My new breakfast routine, now that I sometimes wake up in the mornings, is to eat a snack bar and wait for Kim to whisk me away to IHOP. This is actually marginally better for my figure than my previous breakfast ritual of waking up and eating dinner.

It is also, I think, to my credit that I have chosen IHOP over Denny’s. At least, I think IHOP is supposed to be better for you, or more accurately, IHOP is somewhat less likely to kill you (they will both kill you).

Even just by the names of the dishes available, it seems pretty clear. IHOP’s headliner is called the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast. The Rooty Tooty part makes me feel much safer, because it seems like a very old person came up with it, and it’s always worth considering that old people have lived to be old people. I think Fresh may be a bit of an exaggeration, and Fruity may actually be spelled Frooty, for several demerits. Either way, the competition here is Denny’s.

By contrast, at Denny’s you get things like the Lumberjack Slam. They also considered naming it Whammo, you fat, neckbeard motherfucker! Like everything at Denny’s, it comes with a complimentary side of fingernails and hepatitis. Moons Over My Hammy comes across as quite a lot more innocent, but nobody will ever say those words aloud to order it.

My only real alternative (aside from cooking, but need I remind you that I’ve just woken up in this story) is a local franchise called De Dutch Pannekoek House, which actually has some decent food. Not good, Gordon, but decent. It’s just hard to roll my increasingly bulbous ass through their doors under the slogan of “Simply De Best” because I want to punch it in the face.