T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE FESTIVUS

 

A Festivus visit
J.T. Hilltop

T’was the night before Festivus
When all through the house
The computer was buffering
I lost the wireless mouse

The gluten free cupcakes were baked with such care
In the hopes that the end of GMO was soon near
The children ate sugar free Nestles they had snuck in their beds
As visions of organic plums danced in their heads

Mom in sexy teddy who was straddling my lap
Had just bound my hands with our Festivus strap
When down in the kids room there arose such a clatter
I uncuffed and got dressed to see what was the matter

Away towards the window I flew like a flash
Dropping my medicine and my now legal stash
It fell on the breast of the new fallen snow
I watched in paranoia as my weed fell below

When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
A hallucination of Gramps and eight tiny reindeer
Like a leprechaun in red so lively and quick
I knew in a moment my eyes played a trick

A rainbow of eagles his coursers they came
He yelled at all eight and he called them by name
Yo Bashful yo Sleepy yo Doc and yo Sneezey
Hey Dopey and Grumpy and Happy and Sleezy

Hidden in the dresser where Mom hides her thong
Now dash away dash away while I get my bong
Then in a twinkling they climbed onto the roof
A dancing red leprechaun this must be a goof

I took a hit off the bong and was turning around
I opened my hand my pipe dropped to the ground
The dude dressed in faux fur from his head to his foot
He as laughing so hard he never noticed the soot

Bundles of sweet buds there on top of his back
Just like a drug peddler carrying a big fucking sack
His eyes how they twinkled, and his dimples they sank
His cheeks red as roses but his stare was so stoned it was blank

His droll little mouth drawn up like a joke
His beard on his chin was snow white from good coke
The stump of a chamber pipe he clenched in his teeth
Second hand smoke circled my head like a wreath

He had a broad face and a middle aged belly
I aired my first grievance “Yo Santa you’re smelly”
He was also too chubby quite a right fat old elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He rolled a sweet fatty he bought from a dread
He spoke not a word but played his big role
In the middle of the room placed an aluminum pole

With a feat of strength placed a finger to his nose
An sniffed up more coke through a dollar bill hose
His grievances he aired till his team blew the whistle
And feats of great strength had broken the thistle
But I heard him exclaim the aluminum pole out of sight
Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night

Enjoy whatever holiday you celebrate but take time to love. If someone says Merry Christmas say thanks, if someone says Happy Hanukkah say thanks, if someone says Happy Kwanzaa say thanks or if they want to honor all and say Happy Holidays say thanks. Be grateful anyone is willing to share good tidings or acknowledge your well being in anyway be grateful because the message is the same…. Live and Love in Peace during this and every other season!!!! Don’t hold onto love, share it….

Perspective

persp

The righteousness of the righteous can be wicked
Some people stand in judgment without merit
The wickedness of the wicked can be righteous
Judge too quick you sow the wind that you inherit

Perspective
Walk a mile walk a mile
Perspective
One is wholesome one is vile
Take some strides before throwing knives
Investigate yourself
Don’t assume you know their lives
Educate yourself
People are not always what they seem
One persons nightmare is another’s dream
Could be a whisper could be a scream
Perspective

The generosity of the generous may be corrupt
Donations often seeking motive ulterior
The grinning funny clown may not be happy
The smile on his face just painted on the exterior

The plight of all homeless is not based in lazy
Not all choices come off silver platters
The woman out begging may not need a fix
Its their struggle to keep living that matters

Perspective
Walk a mile walk a mile
Perspective
One is wholesome one is vile
Take some strides before throwing knives
Investigate yourself
Don’t assume you know their lives
Educate yourself
People are not always what they seem
One persons nightmare is another’s dream
Could be a whisper could be a scream
Perspective

If you can help, help. No one needs your judgment and you don’t know or understand their lives. Don’t lend a hand because it’s the holidays, lend a hand because you can, because people matter. PEACE

