humor

I’d foment revolution, but I’d Have to Get Out of My Jammies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

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Yakitori

Japanese Entree

YAKITORI

INGREDIENTS

½ cup mirin
1⅓ cups sake or dry white wine
½ cup soy sauce
¼ cup sugar
1 pound boneless chicken thighs
4 green onions

SPECIAL UTENSILS

grill
8 10″-bamboo skewers

Makes 6 skewers. Takes 1 hour 15 minutes.

PREPARATION

Soak skewers in water. Add mirin, sake, soy sauce, and sugar to pan. Bring to boil using high heat. Stir frequently. Reduce heat to low-medium heat and simmer for 10 minutes or until sauce thickens and is reduced by half. Stir frequently. Remove sauce from heat and let cool.

Slice chicken thighs into 1″ squares. Slice green onions into 1″ long pieces. Alternate threading chicken squares and green-onion slices onto skewers. Warm grill to medium heat. Add as many skewers as possible without them touching each other. Grill chicken/green onion skewers on each side for 2 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink on outside. Generally skewers with sauce. Grill each side for 2 minute. Repeat 2 more times or until chicken is no longer pink inside. Serve with unused sauce.

TIDBITS

1) Not all Americans in 1776 favored independence from Great Britain. The Tories remained loyal to their mother country. Tories, in general, were far more talkative than their revolutionary counterparts. The patriots derided the loyalists as “Yaky tories,” or in its shortened form, “Yakitori.”

2) On August 27, 1776, the British under General Howe routed the Continental Army, To celebrate, Tory chef, Abner Davis, made the victorious commander this tasty dish. General Howe loved his dinner and asked repeatedly for more helpings. The well-fed commander soon became sleepy and didn’t wake until noon. These hours of inactivity gave General Washington the time he needed to retreat his battered army. The Americans regrouped and trained until they could stand up to any British army. The chance to crush the Revolution was lost. America would become independent.

3) In 1856, Commodore Matthew Perry lead a U.S.. squadron to Japan. He gave the Japanese many gifts, including the recipe to Yakitori. This is how Japanese cuisine came to Japan.

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

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Poetry For Lovers

At a loss for words to express your love, try . . .

 

 

 

Paul the Love Bard

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

 

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A PSA

 

 

 

 

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bacon Wrapped Shrimp

American Appetizer

BACON WRAPPED SHRIMP

INGREDIENTS

24 jumbo shrimp, peeled and deveined
12 slices bacon
¼ cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
no-stick spray

SPECIAL UTENSILS

24 toothpicks
baking rack
cookie sheet.

Serves 6. Takes 30 minutes.

PREPARATION

Set oven to broil and preheat to 400 degrees. Soak toothpicks in water. Slice each bacon strip into two halves crosswise.. Add shrimp, brown sugar, and Worcestershire sauce to mixing bowl. Toss shrimp until they are well coated. Wrap each shrimp with bacon. Secure with soaked toothpick. Repeat for each shrimp.

Spray baking rack with no-stick spray. Place shrimp on baking rack. Place baking rack 3″ from heat. Place cookie sheet under rack to catch drippings from bacon. Broil at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or until bacon becomes crispy. Watch carefully, bacon can go burned quickly.

TIDBITS

1) Sir Francis Bacon was a mainstay in the Elizabethan era because he was brilliant as all get out, being an author, statesman (Lord High Chancellor England), scientist, blah, blah, blah. . . and a budding culinary saint! Francis was researching the effect of freezing on meat when he contracted pneumonia and died. This selfless act, was no doubt, the inspiration for the safe modern freezer/refrigerator. It is tantalizing to further speculate that Sir Bacon invented the cut of pig known as bacon. Many culinary historians assert this hypothesis most vigorously, particularly so after they’ve been drinking heavily.

2) At any rate, bacon was a staple of the American culinary scene by the early 18th century. America’s settlers wouldn’t have even considered crossing the land’s great expanses without an adequate supply of bacon. Tasty bacon would go onto grow and stabilize the great American Republic.

