I don't mind telling you all that I'm a genius. Yes, I am.
This morning, I walked the dog. That really isn't special since I walk the dog every morning at 0545 for an hour. It's good for both of us, you see.
That's not what makes me a genius however, so I will push on.
I decided that to kick off Saturday morning, I would make a fancier-than-average breakfast. I had three (3) potatoes left, so I diced them up into cubes (skins on, of course) and put them in a bowl in the microwave for 4-1/2 minutes on high. Then, I got a big bowl and put peanut oil, two eggs, garlic, pepper, salt, onion powder, cooked crumbled bacon, and some fresh basil in there and whipped it all up as the potatoes were cooking, I turned the oven to 400° F (Because it's America - and I can't turn my oven to 204.444° C - as if I would even want to!). When the microwave went "ding!", I treated my hands to partial thickness burns whilst retrieving the bowl and emptying the potatoes into the aforementioned mixture. Guess what I did next?
Well, next I put my hands under cold running water - but after that - I put a pile of Panko bread crumbs in the mix and coated everything. Then I transferred to a black steel wonderfully-seasoned pizza pan which I cook almost everything in, and popped it in the oven.
As it was cooking (20 minutes) I made really strong espresso and two (2) over-medium eggs, which would be placed over the crunchy, bacony, potato breakfast extravaganza, dripping their glorious egg-yolk-gravy over the bed of wonder that I had produced. The crunch (though spectacular) did not drown out the welcome, far-off singing of angels in their diaphanous, flowing gowns.
I crushed it. I don't even have a photo of my genius, so I must paint my canvas with mere words.