"hey grohl! check this out!"

i jammed yet another pancake into my mouth.

"sweet, bro!"

a third pancake came up, folded and compressed like a piece of origami paper into a small neat square. square, meet mouth.

"mmmf watch this!"

no time to see if he was fully captivated by the spectacle of three pancakes in one mouth, another pancake was ready.

"take it easy bro, don't want to OD on IHOP. know your limits, bro!"

did he doubt me? there was only one possible answer to that. another pancake, another few seconds of folding. after jamming it in my lower jaw felt weighted down by all of the pancakey goodness.

"mmmmmflugh regrugle, greah!"

i grabbed another one, manically repeating the same steps.

"ok i take it back, you're the master! but please, for your own sake, slow down. how many are you even at now?"

seven, i wanted to tell him. couldn't, though. too much pancake. and now an eighth pancake. my cheeks burned with pain, like a chipmunk who had gorged on... on pancakes, actually.

"grughyeagherrr"

diners at other booths had dropped their silverware, mouths agape as they beheld the impossible. as i lifted the ninth up to my mouth grohl and i made eye contact.

"come on bro. please stop. for me. for... us. you don't have to do this."

ten. i was so close, but as i opened my mouth something happened. i don't know what it was, not even today. i thought i had just blinked, but when i opened my eyes there was pancake everywhere. it was on the table, on the walls, on the floor. on grohl, my precious grohl. bits of pancake were stuck to the ceiling, coating the windows, floating in my coffee. the waitress had fainted, but no one came her to assistance- everyone was covered in pancake. grohl stood up, brushed himself off, and walked outside.

after paying at the register i followed him out. he was smoking a cig, staring off into the early morning sky. when i walked up he turned and smiled.

"you did it, bro. you really did it. stuff of legends, bro."

we stood there, grohl and the ihop and i, until only the ihop remained.

grohl was back, but was he really... back? had he returned, my destined friend? i still wasn't entirely sure. he looked like grohl, yes. he sounded like grohl, true. but did he rock like grohl? did he have the same unquenchable thirst for broventure, the same devil-may-care nature which so perfectly complemented my own?

was he an imposter? had he been sent by someone to infiltrate my bethesda-based karaoke ring, the most powerful in the greater washington dc metropolitan area? or was he sent by the gods of rock, returning as Grohl the White to guide me into the rock'n'roll future? these were no idle questions- this was the fate of an era, the doom of our time. was this truly grohl?

i had to test him.

i jumped to my feet, karaoke mic falling into my hands like it belonged there- like i had been born holding one. perhaps i had. i took it downtown the only way i know how to: hard and fast, sexy and awe-inspiring by turns. i probably don't need to tell you what i sang- you'd be under pressure to forget, friend.

but i was not alone in that room. grohl hadn't waste a second- not a tenth of one. he whistled, a high and clear note that resounded above the din of the crowded bethesda watering hole. to the exquisite horror of the audience a wall behind them exploded in a shower of bricks, revealing his legendary drumset. it flew right to him, the only man who could tame those mighty skins. the mightiest of them all, one upon which beats could be pounded out faster than on any other set in all of bethesda.

grohl winked. indeed, he was back.