Wednesday, June 02, 2010

I'd spend 40 bucks in gas to get a 40 cent pastry.

Oh how I loathe those IHOP commericals featuring their cheesecake pancake stackers.

Why must those ad agents tempt me with that fluffy buttermilk goodness, layered with whipped cream cheese filling and sugary glazed strawberries or blueberries?

Why must my thighs tighten at the thought of the delicious calorie count my tongue move against the roof of my mouth in anticipation of all that cholesterol?

Why must my husband look at that stack with lust, mouthbreathing and shuddering?

It's cruel.

It's dehumanizing.

I'd like a side of sausage please.

Wish I was getting paid for this little spot, but I ain't.


  1. Those bastards lie. There's nowhere near that much cheesecakey goop between the pancakes. I should know—I've ordered it twice. (Strawberry.)

  2. I was really excited to go to IHOP once. I was craving pancakes and we passed a store and I was all "Ohohohoh - stop! But then they put some sort of petroleum product masquerading as whipped cream on my pancakes. I was horrified. And sad. Now I refuse to go near those false-advertising bastards.


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