3) Unfortunately, by 2017, demand for bacon began to outstrip its supply. The Republic is in danger. Civil unrest will surely follow. Indeed, political discourse is already getting ever more heated and frenzied.

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

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Costa Rican Pork Casado

Costa Rican Entree

PORK CASADO

INGREDIENTS – MARINADE

2 dried chiles, guajillo, ancho, or other
1⅓ cup vegetable or pork stock
5″ carrot
1½ tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons molasses
½ small onion (additional 2 onions later)
2½ tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vinegar

INGREDIENTS – SALAD

¼ head cabbage
1 small carrot
1 small tomato
¼ teaspoon pepper
¼ teaspoon salt

INGREDIENTS – RICE

1 cup basmati or white rice
1 onion (1 additional onion later)
2 red bell peppers
2 tablespoons vegetable oil (5 additional tablespoons later)

INGREDIENTS – PLANTAINS

2 plantains
5 tablespoons vegetable oil

INGREDIENTS – PORK

1 onion
4 pork loins

1 15-ounce can black beans

SPECIAL UTENSIL

outdoor grill

Serves 4. Takes 1 hours 30 minutes.

PREPARATION – MARINADE

Seed chiles. Add chiles and vegetable stock to pan. Cook on medium heat for 15 minutes or until chiles soften. Add chiles, vegetable stock and the remaining marinade ingredients. Puree in blender until smooth. Coat pork loins with marinade. Let marinate for 30 minutes. Keep marinade.

PREPARATION – SALAD

Shred cabbage. Dice carrot and tomato. Add cabbage, carrot, tomato, pepper, and salt to mixing bowl. Mix with fork.

PREPARATION – RICE

Add rice to pot. Cook rice according to instructions on package. While rice cooks, mince 1 onion and red bell peppers. Sauté on medium-high heat for 5 minutes or until onion softens. Keep rice and onion/bell pepper mix warm.

PREPARATION – PLANTAINS

Peel plantains. Slice plantains in half lengthwise. Add 5 tablespoons vegetable oil and plantain to pan. Sauté on medium heat for 5 minutes or until plantains become tender and turn golden brown. Drain and keep warm.

PREPARATION – PORK

Cut onion into four slices. Grill onion and pork loins on barbecue grill at high or 450 degrees. Grill onions for 10 minutes or until they start to char. Turn them over once. Grill pork for 20 minutes or until it is cooked through (white inside) or starts to brown. Turn over every 5 minutes. Brush with marinade each time.

PREPARATION – FINAL

Put beans in pot. Cook on medium heat for 5 minutes or until sauce begins to bubble. Add pork to plate with grilled onion slice on top. Add rice to side and top with onion/red pepper mix. Add 2 plantains to the side. (Lots of sides, aren’t there?) Add cabbage to a remaining spot on plate and top with carrot and tomato.

TIDBITS

1) This recipe has orange zest. As far as I know there are no movie titles with the word zest in them. But there is a classic movie called “Lust for Life.” It’s about Vincent Van Gogh. Van Gogh was an artist. So am I. I had a vase displayed in the Gemente Museum in the The Hague, Netherlands. I am now a chef. The upcoming movie about my life is likely to be called, “Lust for Zest.” See, I finished this tidbit with a line to spare.

 

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.

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Machanka

Belarusian Entree

MACHANKA

INGREDIENTS

1 pound pork shoulder or loin
1 pound Polish or pork sausages
1 medium onion
2½ tablespoons lard or butter
1¼ cups pork stock or beef stock
5 tablespoons flour
2 bay leaves
1 cup sour cream
¼ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon salt

Serves 4. Takes 2 hours.

PREPARATION

Cut pork into 1″ cubes. Cut Polish sausages into 1″ slices. Dice onion. Add pork cubes and lard to pan. Sauté at medium-high heat for 5 minutes or until pork cubes start to brown. Stir occasionally. Remove pork cubes and drain on paper towel. Keep lard in pan.

