AUTHOR.CALHO: If I didn't write it, I would be hitch hiking cross country to Maine and then Alaska in that order. While taking frequent breaks to spread leaflets. And sit in diners. And write on things because I wasn't at a computer. I may still do that in a few years. Writing this also helps me forget about and better understand the limitations of being human, and keeps me busy enough to allow me no free time to burn the world down.

THEMATIC.ABOUT : Collapse often. The things that hold people together and hold them apart and scatter brains. The things that make thoughts go boom. The things that ooh and aah and [expletive deleted]. Sometimes poking around the margins where responsibility ends and the only one to look to is the Original Equipment Manufacturer and say "but, I already pressed 9 for more options and the menus are exactly the same. Can you just replace it?" The answer will be: "please hold." Sometimes hanging out in dark corners. Sometimes following the train tracks. Looking for ways out and ways in and all the while sharing the things seen and heard and done and drawn and written and scorched and healed and teased and caged and dreamed along the way.

9/16/14

Reason #439 Why Pancakes Are Evil

Let's just say, hypothetically there is an electromagnetic pulse attack that blankets the East Coast, or wherever it is you live, some terrible afternoon.  Not that the afternoon was going terrible for you, but obviously after an EMP attack things probably went down hill pretty quickly.

Let's say following the EMP attack was to come a nuclear strike on the place, town, coast, whatever, your apartment building, and we know this because before the EMP attack wiped out all unprotected and delicate electronics we saw the missiles going up and were like "oh, damn.  That's not great."

Let's say right before that horrible afternoon, you had the morning off from work and figured you would hit up the diner, because most of the time you cannot even stop to smell your coffee on your way to work.  While you were sitting there, that beautiful and limitless morning you decided to go with the bacon and eggs and half bagel.

The news on the television behind the counter was interesting.  The commercials were funny.  Your booth was clean.  The coffee was smooth.  You even dropped a piece of bacon and it landed in a crease of your jean pant leg instead of on the floor.  A real "hell yeah" of a morning.  Even the wait staff was chipper and topped up your cup of coffee without you asking.

They ask you if you would like to try a few pancakes with syrups and flavors and chips in them and the day is going so great, and you've got the time off to take a little nap when you get home, and you say an emphatic yes.

Now lying there on your couch, people sprinting through the halls of your apartment building, policemen at street level with horns and whistles shouting the way to the nearest bomb shelters, fists pounding on walls and feet banging echoes down fire escapes and stairwells, and your belly full of more pancakes than you've eaten all year you know there is no way you can possibly get up.  There is no way you are making it off of your couch.  There is no way you will be able to run anywhere for at least another 4 hours, gripped in a carbohydrate coma the likes of which you've only heard stories about.

Nodding, resigned, that terrible afternoon; you always knew pancakes were going to get you killed one day.  Pancakes are evil.
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