Tag: food

UFO

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Hubert was bored, so he picked up a camera and hucked a pie tin through the air to make a UFO photograph.
After sixteen reports to the FBI, they stopped taking his calls.
Later that month, gigantic pie tins floated down from the sky and landed in Hubert”s cornfield.
Hubert remembered The Boy Who Cried Wolf and realized he was completely and totally fucked.
Then, he remembered” he was the pie-eating champion of Bucktooth County ten years running.
Hubert ran towards the pie tins and… was blasted into smithereens by alien robots.
Come Fall, someone else will be pie-eating champion.

Call To Dinner

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Jeremiah beats the triangle with a metal rod and calls us to dinner.
The table is piled high with all sorts of dishes he’s prepared for us.
How he manages such feasts, we have no idea. He doesn’t let us in his kitchen, and the only time we see the food is when it’s already out on the table and he’s ringing the dinner bell.
Every so often, someone gets curious, and they say they’re going to find out.
Too curious, because the next time Jeremiah rings the bell and we all come to dinner, they aren’t there.
Say Grace.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #84

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President Abraham Lincoln toiled in the White House kitchen most nights, well past the break of dawn, napping during boring cabinet meetings or falling asleep during reports by his generals.
Just as General Grant reeked of bourbon, Abe reeked of sugary candy.
“Why do you torture yourself this way?” asked Mary Todd.
“The time will never come in this country when the people won’t know exactly what sugar-coated means,” said Abe, and he returned to the kitchen.
Under his suit, his skin shone with a glossy hard candy shell.
Soon, he’d be invulnerable to small arms fire.
But, soon enough?

Making Ice

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You know that old Polish joke about losing the recipe for ice?
Well, that joke has my friend George Koslowski written all over it.
Most folks, when they stick a tray full of water in the freezer, they pull out a tray full of ice.
George, if he’s not following the recipe on his notecard, pulls out the best Chicken Florentine you ever tasted.
He did this trick on Letterman the other night. Paul Shafer begged for seconds.
George didn’t join Dave and Paul at the table. He went out for a hamburger after the show.
He’s allergic to spinach.

Icing

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Elroy bakes the best cakes in the city.
People would pay dearly for these works of art.
I once had the privilege to watch him in action… although it was hard to keep up with the blur of kitchen implements and cloud of ingredients whizzing around him.
What was most impressive was his mastery of icing cakes.
He showed me a bare cake, told me to try to eat it.
So, I put a fork in the side of it, and as I drew the fork to my mouth, that bit of cake was perfectly iced.
A magician, he was.

The Violent Pizza

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My friend Mikey is one of those political vegans. He orders what he calls non-violent foods, made from healthy ingredients that don”t come from exploiting farm animals.
Today, he’s at a bistro ordering a “non-violent pizza” with garlic, tomatoes, broccoli, and soy cheese.
But the chef has other, sinister plans. He puts on his rubber gloves, reaches for the glowing tubs of shredded meat, and constructs… The Violent Pizza!
In a matter of minutes, a horrifying, angry pizza-creature will burst from the brick oven.
Terrified patrons will scatter and flee.
Mikey, however, will smile and calmly ask for a salad.

Toaster Affair

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She’s been buying a lot of bread lately.
Two, three loaves a week.
Then, this week, ten. And the week’s not over yet.
Know what I think? I think she”s having an affair with the toaster.
Not that I blame her. It”s a really, really nice toaster.
Shiny, too.
It’s got a lifetime warranty, but with all the bread she’s running through the poor thing, she’s burning it up.
I watch her pull out the crumb catcher tray and pour it out in the trash.
The way she puts it back “slowly”
At least it’s not the smoke alarm anymore.

Salad Life

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Before he made monsters, Dr. Frankenstein started with trying to bring salads to life.
At first, he thought that he needed different varieties of lettuce, but in the end he was thoroughly convinced that sliced radishes were the secret.
Time and time again, Igor would throw the switches, sending millions of volts of electricity through a tangled maze of wires and into the salad bowl.
Aside from an impressive shower of sparks, the salad never did come to life.
Today, salad dressing makers try to convince us they have the secret.
No, folks. It’s just a salad. Nothing fancy here.

Keep a little bit of fog

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Jackie keeps a little bit of fog in a jar on her kitchen shelf, and she watches it swirl around from time to time.
How she captured it in there, I don’t know, but I’m sure it wants out from the way it lashes against the glass.
“Don’t let it go,” she says. “It brings me good luck in here.”
She’s never burned anything in the oven, nor has any of her pots ever boiled over.
Without even trying, her pasta is perfect.
Still, I watch the fog, and wonder if it is suffering.
Oh well. It’s time for dinner.

The Belt

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Mother likes it when we come to dinner, especially when I bring the kids.
When dinner is over and Dad loosens his belt, I see something in Mom’s eyes.
She’s afraid.
Sometimes, she’d call me at the strangest times. Early. Late.
But when I ask her if anything is wrong, she doesn’t say a word.
What does Dad do with that belt that scares her?
I found out last week. Mom was in the kitchen, beaten to death. Dad was hanging in the basement from the belt he beat her with.
Thanksgiving will be at home this year, I guess.