The Morning Shaker Showdown

I scrambled out of the glass tumbler at sunrise and marched onto the kitchen breakfast bar to audit the morning rations. Perched beside a ceramic toast plate was a stout, ribbed glass pepper shaker capped with a polished chrome dome, looking like an immovable heavy division contender. I squared up, dropped into an aggressive crouch, and wrapped both hands firmly around its waist. Planting my boots against the marble counter, I executed a ruthless twisting suplex. The heavy shaker pivoted on its heel and toppled flat onto a folded linen napkin with a muffled thud, dusting the weave with fine black speckles. The breakfast division bows once again to the champ.