It Might Be Too Little, But it's Never Too Late.
So the other weekend I had lots of fun with Nessa dabbling in the art of erotic cookie making, and I'm pretty convinced that I must have missed my calling in life. Apparently I have an exceptional talent for gingerbread dough boob molding. Of course, I wouldn't have been able to discover this talent before now because, as you probably don't know, I was a neglected child whose mother never taught her to cook. As if I ever needed a reason to question my status as LEAST LOVED CHILD in the family, my fate was pretty much sealed when my mom flat out REFUSED to teach me how to cook, because she was too busy showing my brother the infant how to delicately froth foam to top his cappuccino with. I kid you not- when he was but a wee toddler, my parents bought him a special COOKING STOOL for him to help prepare tastebud-tingling confections while I stood by, patiently waiting for my mom to toast my Leggos for me because I wasn't allowed to operate the toaster by myself until I was 16. Even at 16, I still wasn't allowed to prepare any food requiring gas, heat, electricity or pouring from a gallon jug unless an adult or my 11-year-old brother was around to supervise me. As if it wasn't bad enough that my mom scoffed at my requests to learn to prepare my own Easy Mac, she would go so far as to mock me and my culinary inadequacies. She actually told me that I'd be lucky to ever find a husband who would love me despite my lack of cooking skills! WHY MOTHER, WHY DID YOU INTENTIONALLY SOCIALLY CRIPPLE ME, AND WHY DO YOU INSIST ON BELIEVING THAT THE ONLY WAY A GIRL CAN LAND A DECENT MAN IS BY COOKING A PERFECT LONDON BROIL? WELCOME TO THE 21st CENTURY- HAVEN'T YOU EVER HEARD OF RIMJOBS?
Moving on from my dysfunctional childhood (I have to save SOMETHING for therapy), Nessa and I had a grand ole time TRYING to decorate our cookies SherriStyle. Little did we know that HOLY FUCKING HELL it might help for one of us to have a degree in pastry cheffing before attempting such a gargantuan feat as ICING A COOKIE because it was no easy task. After conference calling with Sherri, it became clear to us that Nessa had not prepared the icing correctly and it was TOO THICK. According to Sherri, the icing should have been the consistency of mustard, but I have to admit that ours was more like the consistency of a 200 year old brick of lard. Or, to put it in terms that only a professional spelunker could appreciate, the icing SHOULD have been the consistency of runny butt pee, but was actually more like 4 weeks worth of rock hard feces which are so impacted that it requires digital removal by a pack of lube and my own two fingers. Now... who wants cookies?
So once we identified the problem, Nessa successfully whipped up a fluffy egg white (SOMEONE had a mom who didn't spend an entire decade too inebriated to teach her daughter how to fucking COOK) and we added it to the icing dispenser. From then on, the icing just GUSHED forth like semen from a prepubescent boy with a Cosmo mag and an overactive libido. Which I think might be why Nessa stopped me from squirting icing straight from the applicator tip into Baby D's open and eager mouth. Don't worry Nessa, it doesn't mean he's gay. Although, if I were you, I'd be just a little worried about his alarming little foot fetish. I have to give the boy credit; I've never seen a child whose motor skills aren't even developed enough to walk without running into the doorjamb somehow manage to fit so many toes into his mouth on the first try. Someone remind me to always wear socks AND shoes while in the Silly household from here on out. I mean, just in case there's a video camera around somewhere... I really don't want to go to jail.
But it turns out I didn't even have to squirt the icing into Baby D's mouth, because Nessa's new icing concoction was so liquidy that once it was squirted onto its victim, I mean cookie, it would just slide right off, down the edge of the table, and onto the floor where Baby D was hoovering up any stray icing, crumbs, or dog hair that happened to get close enough to be sucked into the vacuous black hole that is his mouth. We baked damn near 5 dozen cookies, but a good 2/3 of them ended up "accidentally" falling right into Baby D's mouth, with the help of his hand and the gravity-defying super sucking action of his mouth.
(Five minutes after this photo was taken, only crumbs remained)
When I admonished Nessa that her child was going to be awake for the next 12 hours on a sugar rush from hell, she casually replied, "Oh don't worry about it. I'm about to spike his milk with some benadryl."
