Saturday, May 20, 2017
Weaponizing Food
The menus have dropped
from aircraft and missiles.
And flooded our personal
computers.
Apparently we're to learn
how to cook their slop?
Eat it too? Not unless forced.
It's a death sentence.
Some are taking language
classes already. They have a
language as do we, but theirs
being graced by gastric means
also.
They say things with stomach rumbles
and farts and long belches.
Plus, punctuate ordinary discourse
thusly too.
And our air was bad BEFORE the war!
Oh well, this too will pass.
(In egregious times, egregious puns!)
Labels: conquer, food, gastric, war
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
The Old Order
Max the blueberry farmer left Portland airport and
landed in Philadelphia. He rented a car to drive to
Phoenixville and the New Dinnerplate Pancake Factory.
But Mr Jellings wasn’t there as promised, so Max
couldn’t discuss his dismissal letter.
Rita told him “You’ll only have luck with him
by cell or email. He’s off to Scranton to
introduce the huge new blueberry pancake.
Well, it’s all over the country. They’re about the last
to get it.” Then she frowned. “Hey! That’s you!
Or used to be. I’m sorry.”
She took him out to the floor to see the rivers of
“blueberries.” Size of marbles, and millions!
“They’re hard as rocks now, but they’re furnaced
for a few seconds just before they merge with
the batter stream. Mushed up just enough."
“Well, REAL blueberries...!” he began but she cut him
off with a laugh.
When he got home to Waterville that early evening,
Millie was unloading the groceries from the Ford
Expedition. He helped her carry them in.
She flipped the kitchen switch and the florescent lights
buzzed, then caught.
They both looked ghastly green. But worse, atop the largest
plastic bag:
MAINE MAID DINNERPLATE BLUEBERRY PANCAKES
Featuring the latest technology in artificial blueberries!
“Millie for Jesus Christ’s sake!”
“I like them. They taste the same.”
“There’s no way on God’s Green Earth...!”
“Uh huh? Well...this is as good a time as any to announce
that I’m leaving you!”
“Well, go ahead then!”
“Go ahead what?”
“Go ahead and announce.”
“I just did!”
“That’s no announcement!”
“Nobody ever pleased you! Your mother died young trying!
Well I’M...!”
She went to girlfriend, Glads.
He finished putting away the groceries. Carrying out the “pancakes”
to the furthest trash can on the dank property.
Eventually sipped coffee in the dark kitchen as the twilight deepened, very nearly palpably.
“I’m a blueberry,” he sighed after blackness got there.
Perhaps evoked by its rare clanking.
Labels: blueberry, farmer, food, food technology, Maine, pancakes
Monday, August 17, 2015
Very American Frontier
The Professor answered all such vulgarity with “Not recently.”
But the rough miners continued to deal this dirty coin. Drunk.
Wives, fed up, started a church. There, a circuit preacher
gave The Word.
It became the only social center, and the women cooked
and baked, and prepared dishes other ways each week.
To an enormous surplus, food spilling out of the small
building into the roadway,
The men tromp through it on their way to the mine.
Singing, rather screaming, of one, Fifi, who wouldn’t...
at first.
On their return, blackly cursing her and wives and all else.
Labels: anti-women, Capitalism, Chinese, Church, food, mining, social, West, women
Thursday, March 05, 2015
The Celebrity
Mr Disease
When Dr Cantry asked him to represent
the disease, it sounded funny.
Actually, of course, she meant efforts
to fight same.
So he became the public face for the latter.
First on TV, where Jenny made him up meticulously.
“These new cameras pick up a flyspeck at fifty miles!”
Soon, people waved on the street.
The mayor phoned with a request to join the
Youth Sports Week Parade. The army truck
holding girl softball players became his choice
since they had more hell in them, thus least
reverential to him and his disease. Called him Dad.
The most comic deference happened at Acropolis
Lunch where Markos insisted he sit in a booth now.
Still orchestrated the usual 40's era food jokes though.
Thus pretending he didn't have a lit degree, announced:
"We have two kinds apple pie today, Apple and Pin-Apple!"
It became his turn--and he didn't do one of his fadeouts,
though he had to yell from the booth. “You call this Chicken
Soup? The chicken walked through it on stilts!"
Waiter Jellybean, started dressing as a gangster, and our
Mr Disease enjoyed hassling him.
You'd almost expect Sam Spade to pop in to ask some
pointed questions!
And one blunt one.
Labels: death, disease, food, Greek, Sam Spade, TV
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Praising America
Patriot’s Sundae
I didn't worry that the Administration and its
fierce Party labeled my unemployment
insurance as a crippling entitlement against
the whole country.
But then, they persuaded Congress to eliminate the
program on the philosophical ground that it lacked
the real starving possibility that got folks off their ass.
Thus, yet another blow to natural laziness.
No problem with this last here. Our shop had work
out the door and stretching to Kalamazoo!
Overtime mandatory, which was fine with me.
Was. Whole shebang to Latvia. Our labor just too costly.
Sometimes, you get the chance to give back wages?
But not in this case.
After a couple of months, when the old government
handout would’ve come in handy, and we exhausted
our savings, and our daughters couldn't play soccer
because we couldn't afford the uniforms, I landed
on my feet at Dollar-O-Rama!
The best thing here: we buy up the food that
supermarkets throw away, and some WE actually
throw away. Well, no more! That last goes to OUR table.
My wife last week took a smashed blueberry pie and
blended it with her homemade yogurt. Great!
We called it our Patriot’s Sundae.
The girls bragged about it, and we had to stand up
at their next game. The announcer said that praising
us was praising America!
Labels: Dollar Store, food, lazy, patriotism, soccer, starvation, sundae, supermarket, Unemployment Compensation, unemployment insurance
