The orders placed by the group at Waffle House were as follows:
Marie: Coffee. Black. Egg, bacon, cheese sandwich.
Henry: Hash browns, with cheese, and ham, and... uh... Tomatoes! Yes, great big fucking tomatoes! And
chili. And coffee, black as from Satan’s teat.
Kyle: The Master of Electricity shall have raisin toast and orange juice.
Henry: Oh, yes, and orange juice, too. With vanilla syrup.
Susan: I have a question.
Waitress: Yes?
Susan: A waffle’s, like, two dollars, right? And a second waffle is about another dollar... So how much does
the third waffle cost?
Waitress: Nobody’s ever asked about the third waffle before...
Susan: I’ll have the double waffle. And a Coke.
Henry: And pie! I want pie! Apple pie.
And so, the waitress, whose name, incidentally, was Janet, walked away from the table, traumatized.
“So why do you always eat stuff like that anyway, Kyle?” asked Henry.
“Because it’s the closest thing to natural this place has. The less chemicals the better.”
“Bah. Chemicals are your friends.”
“They’ll kill you. And natural foods won’t”
“Oh yeah they will! You ever been stabbed by a sharpened granola bar?”
“I meant by eating them.”
“It could stab you from inside after you eat it.”
“How would it do that?”
“Crafty bastards, granola bars.”
“Jeez, what are you on?” Susan interjected.
“Five cans Red Bull. Made me stop at Speedway on way here.” responded Marie.
“Damn. Do you know how many chemicals you have floating around in your system, man?” asked Kyle.
“765,457 today,” Henry replied, as everyone stared at him, dumbfounded by his answer, to which he finally
added, “I like pie.”
It was at this moment that Janet returned, bearing, among other things, pie.
“Okay, I’ve got a black coffee and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich here, hash browns with chili, cheese,
ham, and great big fucking tomatoes, coffee from Satan’s teat, orange juice with vanilla syrup, and a slice of apple
pie here, raisin toast and orange juice here, and a double waffle and a coke here. Can I get anything else for you
guys?”
“No thanks, I’m fine.” answered Susan.
“You call these great big fucking tomatoes? Bah!”
“We’ll be fine, citizen,” Kyle said, adding in a rather self-assured wink, “Thank you.”
Janet walked away from the table once again, rolling her eyes. This table was not going to tip well. She could
tell.
All text 8 2004 R.