bigfan wrote:
"Today I had the 3 eggs scrambled. They use a special fork at this place today to whip the eggs, so they are fluffier than the usual place and the bacon was a special thick cut portion offered only at this place I was at."
Here's a good breakfast story for you guys. Enjoy!
Back when I was really rolling in the horse business and my stable was based at Maywood Park, we would often go out after the races. One cold winter night we were out drinking it up and eventually we ended up at O’Callaghan’s, as usual. I surrendered at around 3:00 a.m. so I got the rest of this story secondhand, but it’s a good one.
My friends Tom, Mike, and Ken kept going until they ended up closing the place. Tom and Mike were ready to go home, but Ken started whining about how he wanted strawberry pancakes. The other two guys didn’t really want to go but Ken was insistent. When they tell the story now, the imitation of Ken whining becomes more bitchy and high-pitched with every re-telling. “I waaaaant strawberry paaaaancaaaaakes!” Anyway, after a little begging by Ken, Tom and Mike finally acquiesced and agreed to meet him at a coffee shop on Clark Street to grab breakfast. By this time it’s close to five in the morning.
So, Tom and Mike show up and they’re waiting and waiting and waiting and no Ken. That’s right, Mr. Strawberry Pancakes never shows up. These guys are pissed, but they eat their breakfast and when the waitress asks if they want anything else, Mike says, “Yeah, we’ll take an order of strawberry pancakes to go.” They drive over to Ken’s house which is near Justin’s over on Southport. They find Ken’s car and they get out and take the strawberry pancakes and smash that shit all over his fuckin’ windshield. It was about 10 degrees outside with snow and ice all over the place. Just imagine these two drunken buffoons bundled up in their overcoats smearing strawberry pancakes all over a gray BMW parked on School Street.
Ken is a big-shot executive and the next morning he had an important meeting with some company lawyers and he was running a little late. He came outside and took one look at his car and said, “What the fuck???!!!! He grabbed his ice scraper and began desperately scraping frozen strawberry pancakes off his windows. Ken is scraping and muttering and muttering and scraping. Insult to injury: a hipster comes sauntering by, looks at Ken and says, “Hey man, are you gonna eat those?”