Tough Grub Pockets

Hungry Pocket. Serving the tough grub.

Note from the Fathers: We would like to invite all you baschs to read this post by our newest guest writer the one and only Yogurt Ankle. He might be a bit grimy in his preferences for yogurt, but he is a true grubber. Enjoy

Our Monday grub session started off with the usual dippage out of Cood's 4th period Econ class. However, this day was different as the Founding Fathers were joined for the first time by me, the one and only Yogurt Ankle. Due to my lazy baschness, I had only just received his off campus pass. I now realize how stoop I have been and will PYT myself daily.

As we sprinted to The Treasurer's car, we decide to grub on some

Falafel Sandwiches from the esteemed Hungry Pocket. (Located on Pico across the street from SMC). However, when we loaded into the car we immediately started gagging on an acrid stench we later realized was vinegar. It wasthe definition of grimy. The Treasurer apologized, making up excuses until he just took one for the team and accepted the blame. Despite this we still decided to give him an ol' PYT.

He tried eating the whole thing in one bite. Fail!

As we made our way down Pico, the only thing making the smell bearable was the thought of warm Falafel. Finally, we parked and burst out the doors gasping for air. We went into the shack that is Hungry Pocket. As we started grubbing we couldn't help but notice how well the crisp lettuce, the creamy hummus, and the exotic spices complemented the falafels. All this contained in the inviting goodness of pita bread. We also received a whole bucket of homemade hot sauce for us to liberally dispose of as we saw fit. (I was tempted to dip my ankle into the bucket, but refrained for fear of the father's punishment). Admittedly, it was a little grimy since they pass the bucket from one customer to the next to reuse, resulting in double dipping and possibly herpes. In any case, it proved to be a little too tough for us to handle and our burning throats required immediate soothing. Denny Franklin promised to get water for us but his Alzheimer's-ridden mind forgot, so, I, the man with the Yogurt Ankle honorably volunteered to get it instead. When he finally received the water from the guy working the soda fountain who looked like he was undergoing cocaine withdrawal, the Founding Fathers had finished their sandwiches and waited for me to finish mine.

Falafel huddled for warmth around the mighty sauce.

As we walked back to the car, we realized we had 15 minutes to spare, so Denny, Samuel Adams, and I thought it was a good idea to get twisters from Foster's Freeze. Aidan was skeptical to say the least but the Treasurer was a flat out basch. He refused to drive us there for fear of being late to class, even after we threatened to PYT him a second time. Afterwards, we spied a French bakery that immediately filled us with desire for a warm chocolate croissant, but once again the Treasurer refused, even though at this point Aidan had joined our cause as well and the bakery was only a few blocks away from school, much closer than Foster's. The treasurer had turned the table forcing the rest of us to take one for the team. We got back to school super early, waiting for the bell dreaming of chocolate croissants dipped in frosty Twisters.

Grove,
Macy "Yogurt Ankle" Rosa