Sunshine situation
Hot coffee, keep it coming. Half, quarter pound chopped beef. Walnut, scramble eggs. Keep it on the easy side. Dairy, ain’t no dairy in that. And they argued and argued around and around about whether or not Johnny Cash was in Folsom prison or just went to Folsom prison. And they said Skynyrd wasn’t from Alabama but just sang the song. And they said telling the truth was no more, but truth lives on. “This is not a democracy,” he said. “You can say that again,” he said. “This is not a democracy,” he said. “Shiiiiiit.” And I saddled up the mare at the sink-side stall and took a wild, wild ride out the last door on the glass wall.
And you know my hot sausage links stay firm like a pig in a blanket wrapped up butter soaked like fresh from the churn and slopped up with the hot toast buttered and assorted orange candy flavored cinnamon buns all up in your hot grits hot pants sausage waffle tasty omelet filling dripping with cheesy goodness from the side. And you have to feel me on this, and you know it’s no joke. And so several hot plates of waffles, hash browns, buttered toast with mixed fruit jelly, scrambled eggs, two sausage patties, two cups of black coffee, and three glasses of tap water later, I think I’m sated. Good thing I’m in the smoking section, because I need a cigarette. This shit’s got me bothered.
My pants are covered with mustard! God, how did I get so much mustard on my pants? Where did it all come from?! I was only eating a sandwich, not a condiment farm. This is horrible-what am I going to do with these mustard stains on my crotch? Shit, they’re spreading! The longer I sit here, the further into the fabric they sink. I know cold water won’t help anything-they’re already seeping down my legs, on across my thighs. And I can’t just wait beside the sink, standing pantless with a box of Tide. It’s not like I could hide my bright yellow harness. Jesus, how did I get mustard down on my knees? Them, too? What, was I bathing in the stuff? My shoes-it’s like I was standing in a vat of it. I have faith the size of a mustard seed, but I wasn’t expecting this.
And you know my hot sausage links stay firm like a pig in a blanket wrapped up butter soaked like fresh from the churn and slopped up with the hot toast buttered and assorted orange candy flavored cinnamon buns all up in your hot grits hot pants sausage waffle tasty omelet filling dripping with cheesy goodness from the side. And you have to feel me on this, and you know it’s no joke. And so several hot plates of waffles, hash browns, buttered toast with mixed fruit jelly, scrambled eggs, two sausage patties, two cups of black coffee, and three glasses of tap water later, I think I’m sated. Good thing I’m in the smoking section, because I need a cigarette. This shit’s got me bothered.
My pants are covered with mustard! God, how did I get so much mustard on my pants? Where did it all come from?! I was only eating a sandwich, not a condiment farm. This is horrible-what am I going to do with these mustard stains on my crotch? Shit, they’re spreading! The longer I sit here, the further into the fabric they sink. I know cold water won’t help anything-they’re already seeping down my legs, on across my thighs. And I can’t just wait beside the sink, standing pantless with a box of Tide. It’s not like I could hide my bright yellow harness. Jesus, how did I get mustard down on my knees? Them, too? What, was I bathing in the stuff? My shoes-it’s like I was standing in a vat of it. I have faith the size of a mustard seed, but I wasn’t expecting this.