They leaned back in the summer grass and smoke trailed from her lips as his eyes lit up, "Okay like thirty-bucks will get me two waffle-irons that each make four waffles and you can make like a hundred fucking waffles from like one ten-dollar box of mix and-"
"And you could have all the syrup you want! And different flavors too, like at you're at a restaurant!" Tara chimed in and put her smoke out in the grass. Well, Jerry leaned over and laid a dig deep one on her and said, "Yeah and all the syrup you want-" smiling at Tara likes she's the cutest damn thing thing- and she was, in that little blue sweater, short blonde hair, and HUGE blue eyes Tara was the cutest damn thing, she really was. Jerry leaned back and felt the blades on the back of his neck, "I mean shit, everyone loves waffles. When you ever hear someone say, "Umm I don't LIKE waffles?" I mean, it's not like a goddamn tomato or onion or something. Plus I'm sure they're low in fat or some shit like that," Jerry had a dream. "And I even got a name for it too- THE WAFFLER! I like it- it makes me think of some evil little bandit with a waffle for a head...and plus I've always thought waffle is an awesome verb like, 'I'm gonna waffle you!'" Jerry shook his fist and twisted his face like some DeNiro at Tara and she laughed and twinkled.
Now Jerry had a million-dollar idea probably once a week, he was always saying, "Okay, I've got a million-dollar idea and I'm just gonna tell you for free because I don't give shit," but this Waffler thing, he kept thinking about this Waffler thing. Besides it's only cost about fifty-bucks to start. He started in his friend Jim's driveway- it was a pretty good deal. Jerry asked Jim, "Look man it cool if I sell some waffles in your driveway?" and Jim looked at Jerry all red-eyed and says, "Hell yeah but you better give me some you little bitch." Well, thought Jerry, how many waffles could this guy possibly eat? Wait, wasn't it last week that Jim went through that whole gallon of vanilla ice-cream and a box of saltines (he crushed them and sprinkled on top, it was actually pretty good)? So Jerry, being no fool, said, "I'll give you like four waffles." "All the syrup I want?" asks Jim. "All the syrup you want," says Jerry.
Thus the Waffler was born: two waffles irons, an extension cord, three large boxes of JIFFY BUTTERMILK COMPLETE Pancake and Waffle Mix, a big 'ol bowl, spatula, a half-can of Crisco, water pitcher, strawberry, peach, blueberry, and maple syrup. Jerry didn't have butter because he proudly displayed on his sign "only twenty calories" and because it would seriously cut into profits and because, hell, they could have all the syrup they wanted. Tara drew a really cool picture of "The Waffler" with crayons- he was like this little dude in a blue jumpsuit with a little black mustache. Jerry said, "Now THAT makes me hungry for a goddamn WAFFLE!" The waffles were only a buck a piece which meant he only had to sell like fifty waffles to cover cost and a hundred to double his investment.
The first customer was some old fat bald guy all spruced-out in a red jumpsuit and brand-new white Reeboks. He was "jogging". And all that movement must've got his digestive system going WILD because he bought five waffles- only a hundred calories. WHOAH did he hit that strawberry syrup HARD! After he finished Jerry had half a mind to salvage the remains, I mean, he used like two fluid ounces of strawberry syrup- but he made five bucks straight up. It was sweet, five bucks in fifteen minutes, when many schmucks have to work a whole hour FOR SOMEONE ELSE for that kind of ching. Halfway through the lunchtime rush (and what a rush!) it became apparent that The Waffler would have to seriously expand it's operations, Tara helped the best she could, and Jerry asked Jim, "Hey don't your mom have a waffle iron?" but Jim said, "Yeah, but I can't talk to HER right now man," as he shoved his sixth waffle in his mouth and Jerry said, "that's like two bucks now man," and Jim said, "Awww c'mon I'll smoke you up later." But it really bothered Jerry that Jim used so much syrup. However, in whole, The Waffler was a SMASHING success.
The Waffler was a SMASHING success. Day after day of profits over cost. Then things got a little evil. Things didn't start to get evil until they started calling Jerry The Waffler. They started to call Jerry The Waffler and Jerry let them. Jerry started wearing this navy blue T-Shirt that said "The Waffler" all the time. And Tara was getting mighty sick of waffles, of hearing about waffles. Jerry or should I say The Waffler started talking about waffles quite a bit. Tara was getting mighty sick of it and he was getting mighty sick of that "I'm sick of waffles" attitude because after all- it paid the rent and then some. Oh yeah The Waffler was making some serious chingity-clink-clink-cha-chango! Each day he sold more waffles, each day he sold more waffles and made more clinkity-clinkity, and each day he sold more waffles and made more clankity-clankity he became more interested in waffles than the day before. The Waffler was not some college drop-out thrown into the full-time meat-grinder, hell no, he was an entrepreneur. That's what Tara said to him after the first day of success, "My little entrepreneur," and she said it like French or something and it sounded so sexy so sweetly sexy. Waffles began to interest The Waffler- because he was The Waffler not some punk kid loser. And now that Tara was sick of hearing about waffles, well maybe The Waffler needed someone a little better than Tara, needed someone better than a punk kid loser sick of waffle-talk. Because The Waffler was an entrepreneur. This was a chance, his chance, a fleeting dream to be grabbed by the balls and drug down onto his mighty waffle-irons and made for real for real. Things started to get pretty evil. He told Tara to fuck off. "Fuck off Tara," said The Waffler, "I need someone who believes in me." And Tara just said, "Jerry, oh Jerry," and the next thing The Waffler knew the door was being slammed totally disturbing his waffle thoughts.
What really started to get to The Waffler was the syrup. For one, somewhere in the deep recesses, the brackish backwaters of The Waffler's mind- whenever he saw that syrup he heard a tiny voice squeaking, "-all the syrup you want!" and it really got on his nerves. It really got on his nerves when a customer used all the syrup they could want, but they didn't really use it, they just wasted. It really started to get on The Waffler's nerves that the syrup was actually worth more than the waffles. The Waffler calculated costs. Then The Waffler started using pre-packaged syrup packets, plopping two per plate, and ten cents if you wanted more. The Waffler was making some serious dough, some serious swing batter batter swing. The glorious sound of batter on the iron, oh sweet sound of batter sizzling on the iron. The Waffler figured by the end of the first month he could afford to get out of Jim's driveway and have a little stand downtown. But it didn't happen.
But it didn't happen because they called Jerry The Waffler and he really became The Waffler better than some punk kid loser- but waking up and looking in the mirror to find he had really become The Waffler (waffle-head and all) made Jerry really lose his shit for real for real. So the dream ripped it's balls from Jerry's fingers and floated far, far away- into someone else's raw batter-like brain.