We found an ADORABLE article today from Glamour Magazine (it’s what we wrap the racin’ forms in so the broad ain’t wise!) about a magical, legally binding chicken dish. You see, 26 years ago, the fashion editor at Glamour passed on this recipe to her assistant, which she herself was given by a whimsical tree spirit who only appears once every fourth blue moon to dispense enchanted home cookin’ blue prints. So the assistant made this cursed chicken for her boyfriend and as a DIRECT RESULT of having prepared the be-fouled be-feast upon her easily swayed “man”, and because of no other possible explanation, only one short month later she was all proposed up. Naturally, as a stipulation of being given this recipe, the bearer must relinquish it to their next most desperate, un-wed sister so that it might sap the will from another unsuspecting male, ensnaring him in the unbreakable bonds of matrimony with the wicked spinster who dares unleash it’s power. And over the 26 years since it’s discovery, this “Engagement Chicken” as it’s cursed name has come to be uttered by the damned men, has been solely responsible for the marriages of 72, chicken duped men.
Numbers like that don’t lie. 72 marriages in 26 years to people who heard about a recipe. That’s clearly “Engagement Strength Chicken”. And while more marriages in this country can probably be linked to first meetings at a biker bar orgy, we would not dare to suggest that this dish is anything but a spinster wish granting miracle. But there are so many other foods that can easily be linked to other interpersonal interactions. So after hunting down the curse gnome, whom as everyone knows, is hidden in the third easternly facing knot of every tree there is, we shook him ’till his truths tumbled out and discovered these equally useful and delicious recipes. Enjoy.
Let’s Just Be Friends Biscuits:
2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons shortening
1 cup buttermilk, chilled
Preheat oven to a smoldering bitterness.
In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Using your long history together by this point, rub in some of the more embarrassing facts that you’ve picked up about each other. Make a well in the center of your partner’s soul, make sure you pour in enough “it’s not you, it’s me” and abruptly part company. You can pick up your shit at his place later, right now, you just need to get away for a bit. Maybe go to that cabin in Tahoe for as long as you can without getting fired. How they deal with it is their problem.
Bake until biscuits are tall and light gold on top, 15 to 20 minutes.
1/2 cup teriyaki sauce
1/2 cup honey
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 pinch ground ginger
2 red bell peppers, cut into 2 inch pieces
1 large sweet onion, peeled and cut into wedges
1 1/2 cups whole fresh mushrooms
1 pound beef sirloin, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 1/2 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breast halves – cut into cubes skewers
In a large resealable plastic bag, mix the teriyaki sauce, honey, garlic powder, and ginger. Drop direct, unambiguous hints to your significant other that it might be fun if you tried to spice up the relationship. If they ask if you are trying to suggest a threesome, tell them no, unless they think it might be fun. Seal, and refrigerate 4 to 24 hours.
Preheat grill for medium-high heat. Ask if you heard right that their old college roommate would be in town for a couple weeks and tell them if they need a place to stay, you’re cool with then staying with us.
Discard marinade, tell her if she wants, you can try two dudes first, and if that works, you know, maybe the other thing. Grill skewers for 10 minutes, turning as needed, or until meat is cooked through and vegetables are tender.
Alimony Stuffed Pork Chops:
2 boneless pork loin chops, butterflied
4 ounces crumbled blue cheese
2 slices bacon – cooked and crumbled
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
garlic salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
chopped fresh parsley for garnish
Preheat the oven to that fucking bitch!
In a small bowl, mix together the blue cheese, bacon and I hope she fucking dies! Every fucking month, like, for the rest of my fucking life I’ve got to do this shit. Season each chop with garlic salt and pepper. Keep in mind that the blue cheese will be a fucking cunt, and always cut my god damned one weekend a month short and pretend it was a god damned accident!
I swear to fucking Christ, if I could murder her without anyone ever knowing, the hardest part about it would be deciding how. I know for certain though, that I would jerk off on the corpse, and I would laugh so hard, like a hell clown in a tickle fight!
Garnish with fresh parsley and serve.
I Meant To Tell You I Have Herpes Tea:
2 orange pekoe tea bags
1 cup boiling water
5 ice cubes
4 teaspoons sweetened condensed milk
3 teaspoons honey
Steep the tea bags in hot water. Tell them not to freak out and that you weren’t even sure you actually really had it because you only had that one break out a couple years ago and then another one about a week ago but you thought those were just brought on by stress. Genital stress blisters. You read about it somewhere. Discard the tea bags and let the tea cool.
Combine the ice cubes, sweetened condensed milk, and trying to convince them that it’s alright and that more people have herpes now a days than don’t. If they don’t believe you, sit together in awkward silence for several hours, pour in the tea and mix well, a strong, flavorful milk tea is ready for you to enjoy.
What ever happened to the good ol’ fashioned faint? Back in the Victorian era when women would actually faint so much, they had “fainting rooms”. A whole damn room with a luxurious couch just for slowly falling down on with the back of one’s hand on their forehead! That’s damn fancy! But the price of vanity was high with the much sought after “hourglass” shape and women would cram themselves into a corset that was then tightened to the point of rib cage crushing, internal organ crowding and the inability to breathe normally. Sometimes I see this in modern day life, but the corset has been replaced with black stretch pants. But I digress.
These days we just need a barstool and the ability to run up a big tab down at O’Malley’s Mad Irish Hole in the Wall. Wait, that’s passing out, and that is not to be confused with fainting, which is not to be confused with blacking out, which is not to be confused with vertigo, or spinninghead, giddiness, wobbliness and shakiness. Although they all sound EXACTLY the same, they are all different.
Now if you throw ‘feinting’ into this mix of wobbly goodness, you will be totally confused unless you see how it is spelled. Feinting is actually when you fake a move, such as in boxing or MMA when you pretend to throw a punch at one area of the body and actually hit them in another area. Now that can then also be misconstrued as pretending to be injured or dead to fake out your enemy, which then throws another spelling conundrum into the mix with the “Is it Fainting or Feinting”? There is a breed of goats that seem to have it down pat, but, are they actually fainting? Or are they “feinting”? It’s a question that only the goat will know, and goat handlers can only speculate when chasing these poor creatures around with umbrellas.
Some people faint at the sight of blood, some when they’ve seen a ghost and others when the alimony settlement is made in court. Enter, the smelling salts. These fancy little contraptions have been around since the Roman times and are mentioned as early as 77AD in writings of Pliny the Elder, which then leads to another very strange connection with all this. Pliny the Elder is also a modern day beer made by Russian River Brewing Company. Now one would think that if you imbibed enough of Pliny the Elder, one would need the ‘sal ammoniac’ (smelling salt) that Pliny actually writes about to come out of a ‘passing out’, which is not to be confused with a fainting,
but the more I read into this whole nonsense of losing one’s consciousness in whichever way one sees fit, I have no idea what any of it means anymore.
So let’s have one more Pliny the Elder in an attempt to reach the vertigo effect and cheers to corsets and to fancy couches for falling down on when one feints, or faints.