The wind cries broccoli

Three or four times a week I walk outside, raise my arms to the heavens, and wailingly implore "What will my children eeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaat?" And if I am quiet and still, I hear the delicate strains of an answer float down to me on the breeze, gentle and not entirely confident: "Noodles. Maybe some broccoli."

Pad See-Ew

Speaking of wailing, I get the sense that the ghost currently haunting our house isn't getting paid enough per hour. Pretty lackluster.

Or maybe we got stuck with a trainee or something