Text 36255, 179 rader
Skriven 2013-04-18 18:05:47 av Dave Drum (1:18/200.0)
Kommentar till text 36236 av BURTON FORD (1:123/140)
Ärende: Piling On
=================
-=> BURTON FORD wrote to DAVE DRUM <=-
BF> A slightly different version than the one I found on the 'Net... what I
BF> found didn't have DD's from the kitchen of... note.
dd-> All I did was clean up what I found so Meal Masher would take it.
dd-> Other than making the hamburger into a flat quarter-pound since MM
dd-> doesn't really *like* approximations without a lot of convolutions...
BF> Mercy, mercy Dave! My friend, I know you much better than to think you
BF> would wrongly diddle with a recipe!
BF> I was referring to one that I found on the net with some one else's
BF> name at the bottom, as the one who added it to whatever the Recipe Site
BF> was. ... without removing my name. Really innocuous. There were word
BF> changes to the recipe that, I must admit, were trifling.
I used to do my Don Quixote thing over Bruce Cameron's "Chilli Judge Story". I
cannot begin to count the number of times that thing hit my in-box with Bruce's
name and attributions excised. Often with the poster's name appended. And after
Cameron had granted blanket permission to quote his copyrighted work providing
that the credits remained intact. Did that work? Hah! Hear that hollow echo.
In 2008 a guy named Byron from the Chile Heads mailing list penned a similar
(but, different) humour piece - which has been subjected to similar filing off
of serial numbers, etc.
-+- WHY I AM BANNED AT WAL-MART -+-
I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of
action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and
consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're
definitely going to $h!t yourself" chilli. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point
of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat
the next day both of your a$$ cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of
coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's
Movement 2". Despite habanero peppers swimming their way through my intestinal
tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to
by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I
bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often
haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began
pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the
opposite end of the store from the restrooms that
the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking
about. I'm referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us
at the wrong time. The thing is; this pain was different.
The habaneros in the chilli from the night before were staging a revolt. In a
forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step
in the direction of the restrooms which would bring
sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a
noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid
to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape
me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my
body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman
turned into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would
be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it
unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally?
Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked
into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that
all she could do before gathering her senses and
running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as
though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible,
but then made me laugh. Mistake!
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down", if
you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from
my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that
I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone
was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through
the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying
that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took
place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the
inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my ass is
burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was
in the middle of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging
sound, and disgustedly said, "Sonofabitch!", then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart
intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and
said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some
prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the
vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem."
That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The
employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose
and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S
YOU!", then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was
unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to
return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but
leftover chilli, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at
Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the
whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store
Byron Bromley
BF> However, it being an Eat's first and only recipe, I bristled. [sigh]
BF> [It's tough, after all these years, to realize that I am human.] [g]
BF> You did not, nor did I mean to imply, have any thing to do with my
BF> comments.
BF> [Chuckle] Still love me?
Never didn't.
BF> ---
BF> I am reminded that I was 'human' at least once before. Remember that
BF> little New York State 'Echo signature' I designed years ago, with the
BF> star at Newark's location? Some poor guy 'borrowed' it with his
BF> location starred. I jumped all over him for 'stealing' <MY> depiction
BF> of NYS. [sigh] After I few years of maturing I would have apologized
BF> to him. But I couldn't remember his name.
I tried following that "map" once. Wound up in Canandaigua ... or was it Penn
Yan???
MMMMM----- Recipe via Meal-Master (tm) v8.06
Title: Cod w/Garlic
Categories: Seafood, Vegetables, Citrus
Yield: 4 Servings
2 lb Scrod or cod filets; *
8 cl Garlic; fine chopped
2 tb Butter
2 tb Oil
1/4 c Lemon juice
1 ts Salt
Fresh cilantro; snipped
* Filets should be cut to make 8 servings.
Place the fish filets on a rack in a broiler pan.
Cook and stir the garlic in the butter and oil until
golden brown, (DO NOT overcook).
Remove garlic and set aside. Drizzle the butter mixture
and lemon juice over the filets then sprinkle with the
salt.
Set oven control to broil. Broil the fish with the tops of
the filets about 3-inches from the heat until the filets
flake easily with a fork, about 10 to 12 minutes.
Sprinkle with the reserved garlic and cilantro. Serve with
lemon wedges, if desired.
Makes 4 servings
Recipe from: Annual Glorious Garlic Festival, Penn Yan, NY
From: http://www.recipesource.com
Uncle Dirty Dave's Archives
MMMMM
... You're never too old to become younger. -- Mae West
--- MultiMail/Win32 v0.49
* Origin: Outpost BBS / Johnson City, TN / outpost.slyip.net (1:18/200)
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