Add pork stock and flour to small mixing bowl. Mix with whisk until well blended. Add onion and Polish sausage to pan. Sauté for 5 minutes at medium-high heat or until onion softens. Stir frequently. Add pork stock/flour mix, pork shoulder cubes, and bay leaves. Cover and simmer at warm-low heat for 1 hour or until pork cubes are tender. Stir enough to keep sauce from burning. Add sour cream, pepper, and salt. Cover and simmer at warm-low heat for 20 minutes. Stir enough to keep sauce from burning. Remove bay leaves.

TIDBITS

1) This dish is made with pork shoulder. It is called Machanka. The speed of sound, 767 miles per hour was, at first, also called Machanka. How was this speed measured? By having someone yell “Machanka” and then measuring the speed of an air molecule issuing from the yeller’s mouth. This technique did not work well. Air molecules are transparent, making them impossible to track.

2) Thank goodness for the scientists at the Pork Shoulder Catapulting Institute (PSCI) in Minsk. The PSCI dates back to the liberation of Belarus from the Mongols in 1373 when Sergey Daškievic, realized that frozen pork shoulders catapulted at Mongol armies completely disrupted their cavalry.

3) In 1962 the United States Air Force needed to know Machanka so it could build wings strong enough to withstand that speed. Naturally, it turned to the PSCI. The Institute’s scientist yelled “Machanka” at a starving artist at the same time a pork shoulder was catapulted. After many trials, the word “Machanka” arrived at the same time as the pork shoulder. The speed of sound was then calculated as (pork shoulder distance/ air time.) Over time Machanka was shortened to Mach 1.

Leave a message. I’d like to hear from you.

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with 180 wonderful recipes is available on amazon.com. My newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, is also available on amazon.com

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My 1000th Blog! – The Adventures of My Friends

It was sultry in Macon, Georgia. Which is kinda irrelevant because our story takes place in Poway. I hope mentioning their town squares things with the Macon city council.

Anyway, ruggedly handsome Matt Pallamary looked down the smoking barrel of his Saturday Night Special. He’d been the head weatherman for Channel 3, The Voice of Greater Poway, for thirteen years. He hadn’t learned a darn thing about meteorology, climatology, chinoiserie, or whatever. It really didn’t matter, every day in Poway since the flood of Genesis had been cloud free. Poway had been, and still is, light during the day and dark at night.

Oh dear, I’ve totally forgotten about the sultry Susan Conner who lay dead on the floor with a bullet hole the size of Rhode Island in her head. Matt surveyed her one more time, no doubt Poway’s finest would soon show. After all, Winchell’s DoughnutsTM always had Channel 3 on.

“Nice gams,” said Matt. “Too bad her cats kept predicting a major flood. Destroyed all credibility for the program.” Ms. Conner didn’t mind Matt’s nor the author’s intrusions and dilly dallying. She was dead and had learned patience.

Suddenly, the scene was cut short as Sergeant Mavvy Vasquez and rookie Mary Barker burst in. Sgt. Vasquez drew her VerasceTM .45 silencer and plugged Matt in the throat. Matt slumped to the floor. Even in death he wasn’t in a hurry. His last words were, “Ow! I mean ow!”

Barker asked, “Land of Goshen! Why’d ya kill him? He was ruggedly handsome, ya know.”

Vasquez sneered. “Rookie, rookie, rookie. Have you learned nothing from me? Less paper work from killing a suspect than bringing him. And besides, Real Economists of Los Angeles comes on just after my shift is over. Not missing that for anything.

“Shouldn’t Real Economists of Los Angeles be in quotes and not in italics,” said Barker, whose hearing was very good.

“Pow! Pow!” said Vasquez as she pointed her finger. Finger guns have never worked, not even for the imaginative kid. It didn’t work now. So she used her silencer. Down went the rookie. The sergeant knew she was wrong to murder Barker and also quite possibly wrong about italicizing the TV show as well. However, she was doomed if this charge was true. Sheriff Leona Pence was strict about grammar, particularly after a murder of a policewoman.

