Ruminating On:

My Semi-Fictional Life #13 (Cookbook Review WARNING LANGUAGE!)

Hello, you tasty taste goods! In case you don’t follow me on Goodreads (seriously, though, why don’t you? Kidding… but seriously… Why not?), I sometimes post idiotic cookbook reviews. This is one of those days. If you’re sensitive to… well, anything, I suggest skipping today’s post. HOLLA!

My Review of Chicken Dinners: The Best Chicken Dishes!

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If you’re gonna make a cookbook, would you please, for the love of Tom Cruise’s slippery anus, make the sumbitch so it can lay down flat on a workspace? For fuck’s sake, you have one goddamn job, Cookbook Designers! Create a book that is easy to read while cooking. I got flour and egg wash and chicken blood and your girl on my fingers, my kitchen looks like a bakery fucking exploded, and I can’t be washing my motherfucking hands every time I need to turn the page! FUCK!
How y’all doing today? I’m good. But, holy creamsicles, Foghorn, does the design of this book raise my blood pressure. No cookbook should be a pain in the cock to keep open. It makes about as much sense as Lego slash fiction.

Anyfuck, on with the review!

Did you know that the average adult chicken weighs 3.25 pounds? That’s one of my buttcheeks. All right. Ya got me. That’s like my big toe. But a fat fuck can dream, right?

When cutting a chicken it can be cut into four to eight pieces. But if you’re like me and can’t math good, you can cut that fucker in half a bunch of times until you have dinner. Don’t judge me. If you want the actual instructions, buy the fucking book. And some scissors. Kitchen shears, they’re called. Don’t use your mom’s crafting shits. She might choke a motherfucker.

Don’t enjoy splatter-painting your toilet brown and red? Ya might wanna cook your chicken before eating it. For cereal, Salmon-illa can give you the death squirts. That’s where your insides turn to water and your butthole starts reenacting the latest presidential debate.

Like titties? How about cheese? Why not have the best of both worlds? Try this book’s Mozzarella-Stuffed Chicken Breasts. And you’re gonna need some prosciutto and shit for this recipe. I know it’s a chicken dish, asshole. I don’t fucking know why you need pork for a chicken dish. Goddamn it, I didn’t write the fucking book. SHIT!

How about some Green Chicken Curry? Doesn’t that sound good???????

You’re right. That sounds disgusting.

NEXT!

Do you like Cock Oven?

*producer whispers in ear*

Sorry… What? That’s what I said. Yeah. “Cock Oven”. It’s written right there in my review…

*producer shakes head, grabs pen and paper, jots down a note*

OH! Motherfuck me. Ha! It’s spelled Coq au Vin? My bad!

So, okay, do you like Coq au Vin? To you sorry fuckers who don’t get turnt on the weekends, that’s chicken and wine. For cereal, what y’all doing with your life? Give your chicken a bottle of Boone’s Farm and that motherfucker will ‘preciate you for life!

Last recipe of the day is motherfucking Chicken with… Is this right? Forty? These assholes lie like a motherfucker. This recipe says 3 garlic bulbs, not 40. Who the fuck they think they’re talking to? There ain’t no nine cloves to a bulb…

Shut up!

I TOLD Y’ALL I DON’T MATH GOOD!

FUCK!

CHICKEN WITH FORTY CLOVES OF GARLIC! Have you ever wanted to go down on a girl whose nether portal smells like an italian restaurant? Do you want your man’s baby batter to taste like Guy Fieri looks? Wanna make your significant other never want to kiss you ever again?

No? Neither have I. Seriously. Try pineapple. Stay away from coffee and cigarettes. Try flavored lubes. Hell, stay on theme and just use coagulated chicken fat when going downtown on your lovely lover. YUM!

I’m like the Dr. Ruth of the cooking world, motherfuckers. HOLLA!

In summation: Goddamn this book is fulla ass. It won’t stay open. The names of shit are fucking liars. And now I’m hungry AND horny. Until next time, I’ve been E. You’ve been you. And this has been a Cookcook Review.

Final Judgment: FUCKING, LAY THE FUCK DOWN, BOOK! FUCK!

See you tomorrow!

E.

Pic of the Day

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