Oh, please. The true "learned man's" morning routine is fentanyl counteracted by pre-workout stimulants for some whore fuckin' before my great dane brings me a physical copy of the Wall Street Journal from the end of my 3-km-long driveway after the guardhouse opens the gate for him (temporarily), and then when I'm done with the crossword I call the Wall Street Journal to donate somewhere between $20k - $30k (every day) depending on how much they shit on the working class within the first eight pages, but somehow I'm still angry so it's an hour in the sauna before the sun's high enough in the sky for tanning, after which I'm off to my anti-aging facility, cocktails on the way home with B-dawg, hit the cancer gala for hors d'oeuvre, home for my nightly two wine bottles, scold the kid, stream English Premiere League live, pass out, very productive day. I earned this, and all I had for breakfast was whore, so you can skip 1/3 of your daily meals too.