- Jun 9, 2007
- 10,697
- 161
- 106
Oh, just add cream! It couldn't be any easier, except for the part where you spend TWENTY AGONIZING MINUTES churning and churning and churning away like Roger Clemens working his pitching arm down into a barrel of wet rice, just so your stupid dinner guests can have a fresh pat of butter with a fucking rooster crest on it. THE ROOSTER IS MY FAMILY CREST YOU KNOW. Our ancestors were famous for their delicious rooster butter, made from fresh rooster milk.
Notes: That's six dollarsplus shippingfor four fucking marshmallows. A bag of 50 Jet Puft marshmallows is three bucks at the store. Oh, but these were hand-dusted, which makes all the difference. You can taste when your marshmallows have been dusted by some heartless dustbot. It's a cloying taste, which I why I NEVER serve them at my parties, which are attended by many federal appellate court judges and newspaper barons.
The outdoorsiest we get is when we roll down the window at the fucking Wendy's drive through.
Item #54-1623164 Monogrammed Steak Brand
Williams-Sonoma says: "Put your initials on your grilled masterpieces."
Price: $39.95
Notes: It's bad enough that the poor cow takes a frat house iron to the ass before being led to slaughter, but now you gotta sign your steak, too? This is what I want to do, and tell me if I'm going overboard here: I want to brand a cow, kill that cow, cook a steak from its carcass, BRAND the steak, serve the steak at a party so that people know it's mine even though they already saw me grilling it, and then I want to eat the steak, shit it out, BRAND my shit with some kind of forged iron shit brand, and mail that turd to the cow's children. You will fear the initials DM, children. They will live in your night terrors.
