The King of Junque Food

I came up with a great idea once that, unfortunately, I have yet to follow through on. I thought it would be a great idea to have a tacky party where everyone would have to come dressed in the most tasteless, ill-conceived clothes. I found that Goodwill was full of plaid jackets, white shoes and belts, women’s sweatshirts with cute little kitties and glitter, etc. The possibilities were mind-boggling.
But the toughest part was coming up with snacks and drinks that people would actually eat. Spam squares on toast came to mind. Fried baloney, undescended twinkies and Flaming Cabbage Head Weenies in PuPu Sauce also sounded good (if you want the recipe, drop me a line). For drinks I came up with a wine cooler consisting of a decent white wine mixed with Nehi crème soda (which is a vivid blue). Other drinks could be served in paper bags or at least with those really cool little paper umbrellas.
However, even though I never had the party, I still considered myself the King of Junk Food. I liked Banquet TV dinners. I liked pickled eggs. I liked pepperoni sticks.
Now, I hate to admit this, but I have finally met my match.
For years I played in a garage band. What we lacked in ability we made up for in volume. The bass player was my good friend Jeff. Jeff is a man of appetites. Every time we took a break, he would go upstairs and devise a snack. One that I remember was L’ll Smokies Wieners in teriyaki sauce with cheetoes and beer. But he was yet to show us his true brilliance.
We met at a rental practice room one night to have a serious band practice. When you pay for a room you are more likely to work harder. Sure enough, at break time, Jeff opened his little cooler. With some prep and a little fanfare he offered us his masterpiece: chicken-in-a-basket crackers, cheese-whiz squirted from a can topped with his piece de resistance: caviar. That’s right, caviar and cheese whiz! The juxtaposition was brilliant. I fell to my knees in awe and humility and kissed the hem of his garment (OK, they were levi’s).
In the years since I have strained to top it, but it is of no use. I have met the man and he is called Jeff.