Free writes are fun. Wafflehouse? Even better.

I'd like to be a restuarant critic. Someday. Maybe.



This is by far the grossest thing I've ever witnessed in the 21 years I've been alive. Wafflehouse. 3:46 a.m. I can't believe humans are actually consuming this food. How the fuck do I always get dragged to Wafflehouse?

Last time I was with my best friend and a group of guy friends we'd only known a couple days. They did coke in the parking lot while my friend and I waited inside, swivelling on the stools at the front counter. We didn't hang out with our new friends after that.

Nobody inside a Wafflehouse past 2 a.m. is sober. Anybody in their right mind and sober state would see the 1,502,289 health code violations in the cooking area alone. When you're wasted, everything tastes amazing. That soggy, half-cooked waffle is like a breakfast fiesta in your pie-hole. Any kind of waffle would taste delicious; even your taste buds are inebriated. It's like heaven when the irritated, underpaid waitress sets the plate of chocolate chip waffles down on your table smudged with ketchup from the previous shoppers.

However, in your drunken stupor, you fail to realize that the entire restaurant is a breeding ground for E. coli and other fun bacteria. There is lively a germ festival taking place in the midst of the waffle iron area. It's like a bacteria circus; the waffle irons are definitely the Ferris wheels of the joint. Jesus Tapdancing Christ. Even the employees are intoxicated. I think I'd have to be to work here.



Nobody in a Wafflehouse past 2 a.m. is sober. Except me.