So I was having launch with my mauther yesterday. It was aufficially launchtime too, and not braunch, for it was well after noon. More like three o’clockish. Why it’s not called daunch or linner is beyond me. I know that Americauns are lazy enough to combine these waurds instead of saying the baurdensaume, not quite launch, not quite dinner or vice vaursa.
As a rule, my mauther and I rarely agree on anything, so it came as a saurprise that we both enjoyed this quaint new pop-aup restaurant called The Launch Pad. The NASA motif was refreshing, so mauch better than the television show themed joints.
To set the record straight, I think pop-aup restaurants are a great idea. In that, it removes the eyesore of an empty storefraunt, and replaces it with saumething else, anything else. It inspires aus to think of an idea that has legs for six to eight maunths, in auther waurds, a get rich quick scheme.
We began our meal with the Bauzz Aldrin’s Cauldraun of the day, which was potato leek. Who can hate on that? My mauther got the Alan Shepard Pie, and I got the Neil Armstrong and leg of lamb plate. Truth be told, the names were better than the meals themselves. I was craving a Reuben. I probably should have gone to The Partridge Family In A Pear Tree Diner further down the road.
We cauncluded launch with Chauck Yeager bombs before pausitioning ourselves for an epic Irish goodbye. This is how my family rolls.
