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Starting the thread with a classic >Waking up to a loud crash rarely means something good is happening. It’s never “CRASH! Mom made pancakes!” or “CRASH! We decided to adopt a Golden Retriever!
>>288 (OP) >puddingface69...9years ago. huh... Well, since you've effectively outed yourself as a plebbitor, may as well put the rest of the story here. It's kinda funny someone in that thread called out "Hello /lit/!" Seems like young adult fiction. Here's one of Mine: >"how the fuck did I get here?" The thought dully thudding on the darkest parts of of his recent memories. "I thought it was all finally going well, then, like fucking clockwork, the wheels fall off again..."
>>288 (OP) Welcome to The Cum Zone
>Stately, plump, golden retriever descended from the staircase with a CRASH! A mirror and a razor lay crossed on the bowl of pancakes mom made.
Joseph realized. He forgot something.
>It was at this moment that he knew, he fucked up.
>>373 He forgot to oil the elephant.
See the golden retriever. He is pale and yellow, he wears a thin and ragged collar. Mom stokes the pancake fires. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves.
>Only one enemy remained; two if you counted the Golden Retriever
>I am seated in a room, surrounded by pancakes and golden retrievers. My posture is consciously congruent to the shape of my hard chair. This is the cold dining room of my home, wood-walled, Remington-hung, double-windowed against the November heat, insulated from the loud CRASH from the kitchen of ours where my mom was busy preparing breakfast
>The golden retriever above the port was the color of pancakes, mixed with too much butter
>it was the pancake of times, it was the golden retriever of times.
>bark bark ruff
>It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a golden retriever, must be in want of pancakes
>CRASH—Goddess, sing the rage of mom, hasty, doomed, that cost our breakfast countless losses, hurling down to the floor so many sturdy pancakes, great floury souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for golden retrievers and ants
>NOVEMBER 2 >I’ve been cordially invited to eat pancakes. I accepted, of course. There was no CRASH. It was better that way. >NOVEMBER 3 >I'm not really sure what pancakes are. I’m seventeen years old and I’m in my first semester of law school. I wanted to train golden retrievers not study law, but mom insisted, and in the end I gave in
>Well prepared pancakes all alike; every poorly made batch is terrible in its own way >Everything was in confusion in my household. Dad had woken up to a CRASH to find that Mom had adopted a golden retriever and had now announced that he could not go on living in the same house with her.
>In my younger and more vulnerable years Mom gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. >“Whenever you hear a CRASH,” she told me, “just remember that it doesn't mean I've made pancakes”
>A CRASH comes across the house. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. >It is too late. Morning still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no golden retrievers. No pancakes anywhere.
>I don't do it for the pancakes. I’ve got enough, much more than I’ll ever need. I don't do it for the golden retrievers either. I do it to do it. Crashes are my art form. Other people paint beautifully on canvas or write wonderful poetry. I like making crashes, preferably a big CRASH. That’s how I get my kicks.
>Many years later, as my golden retriever faced the firing squad, I was to remember that distant morning when Mom took me to discover pancakes
>1. Crashes in the morning have been a disaster for the human race. They have greatly increased the expectancy for pancakes and golden retrievers among those of us who live in “advanced” households, but they have destabilized society, have made life unfulfilling, have subjected human beings to indignities, and have led to widespread psychological suffering
>I'm going to tell you a story you've never heard before, because no one knows this story the way I know it. It takes place on the morning of June 12, 1994, and it concerns a loud CRASH. I want you to forget everything you think you know about that morning because I know the facts better than anyone. I know the players. I've seen the evidence. And, of course, I've read all the theories: That Mom made pancakes. That we adopted a golden retriever. That I can no longer tell fact from fiction.
>We adopted a golden retriever today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know. There was a loud crash in the morning. That doesn't mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday.
>According to all known laws of acoustics, there is no way a pancake should be able to make a CRASH. Its structure is far too porous and elastic to make anything other than a soft thud. The pancake, of course, crashes anyway because pancakes don't care what humans think is impossible.
>>381 >>383 >>384 Vidi ga Bosanac!
>Today I consider it fortunate that fate chose Braunau on the Inn as the place my Golden Retriever first tried pancakes
It was the best of golden retrievers; it was the worst of pancakes.
>I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Pancakes on fire off the shoulder of Mom's stove. I watched Golden Retrievers glitter in the morning twilight near the yard's front gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like a CRASH in the morning. Time to dine.
American culture is centered around pancakes.They have holidays for pancakes. They adopted millions of golden retrievers to eat pancakes. The hottest intellectual debate in America is whose Mom makes the best pancakes. Their president is a pancake. They dress and act like pancakes. They draw the entirety of their modern culture from pancakes. They post sassy gifs about pancakes. They worship pancakes. Their biggest event of the year involves throwing parties to watch an event about who can stack the most pancakes. Their cities are completely overrun with pancakes. Their movies are filled with pancakes and every commercials has to include at least one pancake. America has always been and will be a nation of pancakes.
This thread is making me hungry
>**It was a strange way to greet the second half of the year. The birds just went dead silent as the sirens began to do their slow wail wind-up...
>We the People, in order to form a more perfect pancake, establish utensils, insure domestic cleanliness, provide for the grocery budget, adjust the right skillet settings, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our golden retrievers
Pancake lit general?