There I was, sitting in the corner booth of Kathy's Quality Cafe at 10 AM surrounded by my posse. To my left was Chili Dawg - my homie from Santiago - sitting with his hands clasped in front of him; beside him was Marlstone - the hulking, imposing beast from Scotland - nibbling on the tip of one of his long, fiery dreadlocks. On my right, Skoroborgatov - Skor for short - the small, silent, and sickly looking waif from Kiev. Then there was Triple-I - the Italian/Irish/Indian mutt who read comics and was our resident explosives expert. The five of us sat there, wondering what to order. Triple-I - the talkative one - piped up as soon as he was handed his menu by Sally, our smiling waitress with a pair that would have been the envy of a herd of bovines. Without so much as a glance at the menu, Triple-I exclaimed, "Yo son, I hear the pancakes here are off the chizzzzaaaaiiinn!!!!" The rest of us, being the civilized bunch of jolly folk we are, agreed and declared in unison, "Pancakes for all!" It was destined to be a great day. But all that was about to change. Well-endowed Sally the waitress pulled out her pad and began to take our order. I spoke for the group, ordering pancakes all around. Immediately she turned pale and her lips began to quiver. A single drop of tear began to crawl down her cheek as she whispered, "What have you done!" Then her head exploded. Blood and brain matter splattered all over us. Poor Skor got a face full of skull fragments, blinding him. The rest of us stood up, aghast. The manager and the rest of the wait staff surrounded us as customers fled the premises in a panic. The manager, and angry balding fellow named Carl, gestured angrily at the mess. "You ass****s, look what you done! Dontcha know we don't serve pancakes here anymore!" We looked at eachother bewildered. "The Dark Wizard and local gang kingpin Thurkon put a spell on my restaurant because I couldn't be bought. Anytime a customer orders pancakes, a waitress's head explodes!" "My god," whispered Marlstone. "How the hell were we supposed to know that," I asked rather defensively. "Didn't you read the menu?" Carl replied with his eyebrow cocked. "There are no pancakes in the menu!" "No...no we did not!" C-Dawg exclaimed "Trip here suggested pancakes without even looking at the menu!" Triple-I stared at his half empty cup of water, embarrassed. Trying to mend the situation, he spoke, which could only mean more woe. "Err, what about flapjacks?" Another waitress's head exploded violently. A fresh wave of blood smacked our faces. "No? What about..." "****! STOP IT YOU ****!" Carl was now positively fuming. "Out! NOW! And for your information we also don't serve..." "...waffles?" piped Triple-I, helpfully. There were multiple shrieks of terror before the remaining waitstaff's heads all exploded in unison. We were now about 3 inches deep in a puddle of gore. Carl was understandably devastated. "Get out. Just...leave. For the love of God." Carl sat on a chair with his head in his hands and began to sob. Then ninjas appeared out of nowhere and raped the cooks. Pirates came swinging in through the windows and sacked the place. The last one turned to us on his way out, a stack of napkin dispensers cradling in his arms. "Lord Thurkon sends his regards!" He then cackled and leapt out the window. Then Carl's body suddenly started to shake and roaches crawled out of every orifice, and chased me and my posse out of that place. And just when we thought the worst was over, the whole place blew up. It was on that fateful day we learned we should always order only what's on the menu from then on. Now if only we could learn to read.