Disaster strikes at ground zero of Operation Beefsteak.

Arriving at the dining facilities today, we made a beeline for the comments board. The card, that sweet, succulent comment card, was missing. No response, no acknowledgement. Obviously the conspiracy has decided to track us down and kill us. Luckily, they don’t know Brad and I by our true names. They think we’re Nick Sallade, attorney at law. And so the game is afoot.

In an effort to expose the conspiracy for what it is, Brad decided to ask his friend on staff one question, the burning question on all of our minds. “When will you be serving Beefsteak?” The answer we got was entirely unexpected. The employee told us that he didn’t know when, but he liked it. Somebody acknowledged beefsteak! The first cracks in an alliance of defiance have started to show. It was my duty to be the hammer that smashes that particular block of injustice open like so many hard-boiled eggs.

As we were speaking to the dining services employee, the ringleader of this whole twisted circus showed his twisted and evil facade. If you remember my last entry, you’ll know that a man who goes by the name of Chef Trey responded to the first comment, denying all knowledge of such a meat. He approached us and I decided to work the Beefsteak Charm. “Excuse me sir,” I said excusedly. “My friend Nick has been bugging us for days about this Beefsteak. Is there any help you can provide for us?” The man looked at me, a glint of hatred in his eyes and a spatter of gravy on his chef’s hat. “I have no idea what that is; some kid has been asking me about it all week.” Once again, we got nowhere. It was time to get out the heavy artillary. “Beefsteak is the golden brown and crispy steak treat that is fried up nicely by your dining hall staff,” I proclaimed with an air of indignance. “A fried steak, if you will.“

With defeat glowing red on his tired face, the chef condescended to answering my question. “Oh! Fried steak! It’s on our regular rotation, I’ll go check it out for you.” The man himself went back into the kitchen, presumably to speak to his evil council of elders. He came out three minutes later with a smile on his face and a tear of agony on his cheek. “Monday. Monday is the next day we have Beefsteak.” WE ARE VICTORIOUS! BEEFSTEAK IS ON THE MENU! THE RED SOX WIN THE SUPER BOWL! THE GREEN ONES ARE MY FAVORITE!

Of course, things could change before next Monday. Perhaps the Chef lied to me so that I wouldn’t expect the assassin awaiting me in my doorstep. Perhaps I must be silenced for the good of their operation. They’ve killed before, and they’re willing to kill again. They are A.B.O.L.I.S.H., and they will stop at nothing to erase Beefsteak from the consciousness of the public.

For now, I’ll keep my guard up. Keep checking in for daily updates. Until then…