"Jesus H," I replied, "Why don't you just pour a shot of whiskey in his bottle while you're at it?"
"Ooooh, I HAVE some whiskey..." she said, actually contemplating my suggestion. HOLY CRAP, I WAS ONLY JOKING. QUICK, SOMEONE CALL CPS. Don't bother giving them directions; they already know the way from the last time I called when her eldest child found one of Mommy's sex toys in the kitchen cupboard.
So, after some pretty fucking disastrous attempts at decorating the basic Christmas-themed cookie shapes (candy canes, Christmas trees and Boone's Farm bottles), we decided to embark on the task of gingerbread man making. FINALLY, the moment I had been waiting for. You see, even before I had arrived that day, I had already decided that I would somehow find a way to corrupt these little gingerbread cookies. I had been mulling it over in eager anticipation all day. All week, if I'm being honest. I just had to find a way to give them penises. And boobies. And- gasp!- even vaginas. I can't take credit for the tranny though, that one was all Nessa.
Good thing my co-navigator in this cookie expedition was none other than the Dildo Queen herself, because if it were anyone else I think they might have called the police when I started gently rolling balls of dough in between the legs of the gingerbread men. Fortunately for me, Nessa's pretty seasoned in the art of fake penis-like objects, so she took over dong duty. I fulfilled the roles of both captain cleavage and sergeant snatch. Nessa was also the hermaphrodite handler (I hate to be the nit-picky nurse here, but the cookie was actually a hermaphrodite and not a transsexual. Common misconception.)
(Professional at work)
Keep in mind that our entire fun-filled afternoon was peppered with some lively conversations with fellow bloggers, whom Nessa was incessantly harassing to the point that I think Marit might have sought a restraining order against us because HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, IF SHE DIDN'T ANSWER AFTER THE FIRST 35 PHONE CALLS I THINK IT'S SAFE TO SAY THAT SHE DOESN'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Fortunately for us (and our criminal records), the other bloggers we attempted to contact generally picked up the phone after the 5th or 6th attempt because their ears were tired of being assaulted by the incessant ringing of their phones and, even worse, the cryptic and anonymous messages Nessa kept leaving. We had some dazzling conversation with the likes of HDL, Sherri and Berry Girl, who were interrupted from their respective nap, baking and hangover. All I know is that I'm not eating any potentially poisoned baked goods Sherri sends my way after we informed her that her gingerbread likeness was engaging in some compromising sexual positions with Hermy and Afro Man. She was the gingerbread whore, and all of the other gingerbreads totally knew it. She'd been around the gingerblock a time or twelve, and don't quote me on this but I'm pretty sure I saw her letting Afro Man hit it from behind. I hope she charged for that shit. I'm just sayin'...
(Sherri and her man)
Of course, Marit's gingerperson was pretty jealous of Sherri's blatant promiscuity; but that's just because Marit's gingerboobs were smaller than even Hermy's. And I mean, seriously, what self-respecting woman wants to be trumped by man-tits? But Marit need not fret, for gingerNessa arrived at the party with her trusty gingervibe and two D-cell gingerbatteries, which was a good thing because Marit was getting very gingerhorny and desperately needed to rub one out.
(Nessa, The Vibe, and Marit)
Apparently, we were too drunk or laughing too hard during this time to take any significant photos, which I am very disappointed about because after a little decorating magic, I had successfully turned Marit's cooch an alarming shade of Herpes-breakout-red, and I used the little edible pearls as nipples. Nessa's gingerpeople were all messy and had no mouths. She tried to disguise her icing spillage as cum, but I know the truth. The truth is, she's really a shitty cookie decorator. But we don't want to hurt gingerSherri's feelings, so we'll just pretend, for her sake, that it's cum and not merely nozzle spillage. Same thing really, now that I think about it.
(My finished products)
(Nessa's finished products)
I have this cookie play-doh in the fridge. Four containers of fun colors. I'd love to see what you and Bucky would do with it.
I know how Ginger-Marit feels...I have little boobies too!
Yall are too freakin funny
I should have come over and nursed the hangover Nessa style- with wine and cooking!!!