What Wikipedia should have said, in addition to that, is "pancakes fuckin' rule, son! Dem shits is da bomb! Word!"
'Cause they do. And they are. Word?
We Americans like our pancakes in a variety of formats. We like them:
Flipped by a robot-
Finally, electronics brings us something useful
In the shape of an iPhone-
Who could resist the taste of Apple's charming product line?
Or with puppies inside them (apparently)-
I will reiterate my first question: why?!?
You might be asking: "So, Charles... are you going to get to the damn point here? I mean... a post about pancakes? Who cares?!"
To which I would reply: "Hey, hold your horses! I'm getting to it!"
The "it" to which I refer is the tale about the pancakes I made this morning. Have you ever heard of those miracle pancakes? Or "heavenly pieces of toast"? Have you ever heard of anyone seeing a relgious figure or celebrity outlined in their food?
Michael Jackson appears on yummy toast.
Well, this morning I slapped the butter onto my homemade cakes, and heard a voice whispering to me.
"Charles," it said.
I glanced around. No one here but me and Jera, who was still sleeping. I thought I was hearing things and got up to grab a glass of milk.
Louder, I heard, "Charles. Hey, it's me Al."
It sounded like it might be coming from the bedroom, so I walked in there to check. Jera was definitely still asleep. My cat hasn't talked since I stopped doing drugs... so I sat back down at the table. I was confused, but willing to ignore it. Then, finally:
"Hey Charles. I'm talking to you, man! It's me, Al Gore! Down here. On your plate!"
I looked down and saw something disturbing. Probably the most alarming and unusual thing I had ever seen. I grabbed my camera and took a picture, straight away.
I didn't recognize his face at first, but his voice was, indeed, Al Gore's.
"What the hell dude? What's going on?" I asked, after taking Al's picture.
"I don't know. I woke up this morning down here in this pancake... this is weird!"
Weird? I thought it was crazy. I thought I was crazy. I slapped myself in the face to wake up from the dream, but when I glanced back down, there he was again.
Tell me this wouldn't have freaked you out!
"Alright this is too much. What do you want from me?!" I demanded.
"What do you want from me?!"
I spoke in a hushed tone, which is proper etiquette either when talking to a Vice President or to a pancake.
"I don't want anything from you! I was going to eat you. How is this possible?"
"I don't know. I went to sleep in my multi-million dollar mansion who's carbon footprint dwarfs that of your hometown, and I woke up here. I have been so fucked up without Tipper, lately. Maybe my spiritual pain bent space and time and morphed me into a pancake...?"
"Whatever man. Look, I'm hungry, so..."
"No, don't do that!" he shouted. But I really was so hungry. Mr. Gore had never looked so appealing to me.
"I'm sorry man..."
"No wait wait... let me regale you with tales of melting icebergs! Or I can give you the dirt on that whole Lewinsky thing! Did you know Monica, Bill and I all had a... what do you kids call it... a "threesome"?"
"That's really gross, Mr. Gore."
"Well come on. Give me a chance here. You don't have to eat me. Please. I am begging you."
Folks, I was as tired of this Nobel Prize winner as I ever was this morning. And that was before he appeared, deity-like, in my hot pancakes, to annoy me. So I jammed my fork into his face and said "fork you!" His scream was short and muffled, and followed by silence.
I looked around, wishing someone had been there to hear my witty last line.
I felt a moment of remorse, then a moment of intense fear and wonder over the whole thing. But those feelings were rapidly washed away in a sea of deliciousness. My "buttery-goodness" nerve receptors were working overtime. When I was done, I didn't feel bad anymore.
And that, brothers and sisters, is the story of the enchanted pancakes, and one Vice President Al Gore. Tell me what you think, and tell me about the last time your pancakes talked to you.
In other news:
A nation mourns today after the news that former Vice President Al Gore passed away mysteriously in his own home this morning. The inventor of the internet was found in his bed, smothered with "Mrs. Butterworth's" syrup and melted butter. There were no signs of violence, but a conclusive cause of death will not be known until an autopsy can be completed. He is survived by an ex-wife, who wishes she had stayed in their marriage for, as she put it, "you know... the estate and stuff."
And finally, in blog news:
Today was a busy day, and I made only a little headway on the T&T thing, but one reader has offered her service in watching the show and writing down the companies she sees there. Thanks, Jenn! I humbly accept your assistance, as I don't have cable and cannot do that. Everyone has had really good advice regarding the whole endeavor, and I am excited to see that people still seem interested. I promise some progress tomorrow on the relevant contact information.
Also, a quick plug for the blog "Red Means Go", which has opened an online store containing various wares with various hilarious images from the blog. I believe I will be ordering a "Red Means Go" coffee mug. Take a look at the store here. Quite funny.
As always: Love.