Our Mona's waitress allowed me to be a creep and take a picture of her shirt before I ate ten pounds of blueberry pancakes this morning. That's why the picture's blurry -- I was excited about the forthcoming stomach ache. Anyway, hot damn, right? A felt esophagus leading to a felt stomach full of felt googly-eyed bacon and googly-eyed over-easy eggs having a felt dance party. A dance party is not what happened after the pancake bomb. What happened after the pancake bomb was a football-sized wad of chewed-up pancakes looking around the room for fat pants and a remote.
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