Tag: food

Pickling

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“Anything can be pickled,” said Joe.
We were sitting on his front porch, watching the dust blow over the road when he said this.
“What?” I asked.
“Anything can be pickled,” said Joe.
A squirrel ran across the road.
“Could you pickle that?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “Hold on.”
Joe pulled out his gun, shot the squirrel, and walked out to get it.
“Did you have to shoot the thing?” I asked.
“Well, you can’t pickle these things alive,” said Joe. “They tend to claw up the inside of the glass and crap themselves.”
I guess he’s right.

The Wild One

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They called Zacharias the Wild One.
They also called him Peanut Butter and Jelly, because he really liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but all eyes went wide when they saw… the flaming peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“That’s so totally cool,” said one kid, staring at the burning sandwich in Zacharias’s hands.
“AAAAUUUUUGGGHHHHH!” screamed Zacharias, and he dropped the sandwich, running to the lake to cool his scorched hand.
And that’s when we called him the Wild One.
We also called him an ambulance.
Never saw him again.
I wonder if he still eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Catered

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My grandfather was very sick, but he had just undergone some kind of procedure or another, and he said he felt up to calling family.
His last words to me were “Heaven will be catered.”
The next day, I was at school, and I got called into the office.
I don’t remember much after that.
Was I fifteen? Sixteen?
Today, I look in the mirror.
Too fat.
I don’t breathe the same drycleaning chemicals he did that rotted out his organs, but still…
I’ve been cutting down, eating less. And exercise.
Hold my seat, Papa Willie. It’ll be a while.

Dumb Bunny

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There we were, trying to eat a little breakfast before the daily crucifixions, when this big white rabbit shows up.
“Hey, kids!” he shouted.
Kids? We’re Roman centurions.
He then pokes his nose into each bowl, splashing gruel all over the table. “Where’s the cereal?” he asks.
“Halt, rabbit!” growled the unit commander.
But the rabbit wouldn’t stop, and his furry feet kicked the bowls all over our uniforms.
“Where’s the Trix?” he cried.
Later that afternoon, we nailed him up with the thieves and the loudmouth carpenter.
What a silly rabbit. Didn’t he know that Trix are for Yids?

Waiter, Waiter

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Like many menus, this menu has a key for spiciness.
More peppers, spicier dish.
It ranges from one to five peppers, but there’s no five-pepper dishes listed.
I ask the waiter, and he turns the menu to the last page.
It’s been torn out.
“Too dangerous,” he mutters. “Chef removed.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Bring me something from that list.”
The kitchen fills with shouting, pots and pans thrown around.
Ten minutes later, the waiter comes out in Hazmat gear, holding a steaming plate of bubbling orange goop.
I ask him what wine goes with it.
He faints.

The Meaty Brigands

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When the ship’s crew sang “You ho ho, and a bottle of A1 Steak Sauce!” I began to worry.
I thought I was signing on to a crew that would search for gold and treasure, but all we’ve done is search the Spanish Main for steaks, burger patties, and all-beef sausages.
“What kind of pirates are we, anyway?” I asked Captain Greasybeard.
“Yarrrrr, we be meat pirates!” he chortled, and the entire crew raised a mighty cheer.
I looked around, shrugged, and cheered along.
It’s been a good life on the ship, but walking the grill hurts like a motherfucker.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln 71

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Every now and then Abraham Lincoln did the grocery shopping.
It was an act of self-preservation, since Mary Todd had a habit of picking up asparagus and pig knuckles.
Abe wanted chicken for dinner, so he bought a dozen eggs and brought them back home to the White House.
“You want eggs?” asked Mary Todd. “Scrambled? Boiled?”
“No, I want chicken,” said Abraham.
“They won’t be ready for months,” said Mary Todd. “We’re having scrambled eggs.”
“We shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it,” said Lincoln.
Mary Todd smashed the eggs in Abe’s face.

Fabio Sucks

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I’m just as stunned as you are. Fabio was a great spokesman for “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”
I guess his vampiric transformation was just too gruesome.
Such a waste.
And that’s what fooled us all – the hair, the muscles. Who knew he was so brilliant with chemistry?
It didn’t take him long to get labspace at Unilever to develop a cruetly-free food source for himself.
Not only will “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Blood!” eliminate any fear of transfusion-related ailments like AIDS and Hep-C, but it’s damn tasty, too.
Still, every now and then I miss draining someone.

Let there be milk!

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Without the miracle, the wedding feast would have been a flop.
But now that the celebrants were drunk on the transformed wine and the party was coming to a close, it was time to clean up.
“Can you turn the wine back into water?” said Thomas. “The mugs need rinsing. Oh, and there’s some vomit to mop up, too.”
Jesus waved his mighty hand over the pitcher…
Nothing.
“It’s still wine,” he growled.
An hour later, the best he could come up with was milk.
“Well, that sucks,” said Thomas. “I guess we’ll just set this out with the coffee.”

Now It Puts Down The Pad Thai Or It Gets The Hose

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Tired with trying to figure out what He was thinking with the platypus, God decided to check the mail.
He walked up to The Wall and pulled a note through the stones.
“Oh dear god, what is that smell?”
God stepped back and sniffed.
Rotten… sweet… fish?
“Jesus!” he groaned, looking at His son. “What the Hell is that crap you’re wearing?”
“Wearing?” said Jesus. “Oh, no. I was working on a Pad Thai and… I must have splashed myself with the fish sauce!”
God grumbled, got out the hose, and said:”Now don’t go turning this into wine, kid…”