SATAN'S HAIRDRESSERS
Sex with a rotting corpse. Wanking over photos of your six year old nieces’ camel toe as she frolicks in the surf off Brighton beach. Marmite. Simon Cowell. - Some things are just too fucking terrible to contemplate.

Add to this list my last attempt at cooking that fancy French food for my girlfriend.

I’d been seeing Liz for about a month – we were moving past the initial shag-each-other-ragged then pop out for a bacon sandwich and a tube of Pringles before another cock-slamming-kidneys-encounter stage, and it was time to impress her with something other than the red raw contents of my pants (good job really; my testicles had shrunk to the size of acorns from all the two-backed-beast monkey rubbing we’d been up to).

So I decided to cook Liz a meal. I sauntered down to Sainsburys, returned, and commandeered the kitchen in the shared house I was living in. Chicken breasts, cream, white wine, shitloads of salad (in an attempt to make Liz think I was in someway healthy and more virile than a horny wilderbeast who’s stumbled across an errant shipment of viagra and Spansh fly), and also loads of posh-sounding herbs and shit.

I started my culinary creation the best way possible – I sat down and watched The Simpsons on Channel 4 and had a glass of wine. Then I had another one. And another. Then I ripped the chicken breasts from the packet and slapped them in a frying pan, poured over the wine and the cream, and after a few minutes standing there wondering why nothing was happening, turned the cooker on. Then I had another glass of wine. Then I made a bit of a salad with all the skill and grace of Freddy Kruger attacking a virgin’s nether regions.

After about fifteen minutes of standing round, perving over the girls on Hollyoaks, I recalled something I’d seen on telly a while back. I remembered that setting fire to food makes it taste better; I decided to flambe the fuck out of this meal – that would, quite simply, impress the panties off Liz. So I got out my lighter and tried to set fire to the bubbling chicken tits lying in the frying pan. No joy. It wouldn’t light. So I had a scout round the kitchen, found a half empty bottle of vodka, and poured a bit in. This lit, but not too well. I wanted Terminator-style explosions, a flame a pyromaniac would’ve ejaculated over.

And this is where the techno-hack bit comes into play...
I recalled when I was a kid the endless hours of fun to be had lobbing aerosol cans onto naked flames. I also remembered the time my best mate Greg scorched off his own eyebrows doing something cool and amazing with a can of Lynx and a box of Swan Vesta. So I went down to my room and routed round for something to go WOOOOSSSHHHH!!! No joy, I use roll on deoderant. Fuck. So I went to the bathroom and ‘borrowed’ one of my housemates cans of hairspray. One of those big bastard Elnett cans with the sexy 80’s girlie on the front.

Returning to the kitchen, I reasoned if I directed the flame in such a way I could get a nice spray of fire over the chicken, just enough to give it that crispy flambe feel. Then, realising I’d run out of wine, I had a glass of vodka. Then I poured a little more vodka into the frying pan for luck.

After this I reached for my lighter, angled the Elnett can at the cooker, and –

WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

It was like a scene out of Apocalypse Now. The improvised flame thrower spewed out buring hot fire and engulfed the cooker, scorched the counter next to the cooker, set fire to the curtains above the cooker, and – somehow – managed to scorch the ceiling. I dropped the can and ran as the wine and vodka-drenched chicken breasts went up like an improvised explosive device – Taliban eat your fucking heart out.

After I’d composed myself, I legged it back into the kitchen, slammed right into the corner of the kitchen table lodging my bollocks deep into my abdomen, fell over and landed conveniently on my face. After a few seconds whimpering I managed to scramble up, fill a saucepan with water, and chuck it on the flaming meal and smoldering curtains. The kitchen stank like Satan’s hairdressers. My creation, alas, had withered and shrunk and turned black – eight quids worth of premium chicken breast resembled a set of old man’s knackers.

With only a few minutes before Liz was due to come round, I quickly cleaned up as best I could and went out for a Chinese. By the time I got back Liz was waiting outside. She looked at me quizzically as I started mumbling a greeting. Liz said: “Where’s your eyebrows???” I stopped mumbling... Reached up, yep, where my eyebrows should’ve been was balder than a monk who uses Gilette. “And you’ve got soot on you...”

I felt a bit foolish – sort of explained the funny looks I was getting strolling down Camden Road.

But I learned a valuable lesson – don’t use improvised weapons in the pursuit of culinary excellence... Think I might ask for a blow tourch for Christmas...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 13:43, 15 replies)

just spewed my coffee over my screen
nice work there!
(Paper Clipper, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 13:51, closed)

Funny as!
thanks for brightening up my lunchbreak no end
(Hotty, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 13:53, closed)

This is fucking great!
cheers sir for the laughs
(Lizard King, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 14:04, closed)

"eight quids worth of premium chicken breast resembled a set of old man’s knackers"
I just about gave myself a hernia trying not to laugh so loudly I would wake up my boss. We should have a whole QOTW on cooking experiments and screw-ups.

clicks as many times as my spastic fingers can move.
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 14:34, closed)

I've made the suggestion

( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 15:25, closed)

clicky
for 'chicken tits' alone

nearly got me caught, you bastard
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 15:22, closed)

Ditto
^as mentioned above^
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Thu 20 Aug 2009, 17:17, closed)

I'm now laughing so hard that I'm crying.. That is fucking immense.
(Code of Post lives at the moment in time that is..., Thu 20 Aug 2009, 16:35, closed)

You owe me a new keyboard...
That, and you've managed to make both myself, my missus, and some random guy half way around the globe almost wet themselves over this tale...

Have several clicks!
(Nalr I'll get the coals, you bring the burgers., Thu 20 Aug 2009, 17:26, closed)

bubbling chicken tits
you, sir, have a gift for language.
(tuqueboy has been in a medically -induced coma since, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 18:19, closed)

I've just hurt a rib!
'Like something out of Apocalypse Now' had me in tears.....
(erewhon, Thu 20 Aug 2009, 22:01, closed)

Agrees with what everyone else says
Clicky clicky mucho clicky
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 21 Aug 2009, 1:43, closed)

This one had me chuckling
from start to finish. Lovely lingo, particularly the "bubbling chicken tits". 'Well done', in every sense. *click*

It's commandeered though
( chart cat has an itch, Fri 21 Aug 2009, 11:47, closed)

Thanks for the spelling help, Sir
Yet again I demonstrate that two words come to mind when discribing me in a sentence:

1) Thick
2) Twat

Cheers and enjoy the time you've got left in Landan, mate.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 21 Aug 2009, 13:56, closed)

London was chuffing brilliant
I spent most of it in a drunken stupor, met some lovely people, then I got bumped from the cramped shame of economy to pristine business class on my return flight thanks to my pilot mate.

Back in humid Tokyo now... the jetlag is starting to kick in.
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 25 Aug 2009, 10:09, closed)