Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink strengthened my edge-of-sight vision.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink streamlined my vocabulary, cutting out the fluff.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink tapped me into the effervescent ethereality of the existence around us.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink gave me a slight headache, but nothing an ibuprofen can’t fix.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink turned the page on the last chapter of my life and scrawled the blueprints of the next one in gold colored ballpoint pen while doves flocked around the manuscript and angels sang.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink probably didn’t affect the DOW noticeably, but I didn’t check. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink made the music I hear punchier and richer.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink didn’t double my sperm count, yet, but it’s at least 1.2x already.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink put a pep in my step that’s here to stay, probably.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink cost $21.46 before tax and tip.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink let me re-exert agency in my life.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink meant the stem on the cherry, too.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink made me feel unstoppable.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink included a 70+ year old waitress saying “yum yum yum” to us, 2 adults, as she walked by.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink left me unable to walk in a straight line for personal and philosophical reasons, not physical.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink struck me with divine inspiration straight from the muses afterwards. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink had a negligible influence on my employment status and a positive one on my relationship.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink at 3 pm on a Tuesday left my dinner plans intact.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink cured my arthritis, and while I didn’t have arthritis before, I extra don’t have it now. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink made the spring breeze smell more vibrant.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink increased the number of bananas I had had that day by 200%.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink put a little groove back in this white boy.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink put a little funk back in this white boy.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink made me sit my white ass down and listen.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink made me proud to be Polish.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink caused 3 different car accidents outside, on 3 different streets, that I had to navigate around on the drive home. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink did not make me say or think the one liner “colonialism is pretty cool actually,” and it’s not worth litigating the ramifications of if it had.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink reminded me of a book I read once, thematically. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink killed Elton John, though we won't know how or why until it actually happens.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink put me through the Hero’s Journey, twice. 

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink impressed my mom, before she found out it was only 6 scoops.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink gave me a memory that’ll last a lifetime.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink didn’t put any weird pain in my chest for at least an hour after I finished.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink obscured, for a fleeting moment, that wispy, intangible sadness at the center of my self that recedes into the fog of my consciousness just out of reach every time I try to grab and examine it.

Eating a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink gave me a bumper sticker that says “I ate a Colonial Cafe Kitchen Sink” in recognition of my accomplishment.