, what? This bottle with
pretty royal blue writing on it? It's like a giant perfume bottle that my mom asked me to hold for her."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay. Well, don't drop it."
Superdome security sez: "Why you walking funny, sir?"
Cafe 641 patriarch Hogan sez: "Cuz I got a got-damn wine skin chaffing my ass cheeks cuz. It's full of Jim Beam and I was doing my
Keyser Söze impression."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay. Well, take care of those ass cheeks."
3. Malodorous contraband: We'd prefer you bathe at home, but we'll provide complimentary room spray as the need arises.
Superdome security sez: "WTF? Who hath defaced this precious Cafe 641 air?"
DJ Doberge sez: "No worries, sir. It's a concentrated version of a spice commonly used in fajita meat rubs. I think it's called cummin. An industrial deodorizer should clear the air."
To re-cap: your super-size spoons, Jim Beam, and stank are all welcome on Monday Night.
Thanks Deuce. Thanks Will. Thanks Charles. I was thinking that tomorrow's overseas victory (Shocked Scones w/ Jammer anyone?) would be the real shock. Now, it's all Cry Me a Rivers Fish & Chips. I've had so much to drink already today, I'm gonna need a friggin' diureutic to clear my urine.
No fewer than three Who Dats have agreed to transport customized, goldenrod-papered Cafe 641 menus to Wembley's Superdome East on October 26. If you'll be in that London number and are willing to spread some Upper Terrace, Dome Foam-inspired satire, drop a line and I'll do my best to get the "Who Dat shock heard 'cross the pond!" menu in your hands. It takes a small deputizing ceremony, but in some cases this has already happened.
So a Chef walks through a tailgate on a Monday night, samples a stunning crabmeat dip, turns to a distinguished looking gentleman who looks as if he may be a holder of season tickets in the Club Level, and asks, "Say, brah. Who made this dee-lish crab dip?"
On behalf of the Who Dat Nation, and especially Cafe 641, it gives me great pleasure to extend our warmest welcome to the Norwegian royalty that has traveled all the way from Minnesnowta to take part in a contest of brute strength today in the Sacredome.
Somehow, I think Dr. Morris would be a big fan of Adrian Peterson this week:
All that worry about conduct, misconduct, and Big Brother was apparently for naught. Here's Roger Goodell translated through the fleur-de-lis lenses of Superdome personnel:
