Regulars

There's regulars that stick in the memory of Armbone Stallone, and then there's people that think they're important enough to be consider regulars. People need to understand that the rib palace is located in one of the busiest places in the world, and we see thousands of people a week. If you want to be remembered, you have to have certain attributes. You either have to be a good tipper, a total dickhead, surrounded by hot women, or you have to be a fucking nutjob like the Fry-Nubs. You can't just be an everyday Joe Shmo and expect us to remember you.

We got one older couple that comes in every week. I'd say they classify as weirdos. The man looks like Charlie Manson, has fake teeth, and reeks like cigarettes. Imagine the most average looking, heavy set, trailer park queen ever, and that's the wife. They order the same thing every time. They order two hot dogs, with chili, cheddar cheese, sauerkraut, onions, and bacon. The wife drinks water. Manson drinks nothing. Then they leave whatever change is in their pockets as the tip. I'm always polite to them, even though I already know what kind of tip I'm about to get, because I once had a ten minute conversation with the guy about how his favorite hobby is killing possums and raccoons, and making coon skin hats. Not gonna lie, the fucking guy scares me a little bit. Plus, you never trust a person that doesn't wash down their food with some sort of drink.

I had another couple that used to frequent the restaurant. A mid thirties married couple that were great tippers. They stopped coming in though. Maybe they moved or something, I don't know. But I remember a few interesting conversations with these two. They came in one night, and the chick had on a full leg brace and was walking with crutches. I greeted them as I always would, took they're drink order, and then asked what was up with her leg.
"I had knee surgery a couple days ago, and I have to wear this brace for a while." she said.
"You on any meds?" I asked.
"Yeah, actually I'm on percocets." she answered, right after she just got done ordering a Long Island Iced Tea.
"You're on perc's, and your gonna drink a Long Island?" I said. Just as I did, the husband lended over and nudged me with his elbow. I turned and looked at him. And with a shit eating grin on his face, he said,
"Yeeeeaaaah, butt sex."
I busted out laughing. The wife, however, didn't think it was as funny as I did. And with her good leg, she kicked him in the shin underneath the table. Now that's how you get remembered.

There are many more regulars that I will eventually tell you about. The strip club owner and his whores. The five percent tipping family of fat fucks. The Huckstables. Superman. Lots more stories to come. Stay tuned armboners.