Plenty of restaurants in L.A. claim to be exclusive: no sign on the door, no address, an unlisted number. But the fact is, if you know someone who’s been there, you really won’t have any trouble finding the place. That’s not the case with ???. Not only do I not know where it is, I have no idea how I got there.

Seriously, all I can remember is answering the door and some guy spraying a melon-scented mist in my face. The next thing I knew, I was dining on what I have to assume was the most delicious seafood I’ve ever tasted. I’m really not sure. That’s because at ???, you eat in complete darkness—while wearing a blindfold. I guess they don’t like to take any chances.

OK, I know what you’re thinking: If you’re blindfolded, how do you manage to feed yourself? Good question. You don’t. Each diner is assigned a personal feeder. How do the feeders see the food? Uh, I guess they use a pair of night-vision goggles or something.

In any case, very few words are allowed to be exchanged between you and your feeder. For instance, you might hear the words “Item 1″ before you experience an incredibly fresh mango salsa. If you want more of something, you have to refer to it by its number, followed by the word “please,” e.g., “More item 5, please.” Just don’t get too chatty. If you break the rules, they might suddenly pinch your nose or flick your earlobe. Or worse.

Judging from the acoustics, I believe I was in some kind of private room. Not huge, mind you. Possibly a closet. Maybe even my closet. Who knows. The fact is, I couldn’t hear any other people blurting out item numbers or yelping in pain from having their noses pinched or earlobes flicked.

Yes, the rules take some getting used to. But trust me, the cuisine at ??? is well worth it. Which brings us to the price. I don’t really recall paying for anything. But when I went online to check my bank records the next day, I had a new charge on my account for $2,523 from “Uncle Jeb’s Good Ol’ Fashioned Dildo Emporium. Now that’s either a buttload of new dildos (pardon my choice of words) or one incredibly delicious meal.

UPDATE: Turns out that charge was for a lot dildos. I guess while I was still groggy from whatever drug they put in my dessert (an Asian Pear Tart?), I got online and made some purchases that I would later regret. What’s worse, this package required a signature. And since I wasn’t at home, my neighbor signed for it. Right there on the mailing label were the words “Uncle Jeb’s Good Ol’ Fashioned Dildo Emporium. We’ll fix ya up real good.” Oh, and one more thing: a couple of days later, a charge for $583 appeared on my statement. The description simply read, “A Restaurant.” Yeah.

So in conclusion, the ??? restaurant: Good food, bad drugs.

Oh, and if you happen to be shopping for a new dildo (and who isn’t?), you’ll find over one hundred of them on eBay right now, still sealed in their original packages. Cheap.

Well, needless to say, it’s been a while since my last blog entry. Which is why I felt it was time I dropped this whole charade.

Unlike many other “personal” blogs, Everything Sucks has a staff of over twenty people. Every week, the President/CEO/Creative Director, Scott, holds a brainstorming session where new ideas are pitched. Some ideas, such as My Favorite Cheese, are immediately shot down and never heard about again. Others, such as the now famous The Unforgettable Kissâ„¢, are given the green light and assigned a team of writers.

Yes, that’s right. A team of writers. Truth be told, there is no actual person named Smivey. It’s an acronym made up from the first initials of the company founders: Scott, Michael, Ian, Valerie, Edgar and Jan. OK, Jan obviously starts with a “J,” but he’s Polish and he pronounces it “Yawn,” so we always think of it as a “Y.” Also, Smivep doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Anyhow, once the team of writers is assigned to a project, they go to their individual offices and start playing video games and surfing for porn. This goes on for about a week. A day before the first draft is due, each writer takes a stab at writing a first draft. Those drafts are then sent to Scott.

Scott reads through each draft and applies a gold star to the one that he likes best. That draft is then placed on the kitchen refrigerator for all to see and the author is given ten dollars to spend on candy and comic books.

After the writer of the chosen draft is given significant praise and all of his or her candy has been consumed, only then will the draft be taken to the head writers. The head writers read the draft once, spit on it, then set it ablaze and toss it out the window.

As soon as the first draft exits the building in a ball of fire, the two head writers must fight one another to see who will write the final draft. This can go on for hours. The first rule of a final-draft fight is that there are no rules in a final-draft fight. You can kick your opponent wherever you want and break a chair over his or her back, if you so desire. Since the chairs we provide are solid white oak, we lose a lot of good writers during the final-draft fight. And a few good chairs.

As soon as one of the writers in the fight has lost consciousness, the other writer is declared the winner. Unless, of course, they both have lost consciousness. Should this happen—and it often does—the two head writers must be demoted and then publicly ridiculed by having to wear their underwear backwards for a week.

Eventually, a final draft is written, which is then handed off to the head of research, Valerie. She then tries to persuade Scott to mention someone like Britney Spears in the blog entry, since mentioning Britney Spears would help improve the blog’s ratings during Google searches, especially if you use the phrase “Britney Spears naked.” Scott usually refuses to do this, since mentioning Britney Spears naked might weaken the integrity of the original piece. Britney Spears. Britney Spears. Britney Spears. K-Fed.

Finally, after all is said and done, and all cliches are typed out and put into place, the blog entry is ready for the public. Why do we go through so much trouble for a stupid blog with no advertising and no other means of revenue? Hm. Good question. Fuck this. You’re all fired. Oh, and one more thing: Britney Spears. Britney Spears. Britney Spears.