Sunday, September 4, 2011

Breakfast in Bed

this was a non-traditional breakfast. i read about it in a free magazine. I think they used "non-traditional," to help avoid any intimidation or fear caused by such a strong statement like, "a vegan breakfast." a wild and sexy affair where feasting vegans become insanely obese overnight. i first observed all types of spiffy looking 20 somethings. then i spotted, without a doubt, 8 crusty looking 30 year olds. but who's counting? we were all lined up outside. all of us waiting to get some gluten free items and to try their expansive selection of soy based breakfast entrees. it was so classy. i rubbed and caressed the red velvet rope that stretched the whole block leading up to the door.  i arrived at the secret location downtown at 6:59:59, cold and tired from the 27 mile bike ride. i hate riding bikes and i don't have a working vehicle. so i commuted via bicycle.  i was aware of the dress code, so i dressed accordingly. but the ruler the doorman was using to measure with, had to have been a fake. i know my high heels! just as well as i know the hairs and 3 moles located on my ball sac. not my heels, not my pubic hairs and no mole on me is longer than six inches. it was really hard dealing with the fact that i was turned away. it's not like i received a fucking invitation, in all caps, addressed to me! they made my un-welcoming party even more fun when they sprayed me with a garden hose, with the nozzle head rotated one quarter of a turn to the 'power jet' setting. so now i was dripping wet, soaked, embarrassed, standing there like id been humiliated in front of the whole jr high school lunch room. Then it dawned on me, i road my dads road bike, the huffy "meat eater." painted and stickered with well designed, eye catching decals, that read MEAT EATER. It was so visually captivating i'm sure it was arranged and designed by a young typographer-type with real potential. they took my bike from me and yelled in my face.  i tried mustering up an explanation or defense. but i couldn't speak, my mouth was paralyzed so no words were entering the air. i couldn't make a sound. i handed them my wet and ruined i-phone, 5geez or 6geez of nothingness and started walking to the bus station. i thought wow, fuck my life! then the next thing i know, i was sitting upright in my bed at my house 27 miles outside of the city. starving, i walked into the kitchen poured the last of the popov into the highland orange juice jug and cooked a pound of bacon(hormel) and a pound of sausage(jimmy dean). and split everything right down the middle, piece for piece with my italian greyhound

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