JJ’s Rides the Bus to Flavortown After Guy Fieri Pitstop

Guy Fieri holding his ticket to Flavortown

Guy Fieri holding his ticket to Flavortown

The characteristic smoke inside JJ’s Place sifted through the air like it did on any other Saturday afternoon, smelling of grilled meat and greasy mozzarella sticks.  I was there when it happened.  I was there when it came.

Guy Fieri—The Guy Fieri—had just returned from a binge at a dive bar on Amsterdam (you know which one) when it noticed the scent of fryer oil wafting through the air on a northwesterly wind.  The faint aroma drew the beast upwards to the Morningside Campus.  The gluttonous reality food star was on the prowl in its red convertible, revving its way onto 114th Street and closing in on a southeastern entrance of the school.  By the time anyone knew what was happening, it was too late to stop it.

Guy Fieri stomped down the stairs, the sound of dissonant electric guitar chords filling the room more and more after each fateful step.  Before our very eyes, we saw its gloriously hideous frosted tips, the dark sunglasses worn behind its head, the bowling shirt covered in hot rod flames.  The dining staff was powerless to stop the creature from charging past the entrance and behind the grill, where it paralyzed everyone within earshot with fear by shouting, “TIME FOR OUR NEXT STOP ON DINERS, DRIVE-INS, AND DIVES.”  There was no cameraperson in sight.

Guy Fieri took two half-cooked burgers from the grill with its bare hands and slapped them together with a half-eaten chicken quesadilla from the garbage in between, a nightmarish McGangbang riddled with food poisoning.  The crowd of students and the chefs alike were overcome with revulsion as the brute stuffed its jowls full of the ghastly concoction, grease dripping down its bleached goatee and onto the floor.  It rolled its eyes back into its head and moaned in pleasure.  With food still crammed into its mouth, the monster bellowed, “HOLY GUACAMOLE, THIS IS OFF THE HOOK,” bits spattering out of its gaping jaws and onto the dry heaving, terrified spectators.

Apparently satisfied with itself, Guy Fieri made off in a hurry, skulking off to an unspecified, future victim; it was eager to continue the cycle of repulsive horror masquerading as cringeworthy reality television.  I was shaken—I underwent counsel with a helpful CPS staff soon after the incident—but I felt a profound sense of gratitude at having survived the unsettling experience.  Not all who encounter it are so lucky, but I had survived—for now.