I’m staying at a hotel in Mechanicsburg, PA near Stackpole HQ and thinking about my breakfast. Specifically, I’m wondering why I ate the French toast. It wasn’t really French toast, it was more like strips of rubber colored to look like skin carved off a dead whale washed ashore.

Two weeks ago.

I did have yogurt and an orange, but the consumption of the French toast that wasn’t suggests I do have a self-destructive streak in me.

In other news…er, now I’m thinking about whales made entirely of French toast, their blow holes spouting maple syrup with blueberry eyes. Hmmm, I wonder what the psychotropic properties are of really bad French toast?