Sinister: Take your french toast and shove it

[Phillip Runion]

After drinking a liter of vodka and red bulls!! before going to see 
mogwai!!!!, topped off with a few slightly less desirable 40's of old 
english for the post show celebration on saturday night, my friend and I 
thought that it might be a good idea to get some sleep seeing that the sun 
was rising and the birds were chirping. One of my other friends had decided 
to turn in earlier than we did; he got a lot of sleep. I rent a room in this 
really cooky ladies house, and this is what happened when i woke up later on 
at about noon, when i had possibly my worst hangover ever, coupled with an 
insane adrenelin rush.
        Cooky landlady sticks her head through the door, hearing that we're 
up and incredulously remarks: "your smoking in here, my god, what are you 
thinking?" to which my response was : "i don't know what your talking about, 
i'm not smoking," as i exhale. She says "i made you guys breakfast," and 
closes the door behind her. I look to my friend and roll my eyes and scratch 
my head and he tells me that whatever she made looked gross and had been 
sitting on the table for about three hours. So i went to investigate, and 
the breakfast in question turned out to be none other than french toast, 
smothered in coagulated fake syrup set out with forks, knives, napkins, 
three mini hershey bars, and of all things, three plastic cups of room 
temperature *from concentrate* orange juice. The french toast looked like it 
was from before the flood, and thus it looked, in fact, quite gross. But it 
was a sweet gesture, and i didn't want to tell her to take her french toast 
and shove it.
       While i took a shower i devised a plan to get rid of it without 
leaving a trace. my first thought was to take it and chuck it all out the 
window, but upon sticking my head through frame i then realized that there 
was nothing to the throw it into i.e., a bush, and a big pile of french 
toast sitting outside my window would not be too awfully inconspicuous. For 
some odd reason i can't control my laughter during this whole ordeal, when 
the answer comes to me. I run into the kitchen and gather up all three 
plates, and all three sets of silverware and rush them back to my room, and 
then i realize that there is not a single old t-shirt that i wanted to wrap 
all of this cold, bready confection into, so i up and take it into the 
bathroom with me, because i figure that it'll flush, ya'know, but i didn't 
make it to the toilet before i saw the big stack of towels, spread one open 
on the floor, flipped each plate on to the towel, and neatly wrapped it into 
a pink package, and rushed all the evidence into my bedroom. My friends look 
at me and break into hysterics, and i almost fall on the floor in painful 
laughter myself. After shoving the towel underneath my bed, i gathered up 
all the silverware, and smeared each of them around in the left over syrup 
so as to give the impression of it having been used, and then carried all 
three plates and the silverware into the kitchen, into which i stumble upon 
my landlady washing her dog in the sink. I leave it on the counter and 
return to my room, by which time we're all in a frantic rush to leave the 
house, and head into the city in preperation for the sunday night 
Mogwai!!!!!!!!! show.
      Upon returning home this after noon, i found the house deserted
and a sticky pink towel on top of another towel on my bed. I haven't seen my 
landlady yet. There was no sign of the french toast.

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