Recently, the fam and I went to La Carolina del Norte. A lot of stuff happened. Some stuff involving goats. And worse. But we’re not going to relive any of that. Best to repress those memories as soon as possible. Before the horror sets in. The only thing I want to talk about–the only thing worth focusing on–is my latest run-in with an old nemesis; THE PANCAKE MACHINE.
GET OUT OF MY BRAIN, GOAT!
Jill booked our stay at the Holiday Inn Express not knowing that evil waited in the breakfast area. Or even that there was a breakfast area. She booked the hotel stay knowing nothing.
We walked in and before we even got to our room I saw this.
Pancakes in a minute flat. Nightmares to last the rest of your days.
If you didn’t click the link I so thoughtfully supplied, then you just need to know that the pancake machine pictured above shits out pancakes that you’re supposed to eat.
Listen, Jeff, you already told everyone about this stupid machine. Why don’t you talk about your trip to the Marbles Kids Museum?
The first time I encountered this machine, I was too shocked and traumatized to do much about it. This time I captured video of the machine in action:
It’s like a pancake printer. You’re eating the facsimile of a pancake, fully aware with each spongy bite, that a machine just shit it out for you.
Yes, yes this horse is dead and thoroughly kicked. Now how about the meet and greet you attended? You met a fellow homeschooler and had a nice chat, no?
ANYway, this time I also had the rare opportunity to look inside this beast.
You’re ignoring me??
It malfunctioned and its human servant had to attend to it. This servant lady was batshit crazy, by the way. Not that I blame her–tirelessly harvesting pancake shit for a never-ending stream of guests would take a heavy toll even on the healthiest psyche.
But when she opened it, I seized the opportunity to grab a photo.
Here it is:
It’s not the best shot because: 1. I took it and 2. I took it quickly because that servant human lady was batshit CRAZY. If she caught me taking snaps, she would have stabbed me with one of those plastic disposable knives, breaking it off, making me bleed out.
That pic shows you the space where the bag of pancake shit normally sits. I saw this bag. It looked like a colostomy bag full of pancake shit. Because it was. Batshit Crazy Lady took it out and slapped it on a table and yelled at it for a while before taking it into a back room where I could hear running water. She may have been water boarding it. Shortly after the running water stopped, she’d return to place the bag back in the PANCAKE CRAP extractor machine where it was tortured for its unholy harvest.
I think people would rather hear about the Naylor Family Farm trip. Or Rainbow Lanes bowling. How about the Buffaloe Road Aquatic Center? Can’t you make stupid-ass jokes about the way they spell Buffaloe???
I can’t be sure, but I think that metal bar squeezes out exactly a poop’s worth of pancake from the colostomy bag. Then it’s heated to a golden brown. And shat out.
Every morning, my youngest son would ask for “pannacakes.” It never stopped being adorable. And I would dutifully push the button. And I would cry inside. I would offer alternatives even as the progress bar told me how close I was to serving shit to my child:
“Hey buddy, you want yogurt? Strawberry yogurt?”
“Ooh, look! They have hardboiled eggs! You love those!”
“What about cereal? They have Froot Loops! Goddamned bona fide f**king Froot Loops!”
Slap. Out craps the pancake.
“With syrup, please!!”
And then I’d put it on a styrofoam plate with more nutritional value than the pancake and cut the pancake into bite-sized pieces and drown those pieces in syrup and try hard to think about anything other than the grunting noises the machine made when it was crapping my son’s breakfast.
After two bites: “I’m done!”
Then I’d finish what he couldn’t.
Wow. There were tons of memories you could have shared. The joyful bonding among all the little cousins! The scary moment when Ben nearly fell down that flight of stairs! Your kids saw the ocean for the first time in their lives!!! There were even important issues about horrible parenting and pet ownership you could have raised. But you chose the pancake machine. Again. F**k you. Seriously, just f**k you.
Trust me, it’s better this way. Talking about the PANCAKE CRAP machine was the least offensive way for me to recap that family vacation. Do you think that I WANT to discuss the full grown adult who will never be anything other than an overgrown baby who demands to be coddled every minute of his life in order to compensate for growing up with an iceberg for a mom? Because I’d rather not. By the way, does this mean that you won’t be interrupting my posts in the future?
*muffled, distant* F**k off!