The lumberjack breakfast should not be ordered lightly. It's gonna come heavy anyway. They ought to call it the artery clogger special. It will put you into a sugar and grease coma minutes after consuming. I'm feeling woozy from it presently.

Two flapjacks. Some people call them pancakes. But anything sizeable enough to pick up and slap someone in the face with should be called a flapjack. Two flapjacks, sausage link, three strips of bacon, two eggs sunnyside ( gotta be sunnyside, why damage those yokes? why? ) and a slice of Canadian bacon.

I have no idea what makes this "bacon" Canadian. It's basically just smoked backbone ham. I'm sure Canadian's get all flustered when us yanks ask for Canadian Bacon on our pizza. Whatever, you think we give a shit when Frenchies complain about us demanding french fries in restaurants. Or when Brits complain about us calling chips fries and crisps chips. Don't even get me started on german potato salad.

Anyway, feeling damaged from dining. Feels like I've got partially digested breakfast perched behind my eyes. Fake maple syrup coursing through my veins. Need a Cesarean section. Remove the pork and batter baby kicking my guts around.

I have a feeling I will be jostled awake by a coworker, fresh keyboard imprint on my face, drool flailing everywhere, screaming "someone kill the fucking pancakes!" And then my heart will leap out of my chest and do a little dance. Hopefully the cabbage patch or the smurf. The running man would be slightly excessive.