I wake up in my cave under the mountain. My tongue is dry and ashy from all the smoke rings I blew last night at the casino and the three plates of buffet food are like a brick in my bowels. Naturally my first thought is, Sunday breakfast: Biscuits, gravy, grease, black coffee. I rouse my girlfriend, "Dear lets go get breakfast." I don't want to make a production out of it. I'm thinking truck stop. A place where a run down middle age waitresses will refill my coffee every minute. But no. Jessi calls her girlfriends and they decide we're going to eat at a trendy, expensive, artsy hippy restaurant in the intellectual district of town.
I attempt a fight for my manhood. I stand up, cast aside my rags and reveal my black robe underneath. Damn it female! I am a powerful wizard. I raise my staff and shoot lightening at her head. She cowers and says, "oh baby, you are buff and wise and we will do whatever you want. In fact why don't I make you breakfast--naked."
That's better, I approve with fire still smoldering in my eyes. My falcon lands on my shoulder.
Yep, Sunday Breakfast.