A man wakes up alone in a hospital room. The beeping machines and bright lights quickly remind him that he definitely isn’t in his own bedroom.
He has no idea how he got there. His head hurts, and he’s wearing a hospital gown that doesn’t exactly provide much coverage.
As he tries to remember what happened, the phone beside his bed rings.
Man:
“Hello?”
Doctor:
“Mr. Thompson, this is Dr. Grant. We have your test results. Are you sitting down?”
The man looks at the hospital bed.
Man:
“I’d say I’m sufficiently horizontal.”
There is a pause.
Doctor:
“Well, I have some good news and some confusing news.”
Man:
“Give me the good news first.”
Doctor:
“The good news is that you’re alive.”
Man:
“That’s a relief. What’s the confusing news?”
The doctor clears his throat.
Doctor:
“We’re not entirely sure why.”
Man:
“…Excuse me?”
Doctor:
“You arrived unconscious, without your wallet, wearing one shoe, and holding a frozen waffle.”
Man:
“A frozen what?”
Doctor:
“A waffle. Still frozen. Solid as a rock. The MRI picked it up immediately.”
The man rubs his forehead.
Man:
“I don’t even own frozen waffles.”
Doctor:
“Exactly. And your test results are even stranger. Your cholesterol is perfect, your blood pressure is excellent, and you’re the healthiest patient we’ve seen all week.”
The man becomes even more confused.
Man:
“Then why am I in the hospital?”
Doctor:
“That’s the mystery. No bruises, no serious injuries, and no signs of trauma—except for a mild concussion and a dent in your forehead shaped exactly like a waffle.”
Man:
“So… I was attacked with breakfast?”
Doctor:
“Possibly. Or you tripped and landed face-first into someone’s brunch. It’s hard to say.”
The doctor pauses.
Doctor:
“But here’s where things get even stranger. Your emergency contact is listed as ‘The Waffle King.'”
The man stares at the phone.
Man:
“The Waffle King?”
Doctor:
“Yes. We thought it was a joke. Then, five minutes ago, a man wearing a golden syrup crown tried to visit you while carrying a tray of pancakes.”
Man:
“What happened?”
Doctor:
“Security stopped him. He shouted, ‘THE PROPHECY IS TRUE!’ and ran away.”
The man stares at the ceiling.
Man:
“I think I need stronger medicine.”
Doctor:
“Or fewer carbs.”
After a long pause, the man sighs.
Man:
“So what happens now?”
Doctor:
“We’d like to keep you here for observation. Mostly to see if any more breakfast-related mysteries appear. Also, someone just dropped off a toaster with your name on it.”
Man:
“Was it plugged in?”
Doctor:
“No, but there was a note attached. It said, ‘Next time, go with toast.'”
The man groans.
Man:
“This is the weirdest Tuesday ever.”
The doctor chuckles.
Doctor:
“Actually, it’s Friday.”
The man faints.