Wrong Kobe, in more ways than one.

The signs were there, if one was enlightened enough to see them. You know you’re in a classy restaurant when the waiter hands you a game piece that reads “DO NOT OPEN” and tells you that you just might win $25,000. Also, this meal was going to be a golden opportunity to earn “triple points.”

Yep. Classy. No John Dory. No risotto. No Gordon Ramsay. Just class.

I ordered the “signature” steak but, alas, it was a rip off. There wasn’t even any writing on it!

I was about to leave to find a real restaurant that served a taco with a strip of bacon or “mighty” wings, but then I noticed something else on the menu.

A “Kobe” burger.

Shit. They sure know how to bring the full-court press. My buttocks clenched, which is just about the only defensive play I know.

Kobe.
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