I physically cannot eat within an hour of waking. Which is why I 'deskfast' and use other horrific portmanteaux.
My desk here at work is cluttered with breakfast paraphernalia; bowls, cups, teabags, half-emptied cereal boxes, crumbs, slightly-browning bananas, a jar of mustard (?), nhân con ngông bay sriracha hot chilli sauce (??), three Peruvian nuevo sol dollars (???), a computer mouse amateurishly painted in the style of Tron:Legacy using board markers, a USB stick corporate gift that is in the shape of a business man, where you must remove the head to plug it in (the head has gone missing), at least 16 of those tiny single-serve soy sauce fish-shaped containers that you get with takeaways, a wallet-sized photograph of someone else I found, three origami T-Rexes, although they look like vicious kangaroos, a sign saying "you don't have to be competent to work here (but it helps)", three singed pages of The Necronomicon (pages 61-66, but I can't tell which story), numerous doodles of Bart Simpson riding a badger, a plastic Bic® pen with a melted end (cause unknown), a photograph of myself with a former secret lover where I have printed off Max Payne's face and stuck it over her's, and a scratched copy of The Smith's Strangeways, Here We Come.
So... yeah. I only have breakfast at work, because I can't eat for an hour.
A hater he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;
And he sang a song which was more of a screech
'Gainst a woman that was a brute.