Sheriff Pence was herself a murderer. Normally, that would be a resume stain for anyone seeking a career in law enforcement. However, Ms. Pence successfully ran for sheriff, sheriff spelled correctly, on the slogan, or with the slogan as the case may be, of, “It takes a murderer to catch a murderer.”

Murder made Sergeant Vasquez hungry. Murder always does that. You’d know that if you murdered . . . Anyway, so hungry, so hungry for a maple doughnut that she cut in line of Shirley Wetzel who was kindness itself.

Except when it came to her doughnuts. No one got between her and a doughnut. A doughnutless Wetzel was a hangry Wetzel. (Notice, I’m using people last names mostly. It’s because I’m respectful. Manners matter even in murder.)

Anyway, still at the doughnut shop, Wetzel yelled, “Hey, no cutting in line.”

“Oh go eat lutefisk,” replied the law.

A severely sugar deficient Wetzel pulled her trusty Jay Martin knife and severed Sergeant Vasquez’s jugular. Blood splashed Wetzel’s white blouse. “My blouse is ruined! Just ruined!”

“No, it isn’t” said Shelley Caldwell, who normally took the doughnut orders, but hadn’t done so recently because of all the murders and stuff, “just smear blood over yourself. You’ll just be wearing a shiny red blouse, that’s all.”

Wetzel sniffled. “I suppose so.”

“And not only that,” said Caldwell, “the police will be looking for a murderer with blood stains on her. They won’t be able to see individual spots in a completely stained blouse.”

Wetzel brightened. Smiled even. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful to a murderous stranger.”

Caldwell waved her hand. “It’s nothing, honey. My grandmother told me to be useful as well as ornamental.”

Wetzel stepped outside, walked to intersection and pressed the button. When the light at the other side of the street flashed “walk,” she walked put not before looking to the left for aholes turning right into the crosswalk. If only she’d had looked up as well. But no she didn’t. A comet hit her and carried her off into space. Right now, Wetzel is speeding out on an orbit that will take her out past Pluto, still a planet in my book, and into the Oort cloud. Wetzel’s comet is scheduled to return in the year 2375.

Anyway, the comet’s commotion kinda grabbed everyone’s attention, so no one noticed when Steve Barber, a Chihuahua, robbed the nearby First Really First National Bank. I tell you, no one ever suspects Chihuahua of any crime at all. It’s truly an invitation to canine robbery, which Barber had just done. And with an AKC-47. The C stands for Chihuahua sized. It’d be unrealistic to have a tiny dog, toting around a real assault rifle, for goodness sake.

Unfortunately for Barber, a Chihuahua’s legs are tiny, making a quick getaway impossible. Too bad he’d never gotten a license. He could have booked it out of there in a Smart Car.TM

Anyway, Sergeant Bob Brouilette used the author intrusion and the doggie’s slowness to catch the canine criminal. “Oh ho,” said Brouilette, “I’ve got you know.”

“‘Now’ is spelled, ‘now,’ not ‘know,’ copper,” woofed Barber.

“It’s not my fault, ‘know’ was a typo,” said Brouilette. “And, it’s a homonym.”

“No, it isnt,” woofed the dog. “and you have to let me go.”

“You used a gun in a robbery,” said the sergeant.

“It’s my Second Amendment right to bear arms,” woofed Barber.

“That only applies to people,” said Brouilette.

An interesting Supreme Court ruling loomed. But then fifty-two cats pounced on Barber, grabbed him by their paws and kicked him to death with their hind legs. “Eat fur balls, Chihuahuas,” purred the kittenish Susan Conner who wasn’t as dead as she seemed in paragraph two.  She probably takes lots of vitamins, “Time to make America feline again,” said Conner.

And now we’ll pause a moment while I correct a comma into a period. There. Done.

“We don’t murder with cats in Poway,” said the bystander Paul Higgins who had a body any zombie would kill for, four limbs and everything. And at that, Higgins put a whistle to his lips and blew.

