| Satire Fiction posted July 16, 2019 |
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A recipe for disaster?
Please Don't Choke!
by LisaMay
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
Instructions
for your poetry party centre-piece:
Turn up the gas.
(Don’t put your head in the oven. Yet.)
Be careful with sharp knives and blunt remarks.
Fill your head with these items:
4 bunches of time. (Use more if required.)
Several great lengths of finely-honed hard graft.
A dash of hope, poured from a new bottle. (Be careful with tight deadlines.)
1 jar of capers, blended with some relish and comic relief.
Add more, until it is as funny as you can handle, then tone it down before someone gags on it.
A very large portion of Tongue-in-Cheek. (Don't let the tongue wag at all, and make sure the cheeks are flushed to a nice shade of pink. We don't want them drained of colour.)
Weigh in with some diatribe and disdain, egged on by ego.
Leaven with a light touch. (This may produce froth.)
Stir in a smattering of vanity and insanity, then stir again til you get a reaction. (You may ask, how much is a smatter? What’smatter with you? Can’t you think for yourself? There – you got a reaction.)
Add a cup of chopped liver, for your Jewish visitors.
(Someone is bound to puke if there is too much; half a cup might do.)
If preferred, replace the liver with baloney. (Tell porkies to your Jewish visitors about what’s in it.)
Stir for as long as you can, in a cock-wise direction, but too much cold water will make it go soft and floppy, so stiffen it with a herbal rub or touch of tenderness (not chilli). Give it a few pokes before you screw the lid back on the herb jar.
Beat into submission.
If your wrist is getting sore, get 3 of Macbeth's witches to help you, while adding extra ingredients and chanting these lines:
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Add a handful of irony tablets and a sachet of Vitamin C.
(What does C stand for? C if I care.)
Do not dip into your armoury of admirably alliterative artifice too much. A little goes a long way. A lot goes even further, if you wish to make a complete conceit of your creative capabilities...
Cleave and crush a cube of coldly cankered congealed cassowary cutlet into a carefully calculated compote cup of canned creamy custard concoction, caramelised and curdled. (To circumvent circumcision, be careful with that cleaver!) After convection-coddling the conconction in a classic cauldron, convey it into a cute uncracked crockery casserole container, then clean the crinkly concertina crevices conscientiously. Ignore caustic comments that castigate you comprehensively. Capeesh? (‘Capiche’, to be correct.)
NOTE: Cogitate upon this conditional question:
In a correct contraption, could a cache of canary cutlets be considered for compact courses?
Are you crazy? Of course it couldn’t! Constipation could occur, or you could contract coronary occlusion, clicking catarrh, cruel colonic cancer, and constant coughing. Callused corns can be cauterised. Coincidentally, considerable incontinence could cause concern. Not to mention a case of the clap. Cor, what a catastrophic collection of complexities. Confidentially, that's code for: Cancel those canary cutlets !
Caution: Keep calm and carry on.
Remember, cream rises (but so does scum).
Skim off the scum and give it to the dog.
Don’t cry over the spilled milk.
(In fact, leave the milk out altogether and use wine – embrace the ‘one for the cook, one for the pot’ technique.)
Red wine will remind you of the blood of the Saviour.
White wine will remind you that ‘taking the piss’ has to be handled carefully. Too much will make everyone sick.
Sprinkle with several pinches of braggadocio, poppycock, balderdash and bullshit (make sure it is dry; no one likes a poem that is too wet). Pinch yourself as well. What the hell is going on here?
Adjust for a cheesy, sweet, sour or bitter taste as appropriate.
If it is crummy, add more dough then roll into a bum rap. Prick a few times then fuck in the edges and seal with a kiss. (Sorry about the typo.)
Dust with flour.
(That’s your fault, for dropping it on the floor. If you’d spent more time doing the housework instead of writing poetry there wouldn’t be any dust on the floor.)
Place in an over-heated oven. Half-bake it til you get a rise out of it.
Garnish with sour grapes, smothered with saucy insouciance. (Be sure to acknowledge your sauces. Shout "Ketchup!" to those who are lagging.) Decorate with pretty Spring flowers and fairy-light sparkly thingy things. Oh, and some autumn leaves for pathos. And maybe some artistically-draped cobwebs. You could have a blood-spattered ghoul leap out of it, jerking in a death gurgle for a touch of macabre joviality.
Rotten tomatoes will be tossed in later by your visitors.
Sozzle with alcohol, if there is any left. Serve you writers if there isn't.
Tidy up your mess (especially the dog’s) then hang your poem out to dry.
Be prepared for visitors to either choke on your creative masterpiece, chew it to bits, or find it indigestible. Remember to keep the windows closed; some neighbours will complain that your poem stinks. The best you can hope for is that your visitors will be too polite to complain. Keep asking them back, though. Your cooking will improve and it will be a pleasant experience when some of them actually enjoy the acquired taste. Be sure to thank them for tasting your burnt offering, whether they liked it or not, and whether you liked what they said or not. Everyone has different taste-buds. Be a gracious host.
Thank you for not throwing up on my carpet (like the dog did)!
Have another glass of wine.
Put your head in the oven.
If you survive, write a poem about it.
If you don’t survive, please write about it and tell me where you are.
(Relax: I’ll look after your dog.)
I’m a celebrity stalker, so could you please send me an autographed photo of God or the Devil?
Recipe for a Poem writing prompt entry
Instructions
for your poetry party centre-piece:
Turn up the gas.
