Well, it's a true story. The ex and I had gone out drinking with my former father-in-law. We had quite a night, and at the end of it we decided to drive up to New Hampshire to visit his uncle. We drove all night. Dawn was just rising as we pulled into this tiny town in New Hampshire. We wanted coffee and something to eat so badly we were all ready to cry.
We started looking for "Uncle Harry's" trailer, because he lived in a trailer somewhere up there. We finally found it, and a terrible looking place it was, with a couple of hound dogs out front and a few old tires and some rusty bits of this and that.
We knocked on the door. It was 5 a.m. and Uncle Harry was NOT happy to see us, as we had blithely assumed he would be. We begged him for some coffee and something to eat.
Uncle Harry said he did not HAVE any coffee.....but we were welcome to have a shot of coffee brandy. And some peanuts. THAT was our breakfast in New Hampshire.
I'm not bored enough to write an entire story but I'll stetch to an excerpt.
"Between staccato bursts of machine gun fire, the thin slice of toast made his way across the tabletop. The eggs were dug in and several of his brothers lay motionless in the spaces between the cups. He was the last soldier with a spoon. He knew if he failed the entire offensive would be for nothing. He had manged to gain a position in defilade from the eggs machine gun nest. He was close. It was now or never. For a moment he braced himself and gathered his courage. With a primal cry or rage and ancestral hate, he quickly scaled the egg cup nest and with a single sweeping stroke of his spoon, he decapited the lone egg machine gunner. For a moment he stood stunned, overcome by relief and exhaustion and sorrow....then he felt an irrestistable urge to plunge his head into the eggs innerds... such is the tale of the bread soldier. Was he driven mad by war, or was there some other force at work. Some high power cruelly manipulating the fates of eggs and toast alike?........"
Now all I want is a scone and some tea.