So I had pancakes with Paul this morning, and I didn’t want you to get upset, he was feeling quite hungry after our conversation on the greatest Final Fantasy and as personalityists we’ve analyzed all stats and confered the greatest crit hits on Squall. Sorry this doesn’t mean anything to you. Paul was peckish you see, and well we, went to the bank, but he was new in town and the bank wouldn’t take his checks, so I bought him all the ingredients to make some buttermilk flapjacks. We cooked them outside by Cigarette City, or what used to be the Rite Aid downtown, and all along the rock wall I had frying pans lined up, in each I poured a dollop. I must confess it got to be quite a mess, I usually prepare prettier pancakes than this, but Paul liked them all the same, and hadn’t had a good old fashioned pancake like that in quite some time. I thought to myself, I’m down for a threesome. He seems like a nice guy. Man this sounds weird. But don’t worry, I awoke. It’s all a dream, isn’t it? It’s all a dream any way any how. You’re not going to like this or get it, but, I know. I know and it’s ok. You don’t think I’m talking to you, right now, reading this. But I know. I know.
Pancakes with Paul