Tuesday, May 16, 2006


slices stacked up, I got colonial bread

Why is it that every time I order breakfast in Iowa City (home of the totally corrupt Writers' Workshop), I get disrespected?

This morning, I went to my favorite diner for their "Texas-sliced french toast."
Now, where I come from, "Texas-sliced" means big. The word was even written in a grand, western font so that it looked like TEXAS was being branded into the menu as I read. In other words, the menu was the heaving flank of a mighty longhorn steer, and TEXAS was its name-o.

I'd stayed up all night thinking about corruption, and the Iowa Writers' Workshop.
The drool in my mouth had turned balsamic with rage. I headed to the diner.

My french toast slices were thinner than fly-paper, thinner than my nostril walls, thinner than the thinnest of thin dimes. These people--these criminals--had taken a normal-sized slice of bread and FILETED it, and then they'd FILETED the FILET. Powdered sugar trembled across the pocked bread. You might think it was a kind of toast-blossom, a delicate arrangement, but it was robbery at $7.49. I didn't even get hash browns. Say it with me:

This shit is totally corrupt.

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