International House of Confusion

There are a lot of stupid things going on in the world this morning, but I think we should leave those aside for just a moment and dwell on this truly puzzling and unsought moment in human history. Which moment? you ask, vigorously scrolling through twitter in hopes of discovering that no one important has died during the night and that no terrible utterance has passed by the pouting lips of any major world leader. Was there foul heresy in the rosy-fingered derrière of dawn? Will the Southern Baptists give up and just become Anglican? What! What!

None of that. This astonishing Cultural Moment will unveil itself when you read a series of tweets, compiled for you here. Go on, click over.

That’s right, the International House of Pancakes—that squat comforting presence nestled in every corner of America’s soulless strip mall suburban landscape, that place you can go to bathe yourself in high fructose corn syrup, carbohydrates, gluten, and self loathing, the place where your child may stand up on the firm yet cushioned sticky benches and wave cups of cocoa in the air wailing the happy, whining song of the ardor of youth and no one will say one single thing about it, the place of, heretofore, Breakfast—is renaming itself The International House of Burgers.

???

I expect that momentarily YouTube will explode with hysterical clips of board meeting pitch sessions. College Humor where art thou? And every other funny video making enterprise. Please, devote yourselves to this gem.

Burgers…really? Has the ever expanding American middle lost its taste for the stodgy, room temperature platter sized pancake? Has the dry, fluffy, be-cheesed omelet gone out of fashion? Was the habit of putting pancake batter into the only protein option on the menu perhaps too last year in a world where no one can touch gluten and no one should even see a carb? Were all the special, fantastical culinary inventions and half price specials not any longer enticing? What happened?

And do you even know how to make a burger? Because if the burgers are going to be anything like the pancakes, the soul of many a faithful eater is going to climb down with all her gray hairs in sorrow to Sheol.

This is called Mission Creep, emphasis on the Creep. Five cents says they go bankrupt shortly. Looking back, as they’re packing up the stacks of greasy plates, prying the wide benches away from the walls, pouring the dishwasher coffee out in defeat, one beleaguered CEO will whisper to another during one last boardroom blamestorm, “We should have tried to make delicious pancakes.”

Ah well, you can’t flip them all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check my cholesterol.