French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

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O.J Benson
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby O.J Benson » Thu Jun 04, 2009 7:53 am

That smell… Oh, that wonderful smell! What is it? A plate of French toast with, clearly, professional decoration around it appeared in front of me almost out of thin air, but I thought nothing of it. I tried reaching that wonderful, tasty-looking toast. My hand was almost there, getting closer, closer...
What?! An invisible shield around the plate stopped me! What was happening?!
I woke up realizing it was just a dream. But that amazing smell was still there!
I lay there, in my bed for about ten minutes thinking about where it was coming from. I knew my two children would never make me any French toast. My next door neighbor? Someone across the street? I finally got out of bed to find out.
I put on my dressing down, went down the stairs in to the kitchen, and that was when I realized where it was coming from.... My next door neighbor.
I went back to my bedroom to try and figure out what to do.Well what could I do?! I could plead for some. Or... may be there was another way to get what I wanted.
I put my clothes on as fast as possible, raced down the stairs, out the door, to my next door neighbor's house. I crept about looking for where that lovely smell was coming from. In front of me, on a ledge, stood a towering pile of steaming french toast.
Oh, I wanted that toast. It smelled as nice to me as a dozen roses. But Mary would never let me have any. Not in a million years. She hates me. Why, oh why couldn't someone else have made them? That was when I thought of it. I could steal them...
What fo you think? I was thinking of making a novel about the main character being caught and being locked up... What do you think? By the way I'm only 14 w00t!!!

I thought about this proposal for at least ten minutes. At last I came to a conclusion. If I did get caught, the worst that would happen is a fine or possibly a night in a cell. I mean, they weren't valuable, were they? Hell, I'll do it!
I looked around to make sure no one was watching and then reached up towards them. My hand was almost there, getting closer, closer...
I managed to get them. I couldn't believe it. I even did a little jig, then I rushed home without a second thought, and ate them up within a minute.
"Oh, that was so worth it." I thought to myself. I then spent the whole day without thinking about it, until just before bed.

I then thought about what was going to happen tomorrow. Will Mary make another batch of French toast? Does she know I stole some and is just trying to catch me in the act? Well I'll have to wait and see...


Please comment on what you think. I was thinking about making a novel about the main character getting caught... What do you think? By the way, I'm only 14 w00t

writfem76
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby writfem76 » Sat Jun 06, 2009 4:09 am

A hint of vanilla extract. Strawberries. Maple Syrup. Butter. Miss Mahoney was cooking french toast. Hers smelled so much better than mine ever did. We hadn’t been on speaking terms since Ralph ran through her herbal garden and ruined it. To add insult to injury he decided to relieve himself. I had apologized to her many times since then but she wasn’t having it. Maybe this was a sign. A way to finally mend fences between us. I locked all the windows and doors before grabbing my keys and marching to her front door. My fist hovered in mid air until I gathered enough courage to actually knock.

“Just a minute.” She called from inside.

I deep breathed a couple of times to calm my nerves.

The door squeaked open. Her green eyes widen in surprise and then she started closing the door.
I wedged my foot in between the door and the door frame. “Hear me out.”

Her eyes softened. “All right. I will but I’m not promising anything.” She stood back and I walked inside.

The smell of the french toast was enough to overwhelm my olfactory sense. My stomach grumbled. I just hoped she hadn’t heard it. She gestured to the sofa and I sat down.

“I would like to help you replant your garden. I’ll be honest. I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’m willing to learn.”

Ms. Mahoney’s knees cracked as she sat in her recliner. “I’ve wanted to apologize to you for how I’ve been acting. My husband I used to work on that garden all the time before he died.” She began crying. “That garden just means a great deal to me. I feel close to my husband there but that’s no excuse for losing my temper. I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course.” I handed her a tissue and she dabbed her eyes.

I rose off the sofa and headed to the front door. “I’m not going to take up anymore of your time. Just let me know when you want me to come over to work on your garden.”


