Cheque please
A friend of mine, whose cooking skills are infamous to all, once offered me a cheque of some amount to help with my rent. I refused his kind offer, knowing I'd always be in the bastard's debt even after paying him back.
His response to my refusal was "You'll come crawling back before the loan comes in - if you don't I'll eat the damn thing."

My rent came and went and I got poorer and poorer, but still I didn't accept his cheque.
Then my student loan came through, all was joyous and right with the world until I remembered about the cheque.

After a few beers, a ton of arguments, and a quick google research lesson on the dangers of eating paper, we gathered in the kitchen for the act of cheque cuisine.

Now, I expected him to rip the thing up and wash it down, but he had other ideas.

After frying the shredded cheque in some butter and onions, he added some bacon fat - then he decided it needed a sauce.
Did I mention this guy can't cook? After blackening the above, he added some bacardi, some Lamb's navy rum and a dash of tommy k for flavour.

The whole thing just shouted of wrong. The kitchen was blackened from the smoke and the cheque was now a lumpy, congealed mess of onion, burnt fat and AIDs.

Still, he managed a mouthful.
Still, he managed to chew.
Still, as the juices were released, he managed to spit the concoction nearly 10 feet towards the sink, where it lies today as a rock hard lump of crusty death.
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Mon 21 May 2007, 16:19, Reply)