A Night Out With Nick Cato
Twas the night after X-mas and I found myself in an IHop in the middle of Flushing, NY, with Nick “The Yak” Cato and his sinister sidekick, a wall of hired muscle with the monicker of Christopher Ramone. They stared at me with red, glowing eyes as I nervously finished my “Five Star Breakfast” (scrambled eggs, french toast, panckages and sausages). I found my fork hand shaking uncontrollably and almost spilled my iced coffee with the 15 sugars.
Alas, my magic monkey mask was nowhere nearby as I forced hunks of buttermilk pancake into my pie hole, and I felt as vulernable as a declawed kitten. It’s times like these when a mug realizes how thin the wire is that we dance upon in this life. Somehow I made it to sunrise in one piece and still breathing, and counted my blessings for the new year.
(Despite my abject terror, it was a good night. We even brought the wives along for the ride. A fun time was had by all. And to all a good night).