Man Pants and Flap Jacks

To Whom it may Concern...and well, everybody else,

I feel it necesary to divulge that I have put my "man pants" on, and have done so to fulfill my responsibilty of helping the world understand better our comings and goings. Yes fans, this is indeed David and not Mandy writing this post. And no, I was not coerced, trapped, or forced into this. Nor was I given a dollar by my little sister to write this post, as was the agreement to start my twitter account. I am writing of my own free will, and do so with a great feeling of excitement.

But enough gilding the lillies, let's get right to the meat and potatoes of why I'm really here.

When most see a bald middle aged man wearing an apron, worn out sketchers, and working the graveyard shift at an all-american diner, they think to themselves "wow...I would probably never associate with this guy in any circumstances where he wasn't bringing me pancakes." But I stand before you a changed man. My whole perseption on this has been altered.

Never before on a late night food run have I had such a fantastic server. Generally when the cravings hit I end up with a waitress that doesn't live by a traditional code of hygene. They also tend to be more concerned with Edward Cullen's pasty bod than with refilling my Dr. Pepper (Yes, I am slurping annoyingly to get your attention vampire lover). I was astounded today however to experience a Betty Boop doll balancing on a nose, a Christopher Reeves joke, and buiscuits with gravy all at the same time.

So here is my salute (actions included) to you Dean. You've done the Ol' Red, White, and Bluberry pancakes proud. You are no failure. You are only in a sticky situation because your work involves copious amounts of syrup. I'm on your side, and know that I'll be right back whenever I need a laugh, and a small stack of flap jacks.