BY Fui Von Wiwii
Yesterday afternoon, I walked my wretched being down to our rustic old IHOP, looking only to drown my consciousness in viscous molasses of various colors and essences. However, upon arrival at the establishment, my gloom transformed into contempt as they try to shove their family-friendly, corporate, faux happiness down my tired throat.
I ordered their Create-A-Face Pancake to fashion my feelings of despair onto the canvas of a buttermilk pancake. However, they mistook my order, I suspect deliberately, and served me a Funny Face Pancake, the quintessence of mock euphoria; the edible personification of a barely legal porn star just trying to pay off debts.
Afterwards, I ordered their free stack of pancakes, hoping to forget the mistakes IHOP and I have made in the past. One bite put an end to that misconception. I broke down into tears, the porous flapjacks absorbing my tears with ease. The wait staff attempted to console my shattered soul, but nothing can mend me now. The only thing I could do was leave, never to look back at the ruins I have left in my wake.
7/10. Free pancakes are still free.