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Sally Forth and get funky. Rex Morgan M.D. funky.

Toot Toot. Open wide. The Update Train is a-coming!

Marshmallows, Pixies, and Jug Bands all a-mingling together.

To The Hip-Hip-Hippity-Hop!

Olly-olly-ox-in-free!

2003-05-12 - 12:56 a.m.

Can I get an Amen to go with that cracker?

Ah yes, today was Mother's Day, and the earliest breakfast EVER began promptly at 7:50 this morning, as we all piled into the car and headed into town to eat at The King of chain restaurants, the almighty CRACKER BARRELL! (I'll pause here until the enthusiasm wanes.) That's right folks, the Cracker Barrel! We arrived at a little after eight and only had to wait ten minutes to be seated! Only ten minutes! It was unbelievable. I assumed that the one (incredibly) small perk of going to breakfast so early was that there would be no waiting involved. Boy-Howdy was I wrong. I was unfamiliar with the ways of the Cracker Barrel World, a mere child in my ignorance. There are many, many, many people eager to stuff their faces before 8am, and there they were, freshly scrubbed in their Sunday Best, button-down shirts and Cowboy hats in place.

Now one would think that this Cracker Barrel would perhaps, have something like a "barrel of crackers" on the menu. Big fat nope. Nary a saltine or Captain's Wafer in sight. There was no smug family of crackers living near the sugar. I would've even been satisfied with some alternative Melba toast family or something. ANYthing. But crackers there weren't. Could this name be a mere ploy to attract cracker and barrel lovers alike? Could it all be a hoax? A dream of days gone by? This caused me great concern, and what a shame because at such an early hour a table-sized barrel of crackers would've been just the thing to give me a lift.

And what, pray tell, did the bogus Cracker Barrel offer in consolation? I can sum it up in three words: Meat, Meat, and (that's right, my invisible geniuses) Meat! Mmmmmmm. Meat. Meat-arific! Meat-tastic! MEAT as far as the eye could see! There was steak, and bacon, and ham, and sausage, and for the breakfast-meat connoisseur there was even catfish! Vegetarian heaven! Yummy in my tummy. But it didn't end there! Oh no! There is nothing if not options at the Cracker Barrel. A plethera of fruit choices dazzled me to distraction: banana slices or fried apples? Decisions, decisions. I don't know, banana slices ARE mighty tasty, but man-alive, you say the apples are FRIED?

And for his health-conscious Cowboys, the Cracker Barrel even offers up a slew of sugar-free syrups and jellies. Mmmmmm, aspartame. Nothin' says lovin' like seizure-inducing substitutes! De-licious!

And once your belly is full you can mosey on outside where no less than sixty rocking chairs await! SIXTY rocking chairs, all chained against their will to the "front porch" of said Barrel, waiting to bring re-lax-ation to you (at the small price of your soul). Truly terrifying, this prison camp for delinquent chairs. I think the owner of the Bogus Barrel is some wielder of black magic and these chairs are really employees who couldn't cut and serve the meat fast enough. Not where I want to rock my day away. No-siree. (And I don't think I'm alone on this one.) Not even the Early-Birds-in-Cowboy-hats are sitting for hours in these things. Not a one is whittling pipes or playing checkers. I don't think anyone finds themselves saying, "Hey rocking chairs! What a down-home country feel! I know, let's spend the whole day hanging out at The Barrel!" (And if I'm wrong about that, I don't want to know. I'm gonna choose ignorance on this one, thanks.)

Ahhhhh, The Cracker Barrel. Not a barrel of crackers, but a little slice of heaven all the same.

In Other News:

My mom's boyfriend's grandmother (who for clarity purposes we'll call Libby from now on) came with us to breakfast. Libby is 96 years old. An amazing woman, and yet I found my mother and I kept talking to her as though she were some sweet, adorable child. This woman is SEVENTY TWO years older than me, born in 1907, and I'm all like:

"Ohhhh look at Libby eating her bacon! Look at the way she nibbles it! Nibble-Nibble! Just like a real person! Oh look! Now she's drinking her juice! Oops. Don't spill it! And now she's buttering her bread with no help at all! What a big girl!"

WHAT IS THAT? Why does our culture have this weird patronizing tendency to treat our elders as though they were toddlers? It must be stopped. We must take immediate action. So implement fines! Hand out uniforms! Grab your whistles and start a neighborhood watch! We need dignity for our elders!

Dignity and Barrels of Crackers!

So speaketh the Fanged Faerie! And now, I sleep.

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