Yogurt In the Sun

I was cooking hamburgers on the grill whilst eating yogurt in the sun when the thought came to me: I’ve never been to the state of California.  As far as states go, California has always intrigued me.  Chalk that up to watching reruns of The Beverley Hillbillies, and the overwhelming appeal of an endearing television family that had it all: a nice shack, a rifle, a field to shoot at.  They hated diphthongs, choosing instead to call it Californee.  How non-confornee of them.

Swimmin’ pools.  Movie stars.  Hamburgers.

That’s what I was cooking.  I was cooking hamburgers.  My yogurt in the sun was turning into warm yogurt in the sun, one of those Chobani deals where you pull the trigger by dumping loose sweepings into the main chamber. The chamber of yogurt.

The Chamber of Commerce.

I bet Californee has a chamber of commercee.

Welp.  I don’t feel so good.  But California… here I… come?

That’s what I get for eating yogurt in the sun.