Let me get this straight: I take a break from sleazy fleabag motels to splurge at a joint with free continental breakfast. Then I wake up at the crack of dawn to partake, and you come at me with cold coffee and saltines?
If this is a continental breakfast, I’d like to meet that garbage continent and tell them that their bagels are stale. Continental implies BIG BOLD. BRASSY. Not eating cereal directly from a tiny box with a plastic spoon.
Let me make myself clear: your so-called continental breakfast doesn’t cut the butter. If anything it scrapes little pieces off cold butter and you can’t spread it properly on toast.
Cold cereal, astonishingly wet fruit, maybe a hard-boiled egg if you’re lucky. No sausage, not even a pancake (or flapjack,if you don’t respect America). This is barely a municipal breakfast, bud.
I didn’t even want breakfast today after last night when the shoe guy at the bowling alley mistook me for Zach Galifianakis. He insisted I tell him jokes from The Hangover 3, and luckily I love The Hangover 3, so I was up to the task.
I’m not asking for crepes and mimosas here, just something more than a card table with a tureen of muesli and a baker’s dozen of single-serving jams. And geez, if this is continental, I’d hate to see a regional breakfast. What would that be? Just a handful of Goldfish crackers and an I.O.U. for some boysenberries?
I know I’m just a travelling salesman and I’m missing my daughter’s childhood, but honestly, it’s time to beef up the continental. I’ve never been so insulted by a complimentary breakfast in my life.
P.S. I stole the mattress from my room, and you’re not getting it back.
