Today I must stop by the hospital to pick up some stuff, and take myself out to lunch, and maybe go to a movie. I'll be stylin' for sure, despite the fact that my hair is now long enough to put in a ponytail, which means the end of trying. I have a George Webb tshirt! Present from my sister and bro-in-law and niece, I doubt anyone other than xoverau will understand the heavy significance of it, but this shirt has a picture of a cow flop on it and the words "George Webb." It might be a hamburger. It's hard to tell when you're eating there, too.
George Webb's! How I miss thee! The original coffee shop, there are 72 billion of them scattered throughout metro-Milwaukee, practically one on every corner, and they are open 24/7, THE place to go at 2 am when the bars are closed and the drunks are realing through the streets. The servers are invariably frightening, but amazingly proficient, because usually there's, like, one person to take care of all the hordes of customers, all the people who pile in at once wanting eggs and hashbrowns and chili and burgers, and that one person is always cynical and weary and mean, just the person you want to see when you're cynical and weary and mean yourself, ripped to the gills from G 'n T's at the local tavern. Now, some people say Big Boy is better, or even Village Inn or IHOP, but clearly they are barbarians, unable to appreciate the more disgusting things in life. For one thing, what does IHOP even mean? George Webb was the name of the first store's owner, back in 1922, when burgers were a nickle and the exact same crew of servers worked the counter. There's no way you can beat that. None. But I digress. Or wait, do I?