I was realising how many times me email was binging and it occurred to me it was quite a bit. Not a wee bit, not a big wee bit, but a big bit. I also realised it was you emailing me for a story. Well, I had nothing funny going on. Of late leg surgery (though it went splendidly) makes Gabe grumpy when he can't go out and do the things he used to do. Especially when Gabe wants to get away from an unwelcome visitor in his abode. I know patience and it will all correct itself, but for the moment . . . you get me drift.
I got so used to hearing the bing from me phone as you continued with the pleas that went to threats about me not writing anything amusing, I almost was able to tune you out. I tried to be oblivious and ignore the constant binging. I think it took 130 bings before I got up off me arse and went to the computer.
Me purpose was not to write a funny story (as I had none) but to write revenge mail back at ya. However, as I waited for the soft glow of the computer screen to rev up, I was interrupted by me sainted dear old Irish mam with an Irish treat I hadn't had in years.
"Here ya gue, I haven't made dis treat fer a horses age." Said she shoving a plate of yellowman at me.
Who could resist this Irish treat? Not me, I plowed in with two huge junks of the stuff as she complained there was plenty and I'd choke meself. Then she added, "I put in new ingredients sos yer shoulda taken a wee bite first."
Well, the yellowman did taste peculiar to say the least.
"Wot?" I chewed looking up at her thinking that yes indeed, the candy tasted funny and I was not enjoying the "bite" (want for a better word to describe it).
"I tink I overdid it wit da cream of tartar and da cilantro."
You should know the woman has taken up looking at reruns of Emeril Lagasse, "kicking up" his recipes and she's taken it upon herself to do the same. The results are NOT good. And what be most annoying is her shouting, "BAM!" each time one takes a bite of whatever it is she's "kicked up."
Okay yellowman is a potato based sugary treat, and it shouldn't have either of those ingredients in it. I wanted to spit it out but I was being a bit of a pig and I didn't want to insult her, because if I did, she'd probably never make me another treat again (on hindsight that might not be a bad idea). So I gulped it down, or more accurately, forced it down. I had no more of it and will never eat yellowman made by me mam ever again!
Add to that horror, the Dragon lady has arrived with about ten suitcases because she was impressed with me surgery, she wanted the same for herself. So not bothering to find a surgeon in her own state she called up mine and scheduled appointments for eventual knee surgery here, so she has to recoup at me house. Goody NOT! But the deed be done and she be home from hospital and taking up an indefinite residence in me abode. I know now never to give out me personal surgeon information or say how easy me surgery went.
So between me mam "kicking up" her cooking to a state of inedible, and the Dragon moving in hooked up to drugs for the recovery, is it any wonder why I cannot find a funny story?
I had to lay down after ingesting the yellowman, and it felt like I swallowed a brick of cream of tartar mixed with a healthy sampling of cilantro. By the by, I don't like cilantro. In this state of dickey tummy, I mercifully fell asleep to avoid not only the tummy rumbling but the awful taste in me mouth.
So it was I had a revenge dream about YOU. Yes, all this took its toll it did and because me mobile phone was stilling binging away as I drifted into a miserable kind of sleep state, YOU were on me mind mixed in with the Dragon and the cement me mam tried to pass off as candy.
As it happened in me dream, I was seated at the kitchen table staring at Dragon's massive underpants as she had her newly operated knee propped up on the table. I felt the need to blind meself for life, but the large plate of tainted yellowman in the middle of the table got me attention. There was you, me mam, and me wife, all munching on the stuff talking about it's attributes as a culinary wonder. Yes, in me dream I was sitting with four nutcase foodies.
Suddenly, me mam says, "Oh da laundry room, da only place its safe ta drop yer pants ya noo."
What? I be thinking. Where did that come from? Has she lost her mind? Too much cilantro on the brain was it? What does the laundry room have to do with yellowman, and why be me attention back on Dragon's massive undies? I was so grossed out I wanted to get up but then you said this, "Yeah the laundry, do it yourself service, establishment not responsible for lost socks." And you all laughed like this was terribly funny, grab your gut funny, pee a little in your pants funny, roll on the floor funny. Which is what each of you did! I sat there thinking I was in an insane asylum laundry room with cuckoos munching cement candy.
I mumbled something like, "I can't take this," and started to get up when a male voice said, "I will tuck in on that."
In mid getting up, I looked over to see the Weasil next to the Dragon lady reaching for a block of yellowman.
"Don't cha do it!" I shouted, but too late he had the chunk of yellow cement in his mouth and oh my God, he was savouring it like it was delicious which I knew it was not, but it gave me pause that he actually seemed to be enjoying it.
"Are you nuts? That has cream of tartar and cilantro in it." I pointed out.
"Ummm ummm ummm." He said, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
"An insult said, how reassuring," me mam said to me pulling the plate of yellowman within Weasil's reach.
I sat down reluctantly and put me head in me hands and heard another male voice.
"What I just eat? Call a doctor."
And Weasil answered him with, "What are ya doing'?"
The voice answered, "I am Googling a doctor. It says you should see a doctor immediately after ingesting something distasteful."
I took me hands down to see Wolfie sitting between me mam (who looked at him with distain) and meself, himself furiously punching the keys of his mobile phone.
I sat there with me mouth open and noticed Dewdropper coming in the door. She looked at Wolf as he kept punching in doctors, but before she could ask what he was so intent on, Weasil said, "You have to taste this."
She took a piece of the yellowman as I looked aghast at him that he'd even suggest such a thing.