Conner sneered. “Like any cats going to follow that.”

“I know,” said Higgins, smarter than a herd of amoebas. “But this whistle will attract the attention of the police.”

“Oh drat,” said Conner, “I didn’t figure on that.”

“Into the library,” said the dapper Woodrow Wilkins, who despite all wearing spiffy clothes, loved cats to the extent that he never minded cat fur all over his ensembles. Well, he really preferred cat fur that coordinated nicely with his suits. But the point has been made, he loved cats and their cat masters.

Conner led her herd to the library. Before entering, she turned back to glimpse at her knight in shining armor. “Thank you,” said. “I will always remember your kindness.”

The ever modest Wilkins tipped his hat. “It’s nothing.” He then vanished into obscurity, which was quite a good thing given the fatality rate of this Powegian day.

Conner and her cute as buttons cats stampeded into the library.

“Whoa!” yelled the head librarian, Shellie Fiore, in her sternest whisper. “This is a library, not a barn. We don’t stampede here.”

Properly embarrassed the cats said down and began licking themselves. Conner, too.

Fiore took this respite in action to drink in the attention of hundreds of male admirers. Ravishingly beautiful, if she had been alive in the time of Homer, she’d have been the stunning knockout that launched a thousand ships against Troy.

Fiore knew it too. Indeed, she’d walk the sidewalk in front of the library every now and again. Male drivers would turn their heads to drink her in. For too long. Too often. Eyes off the road, driver after driver would crash into car after car. Often with fatal results. The she devil reveled in her fatal attractiveness.

But not in the library, where she never killed anyone. But she’d give you such a look if you tried to argue your way out of a fine.

Poway’s library collected a lot of late-book fines and talking-ones as well. To such an extent, in fact, that the place was lit not with over head lighting, but with ornate Italian candlesticks.

The reference librarian, Chrissie Ann, AKA the Enforcer, gripped one such candlestick. She lovingly referred to it as Rita Tobey Cloud. Ann was also snarling. A patron, Susan Clark Voorhis, wanted to use the computer. It was her time. Had been for ten minutes. She’d demurely asked the selfish oaf if she’d might sit down instead. The miscreant, Rodney Dodig, didn’t even look up. He really was a bad egg.

So Voorhis, walked timidly toward Ann and told her tale of woe. “Is that so? Well not, in my domain.” Ann the Enforcer glanced toward Conner and her cats, you could never tell what they might do. But they were sleeping. She was free to administer justice.

In three steps Ann bounded over to where Dodig surfed the net for intense articles on cross-grape pollination in the Andes. Naturally, he didn’t want to be disturbed by the outside world. So when Ann tapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Now, see here!” he waxed belligerent. His face took on the anger of someone expecting a cream-filled chocolate egg only to find that he’d bitten into a chocolate-covered Brussels sprout.

“Take off, reference Nazi.” And worse, he’d yelled this. In a library. To a reference librarian. To a Powegian reference librarian.

Smack, smack, Ann’s candlestick, Cloud, came down on his head. Smack, smack, Ann’s silver candlestick made sure he was dead. Voorhis thought briefly turning Ann into the law, but she really did need to get on the computer. She really needed to complete her research. Her term paper was due tomorrow and her laptop wasn’t doing anything. If only she’d listened to her friends and not installed Internet Explorer. She merely mouthed thanks to Ann and sat down at her terminal.

The blissful silence of the library shattered when Conner spontaneously busted. So Conner didn’t remember Wilkins’ kindness well long after all, did she?

Anyway, Ann the Enforcer strode toward the cats. “Now see here!” she yelled. “We do not combust in this library.” Pointing her finger to the door she said, “Scat, shoo, now!”

The cats ignored her, so Ann brought a big bucket, some soap, and some water. It’s amazing how often those things are useful to a reference librarian. “Now cats, who want’s a bath!”

