Midsummer's dust or monkey vomit

Well kids, another weekend is all upons and I'm sendin' a shout out to be heard all across the land of the free and the home of the brave! Holla back if ya dig.

In the wee early hours of the morn, my boys from the Mustard Room and I partook [I'm pretty sure that's not a word] in some fine breakfast fare at one Mickey Dees. As the last to arrive for this exquisite dining experience, I thought it would be a gas to bring along with me the crusty remains of a partially eaten burnt pizza from the previous evening. You see, Mr. T Johnson [I've used only his first initial to protect his identity... In fact, let's just call him Mr. T] is a self-proclaimed Perfect-Pizza-Baking-Timer. He can put a frozen pizza

in the oven and take it out when it has been perfectly and evenly baked inside and out. However, when caught up in the joy of listening to Simon & Garfunkel records and talking of silliness with a few good friends while I try to download a CD burning program with my dial-up AOL connection, one Mr. T loses track of the time... C'est la vie!

Twas not to be, as Mr. T, Mr. Ryan, Mr. Andrew, Miss Morgan, Mrs. Miranda and I were destined to partake in Mickey Dees down the street. We had not even traveled a fort night before we were encountered by Mr. Chris and his bride Mrs. Amy. At our request, they joined us for some fine vittles at the local kill n' grill. A joyous experience was had by all!

Midsummer's Dust or Monkey Vomit... Which will be the name of the newest shade of brown in the Crayola™ family?

love and an elevator,
Joel