"What does it taste like?" She asked no one in particular as she examined the block of yellow cement masquerading as Irish candy.
"Well . . . ," Wolfie said scrolling through emergency numbers, "old tyres, rotten egg, and . . . uh . . . burnt leaves."
Dewdropper dropped the candy like it was a snake back on the plate but not before Weasil intercepted it and popped it in his mouth. He chewed it like it was such a damn treat and was grossing me at least, out. Me mam was handing him more candy and he was eating it like there was no tomorrow.
"Wow that was delicious, Ima full now."
"Why stop when you're full," you said pushing the platter closer to him.
Meanwhile, Wolfie's scrolling was annoying the Dragon.
"What ARE you doing?" She challenged him.
"Its a hobby of mine, scrolling . . . ," he said offhandedly.
"Hobby a nice word for addiction." You interjected.
THAT got his attention and he looked up at you. It was the first time I saw him lost for words. He was genuinely amazed. Before he could think of a retort, you reached behind you and slid a tray of tamales with salsa in front of him. Immediately Weasil's eyes lit up (as well as me own). Where you going to give the guy with nice hair all those tamales I wanted to know and asked out loud.
Before you could answer, everyone tucked in. It wasn't until me sixth tamale I realised I was on fire. I tried to put the raging tamale fire out by consuming vast quantities of tequila (which materialised out of Dewdropper's purse), which only made it worse. I watched as Dew slugged back shot after shot of tequila, her hair growing into a giant blond cloud, mercifully blotting out the view of Dragon's massive underwear. When I finally I got the fire out (well some of it out) by drinking ice cold Coke A Colas, bottle after bottle (20 bottles to be exact that Wolfie produced out of thin air), I found I was so blotto and bloated all at the same time, all I could do was fall asleep in me chair to escape me hot reality.
With a tequila numbed brain this was quite easy to do actually. I was left at the kitchen table by everyone who retired to the family room for the TV (probably to watch Emeril "kick up" some BAM food concoction), and later, I suppose they all went to bed, leaving me snoozing and snoring off the tamales still in the kitchen, and I would guess Wolfie off to the hospital to get his stomach pumped.
In me dream I found meself with the Weasil, and the Wolf after a time, fresh back from a good stomach pumping. What a combination that huh? I am not sure where we were but it was foreign like I was in Hong Kong or someplace like that because the Weasil was saying it was the "crosse roadies of the worldie" and we three were about to partake of some culinary peculiarities. Oh yes, we were, AGAIN!
While Wolfie was looking at the menu and muttering under his breath that "Everything is wasabi," I was perusing the menu thinking how many ways can you make tamales? There was five dozen different offerings of tamales in every imaginable sauce you could think of. I was tempted to order the tamales in corn chowder for the New England taste but realised we were not in Mexico so these tamales were probably not what I thought they might be, just like me mam's yellowman. I know . . . what does New England have to do with Mexico? No clue, but that was the way me dream was going.
"Why am I here?" I asked me two dinner companions. I was thinking I had done something wrong and this was the punishment, dinner with Weasil, in a foreign country, ordering food no one in their right mind would partake of.
"Because your life went down like the Hindenburg." Wolfie muttered. "Tandem knee surgery with the Dragon lady."
For the life of me, I couldn't think when and how that happened.
"I like tamales so . . . " I said trying to reckon a life failure with eating tamales.
"I wanted to go to the Comptoir," Wolfie glared at Weasil over his menu, "but someone, I won't mention who, insisted on Chinese tamales."
"What is a comptwah?" I asked saying it the way I heard it.
"Comptoir, like in Paris," Wolfie glared at me. "An informal and casual place to dine. Not this tres frequent'."
"Whoo hoo someone is a snobbity." Weasil chortled mockingly offended. A first actually because NOTHING offends the Weasil.
While I was trying to wrap me tongue around a tamale in caramel/wasabi sauce, me brain was trying to wrap itself around the word "snobbity" and worse me voice was trying out Wolfie's command of the French language with tres frequent.' I shouted out with tamale bits and caramel/wasabi sauce, "Croissant!" because that was what me voice could say I thought reasonably well in French, AND the only French word I sort of knew.
"Quah-so!" Wolfie corrected me with the French pronunciation, as he removed bits of me food from his clothing.
"Oh you want "quah-sos" do ya?" A voice said slamming down plates of tamales covered in duck sauce, wasabi, soy and I don't know what other Chinese sauce.
I looked up to see you, me muse, all indignant over croissants being desired over tamales.
"I need to get out of here." I said looking at the bubbling sauces permeating the tamale husks.
"YOU are going nowhere until YOU write me a story!" This said by you, hands on hips, looking like a fight was to be had. I knew you'd force the Chinese tamales down me chicken throat so I sighed and reluctantly mumbled if you'd wake me up, I'd go write you a story, sorry as it would be, which is what this is.
With deliberate glee you lifted the oozing platter over me head and the tamales hit me like a ton of yellowman bricks, the hot sauce making me stand straight up. I was AWAKE!
So there, you have your revenge, and I have mine. A half arsed story of our fav subject FOOD, but this was not food this was cement, liquid fire and a swift kick in me arse by the people who bedevil me for stories most.
I think I won the revenge battle. At least I be proclaiming victory here and now. Ha ha.
Oh and just for you me muse, I will give you this so you can gloat. THIS (see below) happened yesterday so your revenge of me not writing and sending me YOUR weather actually took place. So off to shovel!
|When it was all said and done there is 6" of the white stuff for me to car plow|
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