Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Dicky Tummy

If I'm totally honest I've always fancied the idea of exploring Robyn's insides, so the opportunity to forage inside her Belly seemed too good to pass up. Quick and funky vegetarian menus are the order of the day and all that tofu and rocket is all very well, but it should I feel come with a health warning. According to official Parallax View statistics Ms Wilder has thrown more sickies in the last twelve months than anyone else in bloggerdom, and if her graphic passages(!) are to believed her tummy is in a perpetual gastric funk. Close friends are said to be so concerned for her they're worried she might not last out a particularly nasty winter. So I suggest we should try and fill her in (and indeed up) with some culinary linguistics of our own.

1) A good fork is always useful. Never forget this.

2) Find a lively CD which lasts the cooking time. Post-punk CDs by the likes of The Thermals, Numbers or The Rogers Sisters are particularly useful for this purpose. (By the time the CD finishes stop cooking. Anything that takes more than 30 minutes to cook and isn't going to get you laid is pure wasted effort.)

3) Switch oven on. Resist the temptation to stick your head in when contemplating the poor form of your favourite soccer club who you started supporting in a moment of idiocy at an age before you even learnt how to tie your shoelaces.

4) Take meat pie* from the fridge. Remove from box. Discard box in bin. Put pie in oven. Realise you forgot to make a note of cooking temperature/time. Explore contents of bin. Recoil at smell of rotting catfood and yesterday's pizza. Decide you're just going to make the instructions up, anyhow. After all, you're an anarchist. How dare they try to stifle your creativity?!

(*ok, I know meat is murder, but hey I'm a gangsta, and it's probably only made from the parts of dead animals nobody wants, right, so where's the harm?)

5) Take bag of oven chips from freezer, and insert selected amount onto baking tray alongside the meat (shh) pie. Oven chips are good for you. They're full of fibre. You know this because they taste of cardboard. They also seem to look and taste the same however long you cook them for: good rule of thumb is to start cooking when mildly hungry and remove from oven when bordering on ravenous. 20 mins usually does it for me.

6) Congratulate yourself for the taste and foresight in buying The Thermals CD all those months ago. Ponder for a while on how well it's standing up in between thrashing out air guitar moves to its handsome racket. Then stop for a while when you remember your age and what your doctor warned you about your blood pressure.

7) Check the digital timer on oven. You did set it, didn't you? What? Do I have to tell you everything? Now what are you going to do?

8) Kick cat*

*Just kidding you vegetarian, humanitarian freaks!

9) Remove half-empty tin of spaghetti hoops from fridge. Check for mould. If you find any, gently scrape away and furtively discard the offending fungi into bin, even though no-one's looking anyway. Empty contents into a pan and simmer gently until it starts to go all bubbly and shit, by which time it's ready. Forget your fusilli et al, pasta tastes better in the shape of little hoops. Don't bother me with stupid questions like why, it just is.

10) Also be careful not to stir spaghetti hoops while particularly fast Thermals track is playing. Or else said pasta dissolves into an unappetising gloop. But don't leave hoops cooking unattended for long either, or they stick to the pan in pretty but inedible patterns. In the case of the latter, send to the Tate and proclaim it a modern art statement on the complete uselessness in the kitchen of your average British idiot.

11) You're getting bored now so remove all contents from oven. Shove(l) on plate. Douse with salt and vinegar. Eat real fast before taste buds have time to react. Wash down with orange juice in a ridiculous attempt to pass meal off as healthy.

12) Think of a really great idea for a post for your blog.

13) Regret it almost immediately after you've completed it.

14) And the meal.

Um, will that do? Hey, works for me, and I'm (cough, splutter) perfectly healthy. Dear rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRobyn, please feel free to insert into your belly as you see fit. Love and kisses, Dead Kenny.


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