(Don’t put your head in the oven. Yet.)
Be careful with sharp knives and blunt remarks.
Fill your head with these items:
4 bunches of time. (Use more if required.)
Several great lengths of finely-honed hard graft.
A dash of hope, poured from a new bottle. (Be careful with tight deadlines.)
1 jar of capers, blended with some relish and comic relief.
Add more, until it is as funny as you can handle, then tone it down before someone gags on it.
A very large portion of Tongue-in-Cheek. (Don't let the tongue wag at all, and make sure the cheeks are flushed to a nice shade of pink. We don't want them drained of colour.)
Weigh in with some diatribe and disdain, egged on by ego.
Leaven with a light touch. (This may produce froth.)
Stir in a smattering of vanity and insanity, then stir again til you get a reaction. (You may ask, how much is a smatter? What’smatter with you? Can’t you think for yourself? There – you got a reaction.)
Add a cup of chopped liver, for your Jewish visitors.
(Someone is bound to puke if there is too much; half a cup might do.)
If preferred, replace the liver with baloney. (Tell porkies to your Jewish visitors about what’s in it.)
Stir for as long as you can, in a cock-wise direction, but too much cold water will make it go soft and floppy, so stiffen it with a herbal rub or touch of tenderness (not chilli). Give it a few pokes before you screw the lid back on the herb jar.
Beat into submission.
If your wrist is getting sore, get 3 of Macbeth's witches to help you, while adding extra ingredients and chanting these lines:
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Add a handful of irony tablets and a sachet of Vitamin C.
(What does C stand for? C if I care.)
Do not dip into your armoury of admirably alliterative artifice too much. A little goes a long way. A lot goes even further, if you wish to make a complete conceit of your creative capabilities...
Cleave and crush a cube of coldly cankered congealed cassowary cutlet into a carefully calculated compote cup of canned creamy custard concoction, caramelised and curdled. (To circumvent circumcision, be careful with that cleaver!) After convection-coddling the conconction in a classic cauldron, convey it into a cute uncracked crockery casserole container, then clean the crinkly concertina crevices conscientiously. Ignore caustic comments that castigate you comprehensively. Capeesh? (‘Capiche’, to be correct.)
NOTE: Cogitate upon this conditional question:
In a correct contraption, could a cache of canary cutlets be considered for compact courses?
Are you crazy? Of course it couldn’t! Constipation could occur, or you could contract coronary occlusion, clicking catarrh, cruel colonic cancer, and constant coughing. Callused corns can be cauterised. Coincidentally, considerable incontinence could cause concern. Not to mention a case of the clap. Cor, what a catastrophic collection of complexities. Confidentially, that's code for: Cancel those canary cutlets !
Caution: Keep calm and carry on.
Remember, cream rises (but so does scum).
Skim off the scum and give it to the dog.
Don’t cry over the spilled milk.
(In fact, leave the milk out altogether and use wine – embrace the ‘one for the cook, one for the pot’ technique.)
Red wine will remind you of the blood of the Saviour.
White wine will remind you that ‘taking the piss’ has to be handled carefully. Too much will make everyone sick.
Sprinkle with several pinches of braggadocio, poppycock, balderdash and bullshit (make sure it is dry; no one likes a poem that is too wet). Pinch yourself as well. What the hell is going on here?
Adjust for a cheesy, sweet, sour or bitter taste as appropriate.
If it is crummy, add more dough then roll into a bum rap. Prick a few times then fuck in the edges and seal with a kiss. (Sorry about the typo.)
Dust with flour.
(That’s your fault, for dropping it on the floor. If you’d spent more time doing the housework instead of writing poetry there wouldn’t be any dust on the floor.)
Place in an over-heated oven. Half-bake it til you get a rise out of it.
Garnish with sour grapes, smothered with saucy insouciance. (Be sure to acknowledge your sauces. Shout "Ketchup!" to those who are lagging.) Decorate with pretty Spring flowers and fairy-light sparkly thingy things. Oh, and some autumn leaves for pathos. And maybe some artistically-draped cobwebs. You could have a blood-spattered ghoul leap out of it, jerking in a death gurgle for a touch of macabre joviality.
Rotten tomatoes will be tossed in later by your visitors.
Sozzle with alcohol, if there is any left. Serve you writers if there isn't.
Tidy up your mess (especially the dog’s) then hang your poem out to dry.
Be prepared for visitors to either choke on your creative masterpiece, chew it to bits, or find it indigestible. Remember to keep the windows closed; some neighbours will complain that your poem stinks. The best you can hope for is that your visitors will be too polite to complain. Keep asking them back, though. Your cooking will improve and it will be a pleasant experience when some of them actually enjoy the acquired taste. Be sure to thank them for tasting your burnt offering, whether they liked it or not, and whether you liked what they said or not. Everyone has different taste-buds. Be a gracious host.
Thank you for not throwing up on my carpet (like the dog did)!
Have another glass of wine.
Put your head in the oven.
If you survive, write a poem about it.
If you don’t survive, please write about it and tell me where you are.
(Relax: I’ll look after your dog.)
I’m a celebrity stalker, so could you please send me an autographed photo of God or the Devil?
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Writing Prompt Write an itemised RECIPE for a poem. Include ingredients, preparation and cooking instructions. What ingredients does your poem need? How do you prepare it? Use your ingenuity to create an interesting dish, savory or sweet, or inedible. |
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