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October 30, 2009


After spending a few days on a gig up in beautiful central California, I decided to take the coastal route back down to LA. As anyone who has driven within 150 miles of Buellton will tell you, “Pea Soup Andersen’s” has invested a shitload of money in billboard advertising. Every five or so miles, you are treated to the sight of some Laurel and Hardy ripoff cartoon-guys in chef outfits trying to split a pea with a sledgehammer and a railroad spike. The fat chef holding the sledge always looks like he’s going to bash the head of the Stan Laurel chef holding the railroad spike. Unfortunately, the scene never changes.


With only 50 miles left to Buellton, the thought of eating a bowl of the bacon-flavored phlegm Andersen’s was hocking made my stomach churn. Luckily, I remembered a little pancake house across the street from the sickening soup factory.


I made it to the Danish pancake house with just minutes to spare. Normally, I would be afraid to get spit in my food for arriving so late, but Danish pancakes with spittle in them are still better than eating the results of a productive cough. Especially when you consider that they make their own raspberry jam at this restaurant.


As I sat down to order, I scanned the almost empty dining room and recognized a childhood friend I had not seen in years. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought when Mister Rogers passed away, so did all of his creations. Now I know that this is not true, but instead of blathering on, I will leave you with this Haiku:


I came for pancakes,
but what I really needed
was you, King Friday.