I’m not what you call a “morning” person. Truth be told, I’m not what you would call an “afternoon” or a “night” person, either. But, that’s a tale for another day. I give myself enough time in the morning to get ready and get the crüe up and running for the day. Besides, if I got up any earlier, I might as well not even go to bed. Maybe that’s why I’m not such a morning person.
I love icning, as my kids are fond of calling icing. I’m telling you, I could eat that shit all day long. Icning just makes life a little bit more tolerable. Canned icning, bakery icning, icning, icning, icning! It’s all good. There is, however, an exception. And there always is, isn’t there? Always an exception to the rule. Why can’t a rule just be a rule? Why?
I’m not what you call a morning person. In fact, I’m not what you would call a “people” person, either. But, that’s a tale for another day. The irony of me not being a morning person is that I love breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day. I love breakfast foods. Eggs, pancakes, waffles. God! Do I love waffles! And breakfast meats? It’s like a smorgasbord of deliciousness. Bacon, Canadian bacon, sausage patties, sausage links and scrapple. Yea, even scrapple. Breakfast is God’s gift to mankind.
For the most part, I try to eat healthy. Day to day, I either eat oatmeal or Life cereal or Grape Nuts for breakfast. I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why bother living, you freak?” And believe you me, I agree with you. That’s why come Saturdays, I’m like a two bit hooker getting her fix on. ‘Cause, that’s when I break out the Cap’n. No, not Cap’n Morgan. Please. I’m a loser. Only rock stars have Cap’n Morgan for breakfast. And I don’t have the moxie to be either.