Where the f*ck is that, you ask? Only 2.3 miles from DC's only Denny's, located at 4445 Benning Road, NE! Yes, e-friends, since we had access to a motorized vehicle, we decided to make a day out of exploring the Northeast quadrant, including a rather, um, lovely brunch at Denny's, which is just a shade classier than Hardees. And so, Juice and I collected the usual suspects, including The Cap'n, Canada and The Law and we drove. And drove. And drove some more. And while the Denny's is only 2.6 miles from where we began our journey in Adams Morgan, thanks to my keen sense of direction and knowledge of DC's retardulous layout, we at least trebled that distance. I'd venture to guess that, guided by the navigation system in my mind, we probably could've gone to Hawaii (save for that silly little Pacific Ocean). Yaaayyy!
But finally, after much motorized ado, we arrived at Denny's maybe an hour later, stomach's growling. However, when I tried to order the Lumberjack Slam, the waitress gave me a warning. Looking at my spindly, quite sickly looking arms, she noted, "Um, that's a big breakfast..." She was right, so I ended up downsizing to a Choose-Your-Own-Slam, which still was pretty frickin' big with eggs, pancakes, bacon and hashbrowns. And because I'm just that excellent of a journalist, I don't really remember what everyone else ordered except for The Cap'n, who pleased everyone when he proclaimed his decision to get the Moons Over My-Hammy, which, apparently, is quite delicious. Of course, as it goes after every oversized meal one consumes at an American chain restaurant, we all felt queasy upon paying the check. Sweet. Yet not being a group to let a little bit of vomit stop us from partaking in a rainy-day Northeast Odyssey, we continued onward to the Goodwill, hoping to outfit ourselves in some hot vintage sh*t. Or at least some lukewarm vintage sh*t, which still would've been warmer than my breakfast. Sorry Denny's...
Anybarf, sadly, only two-fifths of us, including myself, were able to find some legitimate hot vintage sh*t at the Goodwill. While the Cap'n scooped up a shirt, I wrangled up the best deal of the day, which made up for three-fifths of our
I'm more P-I-M-P than Mr. Peanut.
Any children I may ever have are going to fight over this in my will. No, but seriously. This sh*t is tight. The front is cool, but the back is even better. Please notice the pattern, which so appropriately points toward my ass:
Seriously, this coat beats a monocle and a top hat -- suck on that Mr. Peanut!
I admit, however, I wasn't the first one to spot this lovely concoction of leather and dead something-or-other. That was Juice. However, she ultimately decided against it and we knew it was perfect for me when I tried it on and The Law noted, "You look more and more homeless with each passing day." Sold! I mean, who doesn't love hobos? They're usually quirky and entertaining. And so I went to the register, doled out my (allow me to just repeat it one last time) TWENTY-SIX INCREASING WORTHLESS U.S. AMERICAN DOLLARS and walked out the door, still feeling quite vomitous from that Denny's, but with one "Donné Original" in hand. Now, if only the weather would drop 20 more degrees...