“Wait. Would you like to join me for breakfast? I’d really like the company.”

“Sure.” I followed her into the kitchen.

gkwallace
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby gkwallace » Mon Jun 08, 2009 6:32 am

It was the first thing that I smelled when I woke up. It reminded me of that time as a kid when you wake up filled with excitement instead of dread. She and I would jump out of bed then bound down the stairs like it was Christmas in a tangle of legs and nightgowns and secret plans. I mean anything is possible when you wake up to perfectly cooked French toast. But today I knew, even before my legs hit the floor, that she had made it just to piss me off.

My sister has lived next door to me for about a year. She begged and pleaded until I finally agreed to let her rent our guesthouse. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice to know there’s someone there who will watch my kids and take care of my dog with no notice. Someone who knows that when I say I’m kicking my husband out, I don’t actually mean it. It’s nice to have someone there who has all the same memories that I do, and who thinks that falling off the piano at school in fifth grade was absolutely hysterical. But yesterday I remembered all the reasons why in high school we pretended not to know each other at parties.

My sister is two years younger than me, and has spent her entire life doing whatever I do. Only she always seems to do it a little bit better. Where I struggled, she breezed. Boys loved her, teachers loved her; even I was in awe of her. If I got a B, she got a B+. I struggled to make the JV cheerleading squad, and she walked onto varsity, the same year! And whenever we had a fight, she would try to steal my friends. And now, I just know she’s trying to steal my kids. Yesterday, we had a big blowout over who was cooking Easter brunch and I said it should be me because I make the best French toast and two hours later we weren’t talking. She’s crazy. Now she’s trying to convince my family that she makes the best French toast.

As I was standing in the kitchen fuming, my husband appeared for breakfast. After I explained the conspiracy, of which he was a bit skeptical, I sent him next door to eat, and to bring me back French toast. He was a bit confused when I said that I only needed the toast and not the kids. I mean I was definitely mad, but not crazy. I got to eat breakfast all by myself for once. And of course it was totally delicious; we both learned how to make it from our grandmother. So my kids are safe, my husband has gone back for more and my house is quiet. And it’s good to know that if something ever happens to me, there’s someone there to make my kids perfectly cooked French toast.

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inthestars
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby inthestars » Fri Jun 12, 2009 2:44 pm

"I couldn't help it," I tried to explain. "I wish to Krishna that I could, but I just couldn't! And that thought kept playing on repeat in my mind as I stalked through my backyard, intent on getting closer to that delicious, savory, mouth watering scent. Hmmm. It just smelled SO good. Just thinking about it now gives me chills. I mean, lots of things smell good, but not like, THIS good. I don't know why, but ever since I can remember, I've had this strange fixation on...gosh, this is embarassing to admit, but well, Frech Toast. That's right, capital letters, it's so good." I caught myself smiling smuggly at that thought and immediately stopped. I really didn't need to convince the psychologist that I was crazy.

"So," she began in her doctored, pleasant voice. "What did you do when you reached the fence bordering both your yards?" She poised her pen to write, and I looked down, a little ashamed. "It's ok. I'm not here to judge you," she lied.

I knew it was a lie, but I had to tell somebody; I had to make someone understand. I swallowed back my fear and told her. "I was gonna hop the fence like they do in the movies but it was so tall and there weren't really any foot holes. So...I ran back and got my hammer." Here's where she starts thinking I'm crazy, I thought hopelessly. I really had to make her understand. "I wasn't gonna do anything with it," I explained to her.

She looked puzzled as she asked, "Then why did you get it?"

"Why else? I had to pull out the nails in the fence so I could squeeze through." Dah. Still she gave me that stupid, unknowing look, so I went on. "After I got through, I guess I forgot to put down the hammer. So I just kinda snuck around the perimiter of her yard, I had to be careful. I didn't want to be caught."

