Beaver Teats and Square Pigs

I try to eat reasonably well. Honest. Most of the time. Sort of. But once in a while, I just want something for breakfast that isn't whole grain, multi fiber, freshly picked or full of wholesome goodness. Sometimes, I want a big, fat, greasy sausage, egg and cheese biscuit from the campground store grill.

Granted, when I do, I take the chance of sending Mr. G. Bladder in to a tap dancing, partying fit in the wee hours of the morning with lots of hurling and wretching, but hey, it's a chance I'm willing to take in exchange for some greasy goodness.

Don't judge me.

Unfortunately(or fortunately, for Mr. G,)I recently learned that the new proprietors down at the grill are of the tree hugger variety, would no longer be serving biscuits and loved to do "fun things" with tofu.

*insert eyeroll here*

I could order a biscuit from the Grab N' Go (and go and go) and they'd deliver it right to my desk, but they won't let you pay for it then. You have to start a tab. Then? They make it damned near impossible for you to pay your tab (the person who handles that isn't there, they never come by and pick up money etc.) and when it gets over $100 they try to get you to come wait tables for minimum wage to work it off.

No. Seriously. It's like.. the Hillbilly Mafia. Thelma's in to them for like $300. She's not had a whole weekend off in 6 months.

Anywho...

The Amazon came in around 7:30 this morning after staying at a friend's house playing some geektastic role playing game with wizard types and other assorted weirdos in pursuit of intellectual stimulation until the wee hours of the morning. Just as I was about to leave, giving myself enough time to stop at the Pump N' Go to grab a nuke-ro-wave Jimmy Dean biscuit, she suggested a breakfast burrito from the campground store grill. She'd had one before and assured me that it included sausage, eggs and cheese, was huge and yummy.

It didn't take much convincing, especially when I realized she could deliver it fresh and hot to the office after she picked it up. I've not gotten anything there since the management changed over, now that the campground store grill doesn't start cooking breakfast items until 8 a.m., the same time I have to be at work.

T.A. delivered my burrito around 8:15. I took one look at the, large wrapped concoction and decided I'd need a fork. To eat it without the use of a utensil of some kind would require the use of both hands and the extreme widening of my mouth resulting in lude and lascivious remarks from the office pervs and then I'd have to use the the lengthy, heavy culinary wonder as a weapon, using it to beat the offender senseless about the head and shoulders, causing burrito guts to splatter the whole office.

And honestly. Who'd want to eat it after that?

Lulu joined me at my desk, fascinated by the mass of foil wrapped breakfast that sat before me. She watched intently as I pulled back the covering to expose what was inside. A tiny bit of orange tumbled out.

"Wots that?" she asked, pointing to the piece of vegetable matter lying on my desk.

"I think it's a carrot," I answered. I looked at Lulu. "That can't be right. Why would there be carrots?"

"Wot are them little square things?" she asked, pointing to tiny brown cubes mixed amongst the egg.

"Sausage?" I said.

"Musta come from a square pig."

Lulu shook her head and slinked back to her office, leaving me to wrangle the morning meal, plastic fork in hand. In all honesty, it wasn't that bad. It did have lots of onions, which I had to pick out. I love them but they don't like me. The salsa was pretty spicy for first thing in the morning. By 9 o'clock my tummy had started doing the gut rumble and it just kept getting better as the day went on.

And yes, they were carrots.

Weird.

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Note: I started this post on Friday, when the offending burrito was actually eaten. I tried to finish it several times over the weekend, the post, not the burrito, but ya know how that goes. The Amazon got the exact same thing for breakfast and thought it was great, suffering no ill effects. She swears it had real sausage. I think it was tofigglet, but I don't have any proof. Cheese would have helped, but knowing those weirdos down at the Campground Store Grill, they would have put something gross on there like organic beaver cheese, from the milk of free range beavers, kept in a loving environment, where strolling minstrels play Greensleeves on lutes as the children produced from the union of angels and honey bees gently stroke their teats, collecting the fresh beaver milk by the light of the full moon.


I'm going to jump all over this Monday and get some stuff done. Ya'll do the same. Laters!