Kick It Up a Notch, Bitches! Bam! [Where the Hell Was I?]

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June 13, 2005

Kick It Up a Notch, Bitches! Bam!

You know, sometimes you write a post... just to get something the hell out of your head. And this -- this is one of those posts. Yesterday, I woke up with a tiny kernel of the idea below. I'm not sure whether I should be more embarrassed that I thought of it in the first place, or that I've now burdened you with it. Have a drink for me, won't you?

And now, without further excuses...

Announcer: And now, welcome to the studio your host -- he's the powder on your doughnut, the blow in your bowl, the chef with the all the best shit; it's Termel Johnson, with another round of 'Coke Cuisine'!

(Whooping and general mayhem surge through the studio audience. A pair of wobbly gentlemen attempt to rush the stage, but fall -- literally -- a few feet short. In the back, a boob is flashed.)

Termel: Hey, yeah. All right. What's up, y'all? I'm Termel, and I'm gonna gourmet the shit outta this joint. I got some pots over here, and they's veggies in the fridge, and I just scored a half a key of the finest Nicaraguan blow you ever laid your nostrils on. So let's get fun-kay with some... Coke Cuisine!

Now, today we're gonna talk about the sweet stuff. And I'm not just talkin' 'bout that sweet piece of hootchie that hangs by the dumpster behind the studio, either. Bonita! I'll be by for you later, girl! I hook you up, baby.

All right. So today, we gonna make us a three-course gourmet dessert. First, we'll need a box of brownie mix. Like this one, right here. Okay, let's get this shit into the bowl. Sweet. Looks like a big pile of chocolate blow, dunnit? Yeah, but don't be fooled -- I did a couple of lines of that shit once; I couldn't taste food for a week. You think the crank is bad? Stay away from the sugar, baby. That's bad medicine.

Anyway, brownie mix. Now, we gotta have a couple of eggs. Don't worry about the shells, now -- by the time you eat these babies, you won't know the difference. Now, throw in some milk. It don't matter how much. Hell, use water, if you want. OJ works, too. It's all good. And just mush all that shit together with your hands now. Watch those open sores, now.

Okay, now for the good part. Just before you pop the brownies in, add a half an ounce of your coke. This is important, now -- just a half. Any less than that, and you'll actually be able to taste the damned nasty things. Any more, and you'll notice a metallic, bitter aftertaste. Oh, and also -- you'll go blind. So be cool. You might want to write that step down.

So now, mix all that shit together, throw the pan in the oven, and... hell, I don't know. Leave it for ten minutes -- twenty, maybe. Whatever. Just do a couple of lines with the leftover goods, and the shit'll be done. Done enough, anyway. But don't get too far gone, man, and forget to use a potholder. Them ovens are dangerous bitches. Hey, just like Bonita! Aw, yeah. Almost forgot about her. Y'all can have this batch, now -- I'm gonna go let her lick my fingers. This's been Coke Cuisine. Blow appetit, peeps.

(Termel exits stage left. Stage hands are overrun, as the crowd surges forward to get their hands on the brownies. The camera zooms out and the credits roll, as a small, grandmotherly woman wields a rolling pin, snatches a brownie, and escapes backstage. Another successful show.)

Christ. Thank goodness that's out of my head now. Sorry you people had to see that. Much more of that bullshit, and I'll be afraid to wake up at all. Sheesh.

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