On a rainy Sunday afternoon, a dear friend of mine decided that it was the perfect afternoon for some grilled chicken. As he began to prepare for his scrumptious meal, a certain person we will refer to as “Tyson” began to scrutinize his cooking skills. You see, my dear friend had decided to cook his chicken on what will call “The Formanator,” and Tyson, Iron Chef of the world (apparently), informed my dear friend that the chicken would most definitely burn. In fact, he was so convinced that the chicken would burn, that he said it FOUR TIMES. “It’s gonna burn. It’s gonna burn. It’s gonna burn. It’s gonna burn.”
Regardless, my dear friend was determined to cook his chicken in The Formanator. After a short period of time, the pollo was listo. As my friend placed it on his plate, it glazed a triumphant gold. How proud he was. It was a vision of perfection. A food fit only for the gods. He made his way to the living room, and as he sat down to enjoy his meal, another friend mockingly said “I told you you’d burn your chicken!”
“Ya dude it’s totally burnt,” the Iron Chef said.
“Are you serious?” my friend responds. “This golden glaze is beyond comparison. I’ll even turn the light on and prove it to you.” I flick the light on to inspect this chicken for myself.
“It’s absolutely burnt,” I say sarcastically.
“Are you kidding?” he responds.
“Obviously.”
“You guys are retarded, it’s so burnt.” The Iron Chef says, all-knowingly.
Ok Tyson…Ok. I’ll agree with you. It was burnt…but only in a world where burnt actually means perfection. Only in that world.
2 comments:
raul- "tyson" sounds like quite the character. salt in his milk, eh? next time what would be funny is if you drank the milk and replaced it with soy milk.
carly
Well this "Tyson" happens to be our roommate, so I can only type the truth. But that would be a good trick for next time.
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