None of them did. They stampeded the exit and collided with great momentum into the Great Steve Kramer’s stilts. Kramer’s stilts were thirty-feet long. Kramer was walking with them. Down went Kramer. Down went Kramer’s skull. Not the way Kramer had wanted to die, he’d always fancied he’d get shot down in a gunfight on Front Street in Dodge City against the somehow revived Matt Dillon. Before that he wanted to parlay his earnings from exotic stilt walking at the Rhino’s Horn club into graduating with a major in Alligator Husbandry at Tampa A&M. Bummer, Kramer.

But death isn’t always bad. No! For Kramer’s hat fell off when he fell. Underneath it had been a lottery ticket. The ticket fluttered to the ground. It’s movement caught the eye of Julie Fletcher who had come to see the sights of Poway, tourist destination of the West. Fletcher had always been raised to make the best of any situation, including deaths of alligator-husbandry wishing, thirty-foot stilt walking entertainers.

So Fletcher pounced on the lottery ticket. As incredibly contrived fiction would have it, the ticket won her eighty millions dollars. She immediately bough a BushnellTM 303 sonic obliterator. She bought a spanking new Rolls RoyceTM drove back to her home town and murdered everyone who had been mean to her. I’m hoping the elimination of all the negativity in her life, will give her a fresh start. I mean, after all, she should be able to bribe any number of juries. Any way, good luck, Fletcher.

Not all onlookers were made happy by Kramer’s death. Not Ted Mouser. The ever dashing hit man had just bumped off Santa Claus. Old Saint Nick had banged Mouser’s roof one too many times. The neighboring kids blamed him a lot for ruining Christmas. They even called him, “meanie.” That hurt. Only one thing could cheer Mouser up, stilt walking. Powegian stilt walking. And now Poway’s very best stilt walker was gone. And soon would be Mouser as well.

Click, click. Click, click. The sounds of the steel nails on Mrs. Claus’ tall boots. She removed her sunglasses and gazed at Mouser. “So you killed my husband.”

“Which one?”

“Santa Claus, he was a good man. He stayed at home with me, every night but one. And man, I love a guy with a belly and a beard.”

Mouser raised his left eyebrow. “Mrs. Claus. Is it that so? I seem to remember you having a different name. A very different name.”

Mrs. Claus spat at the ground. “That’s right, I was Bettie Turner, fan dancer at the Naked Armadillo down San Anton way. The best fan dancer you ever saw. And don’t you forget it.”

Mouser wouldn’t forget Turner, wouldn’t raise his right eyebrow for her either. Everything in moderation was his motto. Mrs. Old Saint Nick, reached inside her trench coat and withdrew a Kit KatTM bar.

Mouser laughed. “Give me a break.”

But Turner wouldn’t. She reached again inside her trench coat and came out with a Sunday Morning Special and put a bullet neatly between Mouser’s eyes. She looked at her smoking gun. “‘Bout time all that target practice with the elves paid off.”

Then Kathryn Minicozzi killed Turner with a slingshot. As always, competition to be Santa’s wife was fierce. “Finally, I’ll be Mrs. Chubby.” A limo pulled up. Vivian Pattee jumped out and ran toward Turner. The chauffeur knew that murderers always appreciated a quick getaway. Big tippers too. “Where to?”

“To the North Pole,” said Minicozzi. “I’m going to get married.”

“Very good, madam.” It was at times like this that the driver was glad she’d invested in a hover-limo.”

Stefanie Kneer cursed her luck. She didn’t have a limo. Didn’t even have a car. Not even a Honda FitTM. You’d think that someone blessed with the looks of a film goddess could have gotten any man to do anything she wanted. And they did. Hundreds of wealthy hunks threw entire fortunes at her. Too bad she always lost the money in rigged tic-tac-toe matches. Would she ever learn?

No. She’s going down. Wrapped up in her problems, she stepped out into the street without looking even one way. Hopping mad a few seconds earlier, she was soon beside herself when she stepped on a land mine and exploded into bits. Indeed, a fortuitously stiff wind blew Kneer chunks onto the clothes of the passersby. Poway’s dry cleaning stores would do a booming business.

