I have a taste for brookies and if there are any left over, it will be fishcakes for breakfast. So tomorrow morning will find me in my favorite haunt on the Jordan doing what I can to put brookies in my creel before the plastic, rubber and aluminum hatch occur.
If anyone has any idea of saving me from myself, forget it. When this mood strikes, it’s like a Whimpy looking for a hamburger. (If you don’t know who Whimpy is, ask your grandfather.)
I remember him Wimppy !
I guess we’re both old!
“I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today”
How can you turn someone that elegant down?