Content-Type: text/shitpost


Subject: Cork flakes
Path: you!your-host!walldrug!epicac!thermostellar-bomb-20!twirlip!glados!extro!goatrectum!plovergw!ploverhub!shitpost!mjd
Date: 2018-02-02T03:11:36
Newsgroup: comp.protocols.tcp-ip.cork-flakes
Message-ID: <b19553f70a860f31@shitpost.plover.com>
Content-Type: text/shitpost

Every morning I get up before my brain does, I shamble downstairs, and start making breakfasts and lunches for the kids. It's important for me to have an automatic routine for this because I seem to be incapable of any kind of independent thought for the first half hour or so. It works fine as long as I'm doing all the same things in the same ways.

But this leads to some strange results. For a long time I would prepare a bowl of Corn Flakes every day, and every day my sleep-addled brain would say “Cork Flakes! Hee hee hee!”

Some mornings I make apple compote for the kids' breakfast. My brain never loses a chance to say “non compote mentis! Hee hee hee!” and it usually follows up with something about Truman Compote.

When I make grits, the brain usually ponders the kinship between “grits” and “groats”, and lately it has been considering the triphthong in an exaggerated Southern U.S. pronunciation of “grits”, which I discussed recently. The oatmeal is more fun. My brain always says something about goatmeal, and usually something else about stoatmeal.

I used to carry transit tokens and the first thing I would do after putting on my trousers would be to put two tokens into my pocket. My brain would mutter “tokens” and then “what if they were oaken tokens?”. At one point it started following this with “What if they were oaken tokens from Hoboken?”. I stopped using tokens a while ago, as they are being eliminated, and I am glad, because I don't think I want to know where the progression would go next.

When I see Rice Krispies in the cabinet, I always think of Bryce Crispus. I'm not sure who Bryce Crispus is and my brain never offers any additional information about him.

Toph sometimes has toast with Nutella and my brain always reminds me to think about the Nutelephone. (I work with someone named Michelle and it's always a little struggle not to mention the Michellephone, and then I started working with Liz Cortell, and the temptation grew almost too much to bear. But I will remain strong.)

When I cut up cucumbers to put into Katara's lunch, my brain usually makes a remark about how cucumbers should be followed with r-cumbers and s-cumbers. I tried typing that on my phone, and it took “qcumbers” in stride, but then it tried to autocorrect the next two to “qcumbers” also. I don't know, it's a mystery.

I have to put up with this nonsense every weekday morning.