Satan has a cat, and it lives at the Wet Market in Boracay.
Tuesday night, a group of us went for dinner at the Wet Market, where the local fishermen display their daily catch. It's a pretty good setup, you just buy what you want (cheap!) and the restaurant next door prepares it for you (cheap!). Many of the creatures are still alive and kicking, and the rest were (probably!) caught that day. It was a pretty cool experience just to wander through there, and definitely worth it for dinner.
We settled upon tuna steaks, white snapper, prawns, and crab, seasoned with various rubs and marinades, grilled right at our table, and served with garlic rice. And for the record, i find it amazing that garlic rice has not yet been adopted by every cuisine in the world. It is, quite simply, superior to regular rice in every way. And THAT is a fact people.
So there we were, enjoying our fish, prawns, garlic rice, and bottomless Red Horse lager, stuffing ourselves to the tune of $9 per person. When suddenly, the earth began to rumble and a small fissure appeared, vomiting forth this...
It looked vaguely like a gremlin, so we named it Gizmo. It sat at our feet under the table and belched out a distorted cry, begging for something. As it went from one victim to another, it would occasionally brush a foot or leg, horrifying the person connected to it.
What did it want? Food? No... it wouldn't eat anything. Love? Nice try Giz. Petting? Unfathomable. Our souls? At one point, Mitch put a dare on the table: "Pick it up and let it lick your face, and i'll buy anyone's drinks for the rest of the week."
Therese, always the voice of reason, saw the glimmer in my eyes and was quick to veto.