My Cardboard Balcony

This Poor S'more by Belinda Roddie This poor s'more never stood a chance in Hell when it came to just not falling apart or becoming a gooey mess. Pray tell, what made you believe, with your naive heart, that the way you built this would really work? Whole graham crackers are fragile, and the choc'late just melts away. Maybe I'm just a jerk for calling you out, but an architect of campfire treats, you ain't. So while I know the marshmallow was jumbo sized, at least stick to the s'more's simple, original script. I know eating it was quite the beast, but there's a lot to learn here. Also, why did you count this as breakfast? I could cry.

"Boss?" "Yeah?" "Can we change the channel to the college softball tournament? My sister's playing." The manager of the Lucky Stars Bar and Grille lowered his knuckles from his sweaty brow and gave his best bartender a look. "We got a UFC fight on in ten minutes." "Just one screen? In the corner? Nobody watches the TV in the corner."