Crossing guard Kate Domsic, vigilant and dedicated as Barney Fife had even been, watched with grim satisfaction. “We enforce the law here. Damned scoff laws.” Domsic flicked off a bit of Kneer from her shoulder.

Fashion model Christee Gabour Atwood shrieked. That Kneer chunk had landed on her ChanelTM black dress. And there were long lines outside all the cleaners. She had to get home fast. Her car, get to her car. But no she had forgotten where she parked it.

Then along came Marilynne Smith pogoing down the sidewalk. Atwood’s arm shot out, clotheslining Smith. Atwood addressed the sprawling pogoer, “Sorry, but my need is greater.” Atwood pogoed with the alacrity that comes with being fashion model rushing to her place on the runway.

Smith sat up and surveyed her scrapes. “That just tears it. My man is buying me a car.” But it was a good thing she lost her pogo stick, for a UFO locked onto the nearest pogoer, Atwood. The tractor beam pulled the fashion model up to the mother ship. If only the aliens had remember to leave a door open for her.

It’s difficult to say whether the collision with the spacecraft did Atwood in or was it the plummeting fall that did her in. It is clear, however, that her landing on Jack Brantley Lightfoot killed him. Which was kind of good thing as was on his way to have his license renewed and he did so hate waiting in line at the DMV.

Cynthia Drew, however, was waiting at the DMV. Was she even a bit closer to the front of the line? No, the Earth’s plates had shifted twelve times since she got in line. Just then the woman in front of her, Liz Husebye Hartman, collapsed, dying from dehydration and malnutrition. This is why the DMV plasters posters inside its buildings signs that read, “Did you remember to bring food and water?” Of course, the waiting people never did bring food and water. They also never wanted to go home for those items because that would mean losing their place in line. So hundreds of people die each day at their DMVs from starvation and thirstation.

But as always, there was a silver lining to this. Hartman’s demise meant Drew could move up one place in the line. Synapses fired in Drew’s brain. If she killed all the people in front of her, she could go right to the front and get that form 4F3B. Fortunately, she had an AK-47 slung across her back. Sure, Drew had meant to use the gun on terrorists and intruders to her home, but her keen mind adapted to this situation. “Don’t whine, do,” her parents had always said. So Drew gunned down the people in the line and strode ahead, smiling all the way.

“Form 4F3B, please,” said Drew.

“Sorry,” said Christine Olewiler, “this is the line for form 4F3C. You want the line to the left.”

But the line to the left stretched so far that the curvature of the Earth prevented Drew from seeing the end. Her heart soared like a rock. “I’m going to kill myself.”

Olewiler sneezed. She coughed hard enough to separate her ribs. Snot flowed freely down her otherwise alabaster cheeks. “Please, kill me first. I’m ever so sick.”

Drew, ever the good Samaritan, emptied her assault rifle into the DMV clerk’s head. Drew could have complained that she now had no bullets to use on herself. Instead she displayed the can-do spirit that made America great and simply pulled her head off.

Meanwhile, it was eventful day on Happy Valley Street. D Lynn Frazier, had just killed her neighbor and bridge partner, Mandy Ward, by shoving sixty pounds of guacamole down the throat. And just for a flourish, Frazier stabbed Ward.

Roxe Anne Peacock, of the other bridge pair, took offense. It was her guacamole that Frazier had used. Her prize-winning guacamole! Frazier could kill her guests all she wanted, sure, Peacock had a live and let live attitude, but messing around with her guacamole brought instant death. Well not instant, Frazier did resist getting hit over the head with a frozen corned-beef brisket. Then it took a while for the petite Peacock to manhandle Frazier into the meat locker. And wouldn’t you know it, it took all night for Frazier to freeze properly.

