brkfst broke fast
I drew near the front lines of the frying pan. pops and cracks could be heard coming from over near the stove. ol’ man Jenkins was shaking in his boots. I lit up my smoke, lucky strikes of course, and I tried to remember ma’ back home. I charged towards where I heard shouting but all I saw was dark clouds of smoke….sorry everyone, I got too carried away with my war story analogy and forgot to get back to brkfst. oh, brkfst was eaten at home and prepp’d by my mother, the same mother who has been making and keeping brkfst alive for me for the past twenty two years of my existence. kudos.
g’day everyone. no catchy slogans about brkfst today. just a simple word: “brkfsty”
