This is the story of my first time having hibachi, meeting NFL athlete DeMarco Murray, and pissing off some fat bitch.
It was a warm summer night in July of 2015. I had just passed the one year mark with my girlfriend, and we were downtown in Philly looking for something good to eat. My girlfriend suggested hibachi. I had never done hibachi, but I knew what it was and was down to give it a shot. Sitting at a table with strangers watching my food being prepared seemed like it would be a pretty interesting experience.
We went to this place on the beautiful and totally-not-polluted Delaware River, with a scenic view of the Ben Franklin Bridge and Camden. We were seated and had to wait for more people to show up before the chef would come out and cook for us. After a couple of minutes, in walks some random black guy with his wife and kid. As I’d find out later, this man was DeMarco Murray (and his supermodel wife). At the time DeMarco was the running back for the Philadelphia Eagles. I was completely oblivious to this, of course. I haven’t watched football since I was 12 years old so I don’t know any Eagles running back after Duce Staley. And even then, who’s going to recognize most players out of their jerseys? John Elway or Tom Brady could’ve sat down next to me and I’d have been none the wiser.
So DeMarco Murray sits next to me and asks me if the place is any good. I tell him “lol idk”, and that’s the extent of our conversation. Other people are brought to our table, three girls and three guys. This is where the fat bitch came in. Her part in this story doesn’t come until a bit later though.
To this day, this is the only time I’ve ever been to a hibachi place that didn’t do the exact same routine. Seriously, they all do the same exact shit every damn time or place I go to. The egg roll joke, the onion volcano (sometimes switched out for a train), the egg in the chef hat. Without fail, every single time and every single place. I’m told this is an American thing lifted from Benihana’s, and in Japan the chefs don’t really do shows like this. I have no idea, but after seeing it for the 30th time the wonder is gone and you just feel awkward watching it.
This time though the chef spoke perfect English, changed up the routine just a bit (obviously this is something I realized later), and for reasons I didn’t know until after the fact kept making football-related jokes. It was a fun time, and I’m glad this unique experience was my introduction to hibachi. Unfortunately this was also my peak experience, and every other hibachi experience afterwards was the same rehashed Benihana’s schtick. I mean no disrespect to the chefs or anything and I still enjoy the taste of hibachi-cooked food, but the performances no longer interest me. Maybe one day I’ll find a hibachi place that does something different and I can recapture the magic of my first experience, but until then I’m stuck sitting through “I SHOW YOU HOW TO MAKE EGG ROLL LOL” and awkwardly laughing and clapping so I don’t look like an asshole.
Anyway, we all got our food and ate. After eating, I noticed DeMarco and his family were gone. It was then that the chef came over and announced that our meals had been paid for, and that the man sitting next to me had been Philadelphia Eagles running back DeMarco Murray. Immediately the entire table erupted into “Oh yeah I knew that the whole time!”. The fat bitch in particular was very vocal, repeatedly feeling the need to say “I don’t know how anyone didn’t know that”. I didn’t even realize this was directed at me until the following day (I’ll get to that in a moment).
Unfortunately, DeMarco paying for our meal left us in an awkward predicament. We had no cash and were planning to pay by card. So now we couldn’t leave a tip and would look like huge assholes. There was an ATM in the lobby, but of course it was out of service. The next nearest non-shady ATM was a 20 minute walk from where we were. Sorry bro, I might feel bad but we’re not walking 40 minutes to tip you. Hope DeMarco tipped you well.
Anyway, me and my girlfriend get into the elevator to leave the hibachi place, and the fat bitch also gets on with her friends. She’s STILL going on about “How can you be sitting right next to DeMarco Murray and not even know?” At this point I’ve kind of sussed out that her outburst may have been directed at me, but I still wasn’t sure enough to start something over it, and even then I’m not going to throw down in a tiny cramped elevator with this fat cunt and the three guys that were also there with her. DeMarco performed an act of kindness, I wasn’t going to sully that by getting into a fight with some fat ugly bitch with an attitude problem. As we get off the elevator, I tell the fat pig to have a good night, and me and my girlfriend go about our night.
The next day at work, I bragged relentlessly about having my meal paid for by a Philadelphia Eagle. My sports-loving coworkers ate this shit up, I was practically king for a day. Later that night, one of them discovered a blog post on Crossing Broad about it. Apparently one of the writers had been browsing Twitter and came across a series of posts from the fat bitch, whose name was Gianna.
Sadly, I can’t find the Twitter posts anymore (I really wish I could, they were gold), but the gist of it was, rather than thank DeMarco Murray for his kindness, Gianna had spent her entire night on Twitter bitching me out for not knowing who DeMarco Murray was. And not only had she spent the entire night complaining, but some of her posts were also timestamped the following morning. This had upset poor fat fuck Gianna so much that it stewed and festered in her mind into the next day. The posts are long gone, but the one I do remember was something to the effect of “Her boyfriend sittin there stuck on stupid, if I was his girl I’d dump his dumb ass”. If you were my girl? As if I’d date your fat ugly ass. I did a little digging on her profile and also saw many posts complaining that she couldn’t find a man. I wonder why? I shared this with the AJnet Forums, who immediately wanted to amass the troops and launch an all-out e-assault on Gianna. I decided against this (probably for the better), and the digital dogs of war remained chained.
So that was my first time at a hibachi grill. Since then every other hibachi outing has paled in comparison.
I’m honestly not too sure where I’m going with this article. I thought it was a cool story at first, but now that I’ve written it out and am reading it back to myself it seems kind of boring. I guess I’ll wrap this one up by saying thanks to DeMarco Murray for paying for me and my girlfriend’s hibachi meal in 2015.
And if Gianna happens to be reading this, I hope you finally found a man who can tolerate your fat ugly bitchy ass.
SIKE, I hope you got herpes you stupid cunt!
Alright, I think we’re done here now. Take us out of here, DJ Jazzy Jeff.
UPDATE: A reader managed to salvage Gianna’s tweets from the Internet Archive:
Shoutout to Cave for recovering these tweets.