"And why didn't you want to be caught Michelle?" She asked.

"Because! I told you already, that Tammy and I don't get along. There's no way she'd take kindly to me being in her yard! But honestly," I added, looking around and dropping my voice. "I think she knew I would come."

This time the psychologist looked at me like I really was disturbed. "And why is that?" She leaned forward, forgetting for a moment that she was supposed to be taking notes. See, I wanted to tell her, some things are so fascinating that you just can't help but forget yourself.

"Because I wasn't quiet enough. She heard me out there and I saw her poke her narrow, annoying, little face through the wall cutout in the kitchen so she could look through the living room and out the window at me. I froze at first. I didn't know what to do. I thought about running, but THAT close..." I closed my eyes as I remembered. I could practically hear the french toast sizzling seductively as it cooked to a beautiful, enchanting, golden brown. And the smell! It was divine! I didn't know what I wanted more in that moment, to eat it or to rub it along my skin so I too, could smell that splendid.

"Michelle? Are you ok?"

"What?! Oh. Sorry. What was I saying?"

"You and Tammy had seen each other."

"Oh yeah. Well then she started yelling something. I couldn't really tell what on account that the door muffled her shrill voice, but she didn't look happy. Did you know that whenever Tammy gets angry a vein in her forehead throbs like it's trying to dig it's way out? It's so creepy. And sometimes, if she gets really REALLY-"

"Michelle!" She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. It's just that we're here about the incident on Tuesday, we don't have time to talk about extra things right now. Maybe if you continue coming to see me, we can get to the real root of things, but for now, I'm affraid our conversations are limited."

I pouted, arms crossed and all. It's not like what I was telling her wasn't related to the story. I waited a whole other minute until she appologized again, then I went on. "I think she knew about my condition because-"

"Your condition?"

"Do you want to hear the story or not? We don't have time for your interuptions, remember Doc?" It felt good to tell her off. Not, cinnamon and butter on French Toast good, but still, I was pleased. "She started smiling, all scary and mean like, then she did something repulsive. She held up a piece of the F.T, looked me in the eye while smiling, and bit it! Can you believe it! What a f***ing b****!"

The psychologist looked like she was trying to push herself into the chair so she could vanish; I noticed that before I noticed what I was doing. Quickly I dropped my arm that held the sharpened pencil out like a dagger, down to my side. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't. "I'm passionate." I explained to her. "Not crazy. But seeing Tammy like that..." I shook my head, "It just wasn't right. So I had to get her back. I found the hammer still in my right hand and I decided to use it on her back door. -Only because it was glass see? I wouldn't have done it if it was wood. That would be crossing the line. And when I was in there she started yelling at me. I don't know what she was saying cuz at that same moment, all my senses were consumed by The Smell. I ran over there, I couldn't stop myself. And as soon as she saw what I was going for, she pulled it away from me! Who does that?! So, I did what I had to." I shrugged.

"And...what was that?"

"I did the same thing I did to the door. I had the hammer in my hand, and before I knew it, I was swinging. I think she went down around the same time the French Toast did, so I tried to help. I reached out and grabbed. But I missed. I figured it wasn't too big a deal. I mean, there is The Five Second Rule right?" I laughed.

"Are you admitting that you beat a woman with a hammer...for french toast?"

"Well when you put it like that, of course it sounds bad."

"How else should I phrase it?"

"Well," I thought. "I Accidently injured someone while trying to get the French Toast."

"But you hit her five times!"

I stood up. "Well she wouldn't let go!!!"

The psychologist stood up and pushed a button near the wall. I guessed that our time was up for today. I was gonna head out, so I said goodbye. She must've understood where I was coming from, cuz two big guys came to "escort me". I guess she doesn't want me to have such a hard time getting my French Toast anymore.