Naturally enough Frazier had trouble getting up the next morning. Not so with Peacock. She took the stiff out of the locker and started to take it out to the curb for trash pickup. But as she did, she spied the washing machine. Horrors! She had wet clothes in there from the previous night. They would get stinking and moldy if not dried right away. She stood up Frazier a few feet away and started transferring clothes to the dryer. Unfortunately, in doing so, she bumped into Frazier. Down went the rock-hard frozen Frazier on Peacock’s neck, snapping it two. So, sad to say, the clothes got moldy and icky.

Two days later, Cheryl Christensen of the Neighborhood Mold Watch Committee knocked on Peacock’s door. Nothing. She came back the next day. Knocked. Again. Nothing. Christensen contemplated leaving another blistering anti-mold note before bursting into laughter. The mold maker would pay. Peacock would be tickled until she cried uncle.

Christensen picked the front door’s lock and headed to the reeking smell in the laundry room. She flexed her fingers. Justice would be served. But wahdu, Peacock was dead. Frazier was dead. The neighborhood would be blame her. Thinking quickly, Christensen stuffed each body into a sock. Into the dryer the dead ones went. Christensen closed the dryer door and set the buttons. Sure enough, Peacock and Frazier, being in orphan socks, disappeared.

Alex Butcher of the FBI came by to investigate, but her investigation proved no more fruitful than did any of the Bureau’s dead-bodies-stuffed-inside-orphan-socks investigation.

A week later, Linda Fierstein came back from a vacation at the sun-soaked beaches of Tahiti. She asked her neighbor, “Did anything happen while I was away?”

“Nothing to speak of,” said Kathy Carroll.

Chef Paul

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with 180 wonderful recipes is available on amazon.com. My newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, is also available on amazon.com

Categories: humor, murder | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Descruffifying a Runway Model – Day One

Gentle readers,

The razor is dead! Long live the razor! I ordered a new razor. In the meantime, I had let my face get scruffy. One of the homesteaders tolerated my scruffiness as long as I didn’t have a razor. The razor, it arrived. The homesteader pooh poohed the idea of any current razor working. Alas, I chose my razor too well. It works. The homesteader, then wanted me to shave off all my scruff.

But I had in the meantime published the photo of me in my full, glorious scruffiness. Adoring fans pleaded for me to keep the scruff. My modeling agency liked the new look. They loved the new contracts it would bring in. However, all these people are far, the homesteader is near. I had a problem. What to do?

I shall descruffify in steps. Today, I shaved the cheeks and the chin. I now sport a rather snappy fu Manchu. Tomorrow, a little bit more will disappear. It’s a bit like inoculating oneself against the plague, a horrible future surely. However, if your body is prepared for such an event, you can proceed with you life. In the same way, we will be able to go on when you have to live our lives without my scruff.

Courage, my friends, we will get through this trying time together. I will still be a supermodel.

 

 

Right: Day 1 of descruffication.
(Taken by me. This is why the agency has a photographer.)

 

 

Left: Full scruff
(Taken by agency’s photographer)

 

Supermodel Paul De Lancey

 

(Please click on my name and submit Bad Advice questions to my Facebook page and simply make a comment to this post. I look
forward to hearing from you.)

 

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with 180 wonderful recipes is available on amazon.com. My newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, is also available on amazon.com

Categories: humor, Paul De Lancey | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Scruffy Face Behind This Blog

Gentle readers,

My electric razor recently died. I ordered a new razor. It took over a week to arrive. This gave me an opportunity to scruffify my face; a hairy face usually meets  with stern disapproval on the home front. Anyway, my replacement razor just arrived. The moustache, the beard, the feral hairy growth will be gone by this evening. I bid fond farewell to my scruffiness. You will be missed.

 

Right photo: my scruffy face. (Some of the scruff, was light colored and didn’t show up. It was scruff, nonetheless.)

 

 

Supermodel Paul De Lancey

 

(Please click on my name and submit Bad Advice questions to my Facebook page and simply make a comment to this post. I look
forward to hearing from you.)

 

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with 180 wonderful recipes is available on amazon.com. My newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, is also available on amazon.com

 

 

 

Categories: humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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