Okay, so here’s the story of how the four members of pop-rock band Matchbox Twenty wound their way into my calamari dinner and how I ate them all without regret.
It was a quiet night. I’d been busy all day and had worked up quite an appetite. So I thought about what I wanted for dinner, mulled over my many culinary options, and decided that I wanted some calamari. I hadn’t had any of deep fried squid in a long time, and it sounded good, so I went out to get some.
I traveled on over to my favorite seafood restaurant and said, “Waiter, could I please get an order of your finest calamari dish?” And the waiter said, “Absolutely, coming right up for you, sir.” And so I waited and waited and waited until the dish had been prepared and the calamari cooked to perfection. And the waiter set my plate down before me and said, “Here is your calamari, sir.” And I said, “Thank you so very much for this delicious meal.” And then the waiter left so I could eat my calamari in peace.
I grabbed hold of the first piece of calamari and dipped it into the cocktail sauce and took a bite of the delicious, delicious dish. The buttery breading, the savory squid, the appetizing aroma—it was all perfect. Exactly like what I had wanted.
I finished off the piece, and it was then that I heard the screams.
It turns out that I had just eaten Matchbox Twenty’s lead bassist, Brian Yale. I looked down at my plate and there amongst the crisp pieces of calamari were the other three members of the band: drummer Paul Doucette, guitarist Kyle Cook, and vocalist Rob Thomas.
Obviously, I was taken aback by their presence. How could I eat this calamari knowing the band responsible for hits like “If You’re Gone” and “Unwell” and even the Official Song Of The Summer Of 2000 “Bent” was right there amongst the delectable tentacles? Could I just ignore the fact that the on-again, off-again post-grunge band was hanging out in my dinner? Could I eat the calamari with Matchbox Twenty all in it?
I was hungry. My stomach grumbled and its echo was louder than Rob Thomas’s deep, quivering, mumbling pleads for mercy against Cook’s strumming guitar and Doucette’s beating drums. I knew then what I had to do.
One by one, I finished the calamari from my plate. I ate with my eyes closed the entire time so as not to be able to distinguish between squid and rock star—my taste buds couldn’t tell the difference either. Eventually, I ate the rest of Matchbox Twenty. It was all very very delicious, very very smooth.
The waiter returned and, looking at my empty plate, said, “Are you finished with your meal, sir?” I nodded, politely wiped my mouth with my napkin, and replied, “Yes, it was very delicious. Thank you.” The waiter took my plate, handed me my bill, and left me to think about how Matchbox Twenty was now stuck in my stomach for all eternity.