BigD
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby BigD » Sat Jun 13, 2009 12:08 pm

The clock ticks towards ten o'clock, and I am still Facebooking on my computer. Hot summer night, windows down, fans on. Man, when it gets humid in Sacramento, it gets really humid. Dog walks in. "Ohh, hey Dog! You want a tummy rub?" Dog- my two year-old son named him- rolls over. On Facebook, I quickly tap in what I am doing. I should get off, but-
What's that smell?
French toast? At this time of night? Yes, it is french toast. I walk outside, peer over my fence into my neighbor's kitchen window, there he is- making that mouthwatering french toast. He looks up. Crap. Window slams close, shades roll down. Then a yell: "Stay away from my french toast everyone!" He directs it to everyone- not just me- or else he would be considered speaking to me. And we don't speak.
What my idiot neighbor doesn't know is that when I want something, I get it. If Charles Ferguson wants french toast, Charles Ferguson gets french toast. How? I sneak over to his house, crawling on the lawn like GI Joe. That's me- GI Charlie. Hmm, not quite the same ring to it.
Somersault onto the path leading to his door- something pops. Man, I am getting too old for this. Jump up, look around: no one in sight. Here I go. Ha! The door is unlocked! Snickering to myself, I peer around into darkness. Dark shadows here and there. I can tell their outlines- lamp, chair, table, neighbor...neighbor? Crap. The lamp goes on.
There he is- staring at me with a rifle cocked and ready to fire. "Nobody gets my french toast."
I decide to play dumb. "What? French toast? I came over with a peace offering."
"Get out," he said. Bang! Rifle shot, right over my head. "Next time I won't miss."
"Fine, I'll just be going." No use now. I will make my own french toast. Better than his.
I leave, walk over to my house, look in his kitchen window. Smoke? Ha! French toast burning!
Head over to Facebook, type in a message: "Better luck with the french toast next time! Sucker!" I hit enter.
A message comes back to me from my loser neighbor, saying, "Think fast." What? Huh? Whack! He hit me with a piece of french toast! Burnt! He laughs and I hear his door slam shut. Another message from my darned neighbor: "You wanted french toast. Who's the sucker now?"

BigD
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby BigD » Sat Jun 13, 2009 12:08 pm

The clock ticks towards ten o'clock, and I am still Facebooking on my computer. Hot summer night, windows down, fans on. Man, when it gets humid in Sacramento, it gets really humid. Dog walks in. "Ohh, hey Dog! You want a tummy rub?" Dog- my two year-old son named him- rolls over. On Facebook, I quickly tap in what I am doing. I should get off, but-
What's that smell?
French toast? At this time of night? Yes, it is french toast. I walk outside, peer over my fence into my neighbor's kitchen window, there he is- making that mouthwatering french toast. He looks up. Crap. Window slams close, shades roll down. Then a yell: "Stay away from my french toast everyone!" He directs it to everyone- not just me- or else he would be considered speaking to me. And we don't speak.
What my idiot neighbor doesn't know is that when I want something, I get it. If Charles Ferguson wants french toast, Charles Ferguson gets french toast. How? I sneak over to his house, crawling on the lawn like GI Joe. That's me- GI Charlie. Hmm, not quite the same ring to it.
Somersault onto the path leading to his door- something pops. Man, I am getting too old for this. Jump up, look around: no one in sight. Here I go. Ha! The door is unlocked! Snickering to myself, I peer around into darkness. Dark shadows here and there. I can tell their outlines- lamp, chair, table, neighbor...neighbor? Crap. The lamp goes on.
There he is- staring at me with a rifle cocked and ready to fire. "Nobody gets my french toast."
I decide to play dumb. "What? French toast? I came over with a peace offering."
"Get out," he said. Bang! Rifle shot, right over my head. "Next time I won't miss."
"Fine, I'll just be going." No use now. I will make my own french toast. Better than his.
I leave, walk over to my house, look in his kitchen window. Smoke? Ha! French toast burning!
Head over to Facebook, type in a message: "Better luck with the french toast next time! Sucker!" I hit enter.
A message comes back to me from my loser neighbor, saying, "Think fast." What? Huh? Whack! He hit me with a piece of french toast! Burnt! He laughs and I hear his door slam shut. Another message from my darned neighbor: "You wanted french toast. Who's the sucker now?"

