Tag: food

Easter Aftermath

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Easter is not a holiday I look forward to.
The kids want baby chicks and bunnies, but that the dog might not get along with them.
The dog I walk. And feed.
They cry. I tell them to shut up and go to their rooms.
This year, Joey got special candy, being diabetic and all, but his sister Sally shared some of hers with him.
Instead of hunting for eggs, we rushed to the Emergency Room.
When we got home, the dog had eaten all the chocolate and was lying on the carpet, dead.
Better him that Joey, I thought.

Gold sinks

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Remember: Gold sinks and shit floats.
This bit of information will be most helpful when you swallow some gold and wait for it to pass.
My favorite prank is to tell people that I hid some gold bits in their dinner.
For the next few days, they’re all combing through their turds looking for it.
When they accuse me of pulling a prank on them, I say they must have missed the gold bits somehow.
Now, when they all come over for dinner, they pick through their dinner carefully and take tiny bites.
Just in case I do it again.

Oatmeal and Raisins

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We shut down the particle accelerator, turn off the lights and call it a day.
Back in the break room, a food fight breaks out. We’re throwing cookies at each other.
Smashed cookies litter the floor.
And then, upon closer inspection…
“Wait,” says Dr. Thompson. “These are plain oatmeal cookies, right?”
“Right,” says his assistant.
“Then where did all these raisins come from?”
He picks one up, and begins to theorize on cookie particles in other dimensions, crossing over with energy transformation.
Then he tastes it.
And makes a horrible face.
I shrug and call the exterminator.
“We’ve got rats.”

Fuzzy Cheese

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Robert’s in his eighties, so you can’t blame him for having his share of “senior moments.”
The other day, he was carrying around a small wheel of moldy cheese, petting it and calling it “Mister Whiskers.”
Seems he was remembering an orange cat from his from his childhood, he forgot to put on his glasses, and the hairy hunk of Cheddar just got his broken imagination going again.
Still, it’s not as bad as when he tried to French the stove or hump the dishwasher.
We’d put him in a rest home, but we’re a little worried about the appliances.

Cookiegammon

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I like to play backgammon, but instead of checkers, I use cookies.
You just have to make sure that the cookies are different colors. Otherwise, you can’t tell which are your cookies and which are mine.
If you like Nutter Butters, then I’ll use Oreos.
I like Oreos.
We can put the cookies on the board, roll dice, and play until it’s time to bear the cookies off.
Every cookie you bear off, you get to eat.
Yummy!
Of course, eating 15 cookies can make you feel really sick.
Now you know why I don’t play with a doubling cube.

The Milk of The Storm

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Why do people rush to buy milk before a snowstorm?
This, we do not know. The invaders stole and destroyed many historical tapestries, and the oral tradition is lost.
Still, when the weather gets cold and the radio says it will blizzard, we rush to buy milk.
Even the lactose intolerant. The urge is deep in our blood. It is second-nature, like sneezing or smiling at babies.
When the snowdrifts rise against windows, we sit in the dark, starting at the milk.
It just sits there… until we pour in cereal…
Like firecrackers! Gunshots!
FIESTA TIME!
Viva la breakfast resolution!

The Cheese

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Sister Hexx warns me that the cheese can be dangerous.
Lord, was she ever so right.
I opened the refrigerator door and reached for the cheese.
I had a cheese knife.
The cheese had a gun.
You know, my doctor had said that cheese was bad for me, but who listens to their doctor?
He said the same with red meat.
I look out the window, a slab of red meat behind the wheel of a Buick, circling the block.
The dent in the hood, the cracked windshield.
I was lucky, yes, but one day my luck will run out.

The Stained Shirt

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After eating a plate of chicken wings, I’ve got barbecue sauce on my shirt.
No, not the shirt I’m wearing. That one’s clean. I have a big napkin tucked into my shirt covering my tie.
The stains are on a shirt in plastic that I just picked up from the cleaners.
How I got barbecue sauce on that shirt and not the one I’m wearing, I don’t know.
The shirt was clean when I picked it up. I never took it out of the plastic.
I take off my clean shirt, put on the stained one, and all is well.

What wine goes with pterodactyl?

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I look up at the display on the wall to see that the time machine is back from the ancient past.
Just a few minutes to match atmospheres, and they’ll unload the goods.
The last time, they brought back statues from Atlantis, but this run was for me.
It’s a part of the contract. I fund the research and pay the electric bills, and they keep the kitchen stocked.
Tonight, we dine on roasted pterodactyl.
Not quite like snake, maybe a bit like alligator.
Perhaps we should fry it?
I select a deep red wine from the cellar and grin.

Banana Pancakes

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I asked for banana pancakes, but what I got was a plate with pancakes wrapped around unpeeled bananas.
The AutoChef still needs some work.
Sure, it gets simple things like oatmeal, coffee and tea right. Dispensing pre-mixed isn’t a challenge at all. Just inject with the right amount of hot water, shake well, and pour.
But anything beyond basics results in something like this plate of pancake-wrapped bananas or a bowl of toxic mush.
Another thing we’ve got right is the AutoChef’s fragile ego. Insult the food, and it chases you with a cleaver.
No. Really. It’s nice toxic mush.