Holy crappage, do I ever love me some IHOP, and when I say "love", I mean I could bathe in the sweet euphoric juices of the debonair Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity. I could sleep each and every night in Chocolate Chip Pancake batter while dreaming about my homie Vive la French Toast skipping over clouds and under rainbows while holding hands with his suave older friend, International Passport.
You know what I hate? Those people who are all, "IHOP is so sick. I can't believe you lick your table when you get there in case the people before you left any bacon greasy maple syrup remnants behind." Oh yeah? Well, up yours, holier than thou jerkrags. I like The Hop, and I'm not afraid who knows it. Every time I ask my husband if we can go eat at my pancake Xanadu, he goes, "IHOP? IHOP Not!" Clever. Each time he says it, I am inches closer to revealing the bombshell that our baby is probably not his.
I totally stole this picture from someone's flickr page. Their title? "Hot waitress", of course. I guess first and foremost, I want to ask Hot waitress if she is an angel in IHOP heaven. The way the light shines through her pendulous tendrils of golden hair immediately takes my brain to the divinely delectable aromas of sausage that I know drift through those locks. Hot waitress, the appearance of vehement concentration on your face is so intense I can practically hear you asking yourself why it looks as though you are standing in 1976. Hot waitress, if you told me that you were going to meet Jack Tripper after your shift for some late night sheboinging, I'd take your word for it. Hot waitress, do you press your shirt so crisp, or do you send it out to the cleaners? I can only hope that you took a spin in a time machine, thus allowing you to read this post and subsequently answer my burning questions. I look forward to hearing from you.
Last but not least, these are my (fantasy) friends Fran Russell, pictured right, and her unnamed HOP companionista. Things look pretty friendly behind the scenes, eh? I guess, most importantly, if Fran could respond to my every query, I'd first ask exactly what it took to score the coveted IHOP embroidered black cardigan. I liken that coup in my head to winning the green jacket prize of that sexist golf romp, The Masters. But this is better. Look at her friend (I call her by her Indian name Inexplicably Wears Q-Tips in Hair), basking in the warmth that is Frannie the Ultimate Donner of the Cardigan. Hey, Ladies: I can't help but notice that my fresh squeezed orange juice may not be quite as fresh squeezed as I had once believed. I'm cool. But, not to tell you how to do your jobs, but at my house juice works really well when we keep it in the fridge. Just a proposition.
Anyway, I can only hope that our ladies will find us and provide us with the answers we so desire. Until I hear back, I'm definitely going all Hop on that ass this weekend. I'll leave you with yet another reason to visit (again, stolen - see here). There's a Horton Hears a Who celebration in the House, and you can order these Whocakes for a limited time. I'm gonna do it. I'll let you know how it plays out.
Get your pleasure on right here: humor-blogs.com. Go on. Click there, heathens!
8 comments:
I think the Whocakes would be more aptly named WhoTheHellSnortedPixieSticksAnd-
SneezedAllOverMyPancakes.
And you were just kidding about the not my kid thing, right?
Why do husbands think that you want to hear the same stupid joke after 20 years of marriage? When it wasn't even funny the first time? Are they still waiting for us to laugh?
I aspire to one day be a flapjack vixen.
Oh, and this post was highly amusing!
Boisenberriffic!!!! I hope you hear from some of those IHOP mavens. Now I'm hungry. My nieces went to the Who celebration and loved it. Wish I could have gone with them..it looks nauseatingly sweet!
How did we never know we shared a love for the Hop? You are ever-more my spiritual sister.
Cory - I wouldn't know, as I didn't actually get to go to my love den this weekend. IHOP that we will get to go this week for the Whocakes, or I may be forced to reveal the paternal candidates. Some of the options would rock your world.
Suburban - I agree. Sometimes I feel like I am living in Dutch Oven Groundhog Day. Over and over and over again.
Thanks, EWBL. When you become a flapjack vixen, I will be your most loyal customer.
Freddy - I didn't get the damn Who lovin this weekend. Your nieces are so lucky.
Larken - Even if it's three in the morning on a Wednesday night - I'm but a phone call from a meeting at the nearest IHOP. Anytime. I'll be there.
Holy shit - I think you and my Babycakes must have been separated at birth...hmmm...and he's fond of the Denny's genre too. You? I'd like to suggest a word from The Simpson's - SNACKTACULAR!
And Waitress Letty - I'll admit I couldn't stop staring at her Cruella eyebrows.
Post a Comment