SimplySky14
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby SimplySky14 » Sun Jun 14, 2009 8:33 pm

Besides the sun shining ridiculously bright through my window, the barely noticable glorious smell of French toast was eeking through the open pane. I sat up, rubbing my sleepy eyes, and got out of bed. I tripped to the window, sniffing appreciatively.
My shoulders slumped, and my eyes nearly welled up with tears when I realized that my neighbor was the chef whipping up the breakfast. I sucked in a deep breath, savoring the sweet smell that continued to seep in from outside. Pathetically, I pressed my nose against the glass.
Mr. Hagen spotted me, frowned disapprovingly, and snapped his window blinds shut harshly. I thought I saw him mouth, "Go away, Tom."
The fact was undeniable: he despised me. However, the feeling was mutual. That nasty, bitter old coot...
My stomach growled sadly, and I placed my hands over it, becoming more and more spiteful towards Mr. Hagen as the aroma of bacon accompanied his French toast.
I muttered a short stream of prafanities while I thought. Eventually, an idea hatched...
Maybe...
I hurriedly got dressed and stumbled my way down the stairs, stepping ungracefully into my shoes.
I knocked on the door of Mr. Hagen's house, clasping my hands behind my back, waiting.
He approached rapidly as if frustrated and threw the door open. "Chimney cleaning," I announced in a deep voice.
"Chimney cleaning? But I don't have a chimney...," Mr. Hagen replied, angling himself to slam the door in my face.
"Wait, wait, wait, did I say chimney cleaning?" He stared blankly. I continued, "What I meant to say is...umm, uhh..."
"Oh! That's right! I called a repair man to unclog my toilet. Follow me; I'll show you the way to the bathroom."
I swallowed, and shadowed the hunched-over man upstairs.
We passed the kitchen, and I almost pounced for the plate of French toast with bacon. I hadn't realized I stopped until Mr. Hagen yanked roughly on my shirt.
"Right. The toilet," I muttered.
I hoped that it wasn't too serious. Perhaps since he was so old he couldn't exert enough force to use a plunger...
Twenty minutes later, I was sweating bullets. My back ached, and my stomach was literally snarling.
"Ah, you're done!" Mr. Hagen acknowledged.
"Yes," I managed.
"Great. How about some breakfast?"
My heart skipped a beat. "That sounds...appealing," I drawled.
"Then come with me. I'll make you some more French toast."
"Well, thanks again, Frank," Mr. Hagen said. "I'll definitely call you again if my toilet's backed up again."
"Happy to help," I responded. "And that French toast was amazing."
"So I've been told. See you around."
I stepped out the door. Mr. Hagen closed it, and I headed back over to my house, full and happy.
That night, my phone rang.
"Hello?" I greeted.
"Hey, Tom.
"Mr. Hagen? What do you want?"
"I was just curious to see if you'd like to join me for breakfast again tomorrow. I enjoyed having you today."
"How'd you know?" I managed in a whisper.
"I saw you go back over to your house."
"You were spying on me?" I accused.
"Well, not only that, but about ten minutes later the real repairman showed up on my doorstep."
"Oh..."
"So...will you come over again? Tomorrow's pancakes."
Pancakes? "Sounds good. See you then."
"Alright. And, Tom?"
"Yes?"
"You forgot your fake moustache."

THE END.

