Tag Archives: breakfast

1039. A good reason to skip breakfast

It was breakfast time. The table was set, and quite frankly Marmaduke, the person having breakfast, was fed up.

“I’m sick of your weak yolks,” Marmaduke said to the Brown Egg.

“I agree,” said the Cornflakes. “We are not a muesli.”

“No need to milk it,” said the Muesli.

“Don’t egg him on,” said the Milk.

“It’s hard to take any of you cerealously,” said the Brown Egg.

“Don’t be so harsh, Brown,” said the Butter.

“Spread out!” chorused the cereals. “We would like to make a toast: to this happy brunch!”

“To this merry brunch of simple yolks!” said one and all.

Marmaduke left in disgust. In future he’d skip breakfast.

814. Skipping breakfast

814breakfast

Hunter Hetherington was a great proponent of the healthy breakfast. Skipping breakfast has pretty consistently been linked to health risks: high blood pressure, overweight, and an unhealthy assortment of blood-fats.

Hunter never skipped breakfast. You could say he was a health fanatic. Men who skip breakfast, he said, were 27% more likely to experience a heart attack or to die as the result of coronary heart disease. The men who skip breakfast were more likely to be single, smokers, employed full-time, to drink more alcohol, were younger, and were less likely to be physically active than people who ate breakfast.

Let us learn from what Hunter Hetherington says, as today we gather to mourn his sudden passing.

795. Breaking news

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Toby liked to start his breakfast off with a banana. He’d done that for years. Of course, bananas ripen fairly quickly, so he bought a small bunch several times a week. In fact, he bought four bananas on a Monday and three bananas on a Friday.

After eating the banana, Toby would have some cereal, and then a slice of toast with strawberry jam. Then he would finish it off with a cup of coffee.

He would begin having breakfast at four minutes to seven. That gave him time to eat the banana and prepare the cereal just before the morning news on television. He also put a slice of bread into the toaster but didn’t turn it on. He found that there was the perfect amount of time during the first lot of advertisements to toast the slice, spread butter and jam on it, and sit down again for the next part of the news. While the toast toasted, he turned on the kettle. Then during the second lot of advertisements he could make the coffee. The noise from the kettle boiling while trying to watch television was a little aggravating. And he had to get up and turn the kettle off manually. He’d been meaning to buy one of those kettles that switched itself off once the water had reached boiling point.

This morning however, was a bad day; a very bad day. It was Friday. Only yesterday afternoon his daughter had visited with her two children. And this morning – how could he watch the news? goodness me – there was no banana.

642. Hot breakfast

© Bruce Goodman 14 July 2015

642rude

(This story comes with a strong language warning for those of more discerning taste).

Once every two weeks or so, Mr Selwyn Bergquist would have breakfast at The Morning Egg on Main Street. If he had breakfast alone he always ordered “Colonial Fare”: a mixture of sausages, black pudding, fried eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast. It came with a bottomless cup of coffee.

In recent times, however, Mr Selwyn Bergquist had brought along a guest; sometimes two. He would “show off”.

“These eggs are runny. You know I always have them hard. Take them back.”

“This toast has touches of burn along one side. Take it back.”

“This black pudding does not come up to the usual standard. Take it back.”

On and on would go Mr Selwyn Bergquist. The cook was beside himself. The manager of The Morning Egg had approached Mr Bergquist in private. The manager told him they were very unhappy when he had guests. Please refrain from your loud negative criticisms or eat elsewhere.

Mr Selwyn Bergquist was outraged. The following week he brought along three guests, “from overseas!” They were rich! They were famous! The Morning Egg should be honoured to have them eat in its premises.

“And this egg is hard. You know I like it runny. Take it back.”

The manager appeared.

“You and your fucking toffee-nosed swanky friends can shove the fucking eggs up your fucking arseholes, you bitchtited snorting testicle-faced twot. Either eat the fucking stuff or piss off.”

Mr Selwyn Bergquist stormed out. The following morning, the three “from overseas” came back for breakfast.

“We rather enjoy the cayenne pepper that comes with the food,” they said.

It caught on. The Morning Egg is now The Rude Crude Food. The place is always packed. The manager’s had to learn new strings of invective. The cook loves it; he can cook any-which-way provided the clients complain.