My problem is – I’m too nice.

It wasn’t too long ago I swore off Zippys for making portions smaller and the price higher.

Last night the wife suggested she’d pick something up for dinner.

That usually means she wants to visit Zippys – her favorite place next to Macys and Las Vegas.

Time for me to show some love to the misses and get a few brownie points.

Damn if I didn’t suggest to the wife I’d give Zippys mahimahi a try.

An opportunity for Zippy’s to redeem itself, so to speak.

I’ve been going to Zippys since the day they started.

I remember plate lunches for 50-cents.

I grew up on that stuff into a fine, handsome young man.
I’m lying.

Anyway, she goes off to her favorite place and brought back whatever she wanted and mahimahi for me.

God, what a disaster.

Where does one start…

How about a golf ball – which describes the mahimahi pretty well.

It was deep-fried so long I could strap it to a handle and drive a nail with it.

Geesh, the thing coulda killed a zombie and you know how hard that is.

I should have taken a picture because it didn’t look anything like this.

Once I sawed through the armor plating the inside was like rubber.

And the pieces were much smaller than before.

One wonders if the boss at Zippy’s ever eats his own stuff.

Not like showing up and glad-handing the employees who then hand him a nine-course meal.

More like someone goes and gets him a take-out so they think it’s going to some regular dude so they can slack off and deliver a gut bomb.

Yeah, I’m upset.

Good grief, the dog turned his nose up at this stuff.

There’s more…
When the wife comes home with this gastric delight she looks in the package and there’s no forks or knives, no napkins and no tartar sauce for the mahimahi.

We may eat with our fingers and wipe our mouth on our t-shirt but most people in Hawaii eat mahimahi *with* tartar sauce.

Boy was she angry.

Mr. Zippy – it’s not a good idea to make the wife grumpy.

Trust me.
I know.

You deserve it.