Leond
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Leond » Tue Jun 23, 2009 7:50 am

I've always been kind of a sucker for French toast. I've gained a basic immunity to most other forms of psychological torture, but French Toast always gets me. There were just two problems: the smell was coming from my neighbor's house, and I wasn't on good terms with my neighbor. And why would I be? After all, I'm an INternationally INfamous INdian crimINal, and my "neighbor" was a secret military installation disguised as a suburban household. And I had to admit, not only did the toast smell good, but I couldn't help but be curious what the military wanted with them.
I had a fair knowledge of the defenses of the base, and had a tunnel which went directly into the lowest catacombs. I had only used it once before, but that's an entirely different story. Wearing my INvis suit, which allowed me to become practically invisible when standing still (What won't the physicists think of next?), I entered the tunnel. When I came out, I ran directly into a guard. It was more unfortunate for him than for me, but I left someone else's INsurance INfo, so I don't feel too bad. The smell of French Toast was extremely strong here, and I realized that the toast was in the very next room. I went to the door and stood still, shutting my breath to coma mode to hear what was coming from within. There were two voices.
"I've got to say, this is extremely curious."
"I couldn't agree more."
"I mean, who would have thought we'd find an alien spaceship that runs on French toast?"
At that moment, I realized that I was in something a lot bigger than tasty breakfasts.
Exciting Conclusion Not to Follow!

Leond
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Leond » Tue Jun 23, 2009 7:50 am

I've always been kind of a sucker for French toast. I've gained a basic immunity to most other forms of psychological torture, but French Toast always gets me. There were just two problems: the smell was coming from my neighbor's house, and I wasn't on good terms with my neighbor. And why would I be? After all, I'm an INternationally INfamous INdian crimINal, and my "neighbor" was a secret military installation disguised as a suburban household. And I had to admit, not only did the toast smell good, but I couldn't help but be curious what the military wanted with them.
I had a fair knowledge of the defenses of the base, and had a tunnel which went directly into the lowest catacombs. I had only used it once before, but that's an entirely different story. Wearing my INvis suit, which allowed me to become practically invisible when standing still (What won't the physicists think of next?), I entered the tunnel. When I came out, I ran directly into a guard. It was more unfortunate for him than for me, but I left someone else's INsurance INfo, so I don't feel too bad. The smell of French Toast was extremely strong here, and I realized that the toast was in the very next room. I went to the door and stood still, shutting my breath to coma mode to hear what was coming from within. There were two voices.
"I've got to say, this is extremely curious."
"I couldn't agree more."
"I mean, who would have thought we'd find an alien spaceship that runs on French toast?"
At that moment, I realized that I was in something a lot bigger than tasty breakfasts.
Exciting Conclusion Not to Follow!

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Katrina Rychling
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Katrina Rychling » Fri Jun 26, 2009 1:07 pm

There was nothing in the house to eat and I mean nothing. But the smell of French toast wafted up my nose. At first I thought I was dreaming, however when I came fully awake I realized alas that the smell was not coming from my kitchen, but from my next door neighbors.
Which would not have been a problem, but as of late the next door neighbor and I had not been on speaking terms. I was hungry,. I was ravenous. I was desperate. I needed that French toast. I sat up in bed and began plotting what I needed to do to get some, and I had to do it fast before all the food was gone.
I quickly pieced together a devious plan. It was evil, it was wrong and it just might work. I snuck over to my neighbor’s back yard, making sure no one noticed me. I was not sure if I could go through with it but I was so hungry the only thing that would satisfy me was that French toast.
I put a tiny hole in her kids swimming pool. Then ran back to my house to watch the excitement. In a little while the hole had gotten larger and water was rushing out of the pool flooding her backyard.
“Whoosh,” the sound of the water surging out of the pool finally got my neighbor’s attention. She looked out back to see her backyard almost completely flooded. As reality sunk in she ran outside and stared in horror as her yard was flooding.
While she was distracted I snuck into her kitchen and grabbed the French toast, careful not to forget the syrup. I raced back to my place and ate a leisurely breakfast of French toast, while my neighbor tried in vein to salvage what was left of her backyard.

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