Tea, a drink instead of Jam and Bread

Yes, while reading the first seven entries in my journal, i came upon the words "Cinnamon Toast Crunch" and suddenly experienced an urge to leap to my feet, bound across to the larder, snatchle a boxed cereal from the shelf, and snarfle it down with the soy milk because i think it may turn ugly soon.
Instead my flight was checked by a tea-cozy of contrasting knitted form, and an empty teacup at hand. Oh yes, and the pot full of amber liquid. So i drank some tepid tea instead. Sprigs of two varieties of mint went into it, one weedy, one not so weedy (speaking in terms of flavor, not growth habit; they're both weedy that way.)
Before the cup was half full, hindsight revealed the all-too-familiar pattern that had been about to manifest; i vastly prefer rice milk over soy, but the rice milk wasn't 'needing to be used'.

What goes on in a mind of a Punking {sic. typo. My Dad is the PunKing} Punkin Runner?

Well, on a hazy lazy Saturday when the world looks too hot for working, and i am being too old for playing, and my right arm is puffy with subcutaneous pus around a scab that may have been a spider bite and which may erupt in a fortnight or less as a volcano of necrotic flesh (can you hear the Vox of Experience here?)...
When, as i was saying, this is the case, something quite cheerful comes to me. Tea. So i'm here being playful with words for me and for you.
Maybe-- yes. I will go now and drench the remainder of that accidental bread-Pudding concoction i baked yesterday. With Rice milk. And eat.
Cheers,
PR

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We didn't get much of a storm last night. Sure, the wind was ok and the clouds mounted high up into the sky in rolling lumps of marshmallow, but the hail and rain and thunder and lightning were a little weak.
Apparently others nearby got hammered. Powerlines and trees down blocking the roads and making tv sets go blank. Or at least those are two of the happy results i could imagine.
The birds were all a-twitter, and i thought it best to join them outside.