if you order three-way chili, make sure you have protection

Boy am I glad to be back. The mob was out to get me, because Marley borrowed all that money from them, but while trying to rustle up some cash to pay them off, I invented a new form of bling, so the government got involved. I spent a week in witness protection, and they relocated me to Cincinnati, where I was given the false identity "Hugh Jwang." Those FBI agents were pretty crappy -- I don't even look Chinese. Plus one of them couldn't stop laughing when we were training me to respond naturally to my new name. What a prick.

I held a temp position at the Jim Beam factory near Dayton, and I even got a bonus for showing up drunk -- this worked out way better than my job as a receptionist for MADD. And Cincinnati was such a friendly city, like how the rowdy group of black teens cheerfully called out, "Hello Mexicans!" to me and my Indian coworker.

But let me tell you, the by-far-best was the regional cuisine. I especially enjoyed the three-way chili (that's chili with two women -- I'm surprised this hasn't caught on elsewhere), although I also had my share of pulled pork and hotdogs. My first night, I was so full, you could have offered me the nectar of the gods and I would have patted my tummy and politely turned it down.

In the end, it turns out that my debt was forgiven when a gratefully blinged-out ninja volunteered to work for the mafia to pay off the money I owed. I was sensitive to the special needs of the stealthy, and the mob happens to be sensitive to the sharp edge of a katana, so I believe that is a win-win.



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