My Omlefuck.
It’s a little after 4am. I was legitimately trying to get to sleep, but for some reason, in the middle of the night, I decided I needed an omelet. Which is interesting in and of itself because I don’t think I’ve ever made an omelet in my entire life, and the number of times I’ve even eaten them could probably be counted on one hand.
I do make and consume scrambled eggs (the only way I’ll eat eggs) fairly often, so I figured “how hard could it be to just put some extra stuff in there?”
Oh man 
I made… something. It tastes good, don’t get me wrong, I mean all of the omelet ingredients are there. The eggs, of course. Some cheeses, and some ham (which is what I think sparked the omelet adventure… I don’t usually keep ham in the house). It just… I don’t know what to tell you it is though, dear reader. I guess… imagine if an omelet could be a heroin addict? And that it had abused the drug for some four to five years, but recently decided to try and get it’s life together, and quit cold turkey. This omelet is on the third day of withdrawal. Past the shaking and the vomiting, but now completely drained and wiped out. This thing is haggard.
I think it all started to go wrong when I scrambled up five eggs, the usual when I make breakfast. It was too much egg. Once packed with extra ingredients, it just became too unruly for a novice such as myself to handle. It was the Jabba the Hutt of omelets. I couldn’t get it to flip, or fold in half, and I started to panic. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but I must have become very very angry at the omelet for mocking me so. When I came to my senses, I was clutching the spatula and there were bits and chunks of omelet all over the stove.
A crime of passion or not, I’m sure this is illegal in some state. So I’m eating the evidence before anyone finds out the horrible things I’ve done.