Cheffing In December is like…….Death warmed over in a microwave

chefr

(Warning, story contains actual chef language containing both fowl and foul words some may find offensive and shit.)
Here we are embarking on another “holidays” season. Up here in the NorthEast its shrinkage weather. In the morning, I open the front door and if there is immediate shrinkage, I know to dress in full winter weather regalia. Soon after Thanksgiving festivities have come to a trytophanic end, the Turducken Football OD is over, and Alice’s Restaurant has played on the radio, its time for the annual MMA Shopping event Black Friday. That can only mean its time for chefs everywhere to prepare for December. Radios everywhere will play the same tired songs they have for the last 200 years, stores and malls open extra hours for extended full contact shopping, and we make lists of who we need to tip, who we need to get booze for, and who to buy gift cards and presents for. One of the worst examples of our inhumanity in this time of supposed brotherhood is the perpetual argument over how to greet each other. Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas chef, Happy Kwanza chef, So how’s your Hanukah going chef, hey chef, cheers, happy holidays.

Christmastime, Kwanza Season, Hanukah, Holiday season, Winter Wonderland, Noel, No Hell, give it whatever name you want but to a chef its more of a suicide/homicide countdown. It takes all of what’s left of our strength to not kill ourselves, or half the staff working for us. In the prime of my career December was the darkest most evil time imaginable. The December Kitchen wears a hockey mask to cover a misshaped face full of scars and zombie eyes, has hand of metal serrated spikes, carrying machetes, axes, and chainsaws. December cheffing frightens the hell out of any seasoned or marinated chef while sucking the life blood out of all the kitchen workers all over the country. While others argue and bicker over whether to say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays a chefs answer would be about 20 decibels higher and sound more like, CALL IT WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT YOU JINGLE FUCKING BELL LAME ASS MENORAH LIGHTING LIMP DICK HALL DECKING KWANZA DANCING SANTA FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT AND PICK UP TABLE 15 NOW!!!

Yea that’s right, while party revelers are getting drunk, having affairs, doing lines in the bathrooms, and being absurdly ridiculous because of the intake of massive quantities of alcohol, the chef is screaming at the perceived incompetence of workers who are actually stressed and stretched beyond human limits due to the massive pile of work assaulting them. In between his vociferous beration of anyone in sight the chef is sweating and working his ass off. Every morning we need to go to the ass store to buy a new ass to replace the one we broke the night before. So many holiday parties and so little time to get them done in!

The month of December is indeed physically taxing which is bad enough, but it is also super hard on the chef’s family. Communication is reduced to post it notes and telegrams to and from the spouse, swatting at the kids like they’re flies when they jump on the bed and interrupt your one and a half hours of sleep you‘re alloted, and calling Mom and Dad just so you can catch a nap on the phone while they catch you up on the latest afflictions and maladies they suffer from. “So Pops, how’s your arthritis been lately?…..zzzzzzzz. You learn to sleep in the shower during the rinse and repeat cycle of shampooing, you grab your clothes and hope they match because your eyes aren’t open enough to see them, and you eat standing up so you don’t have to take the time to digest. Let gravity work on the digesting, chef’s have more important things to do.

If your lucky like me you get to take mass transit where you can catch a long nap. But beware, often a nap will last four stops past your destination setting your day back before it even begins. Or you may wake up from a nap in a panic and get off thinking your past your stop only to find out you still have six more stops before departing. Or maybe you ease into a decent sleep only to be startled awake because a jolt of fear split your head open thinking you may have forgot to order that 100 pounds of shrimp for tonight that was ordered last minute yesterday. And yes…every one of those scenarios has happened to me at least once while December cheffing.

I don’t want to make it sound too grim, there is a bit of a perk. Everyone and their mother wants to let you know how much they appreciate your cooking so they bring you alcohol (or whatever may be your pleasure). But even that can be a negative perk at times. Like when someone sends a glass of wine to the chef in the middle of service because they’re partying and feeling really good, and generous. Of course the wait staff neglect to tell the patron that the chef is a bit off balance because others have already sent in shots, beers, and drinks from other happy patrons knowing full well the chef is burnt out and at the mercy of not having the will power to say NO THANKS to a bit of happy juice! Instead, its pond this shit down and get back to the heat of the heartless oven.

Yes my friends, December cheffing can really shred ones world apart but thankfully it only lasts until the final push of the year, new Years Eve. That’s the night chefs get to hear every non working person in the world shout in drunken stupors “Happy New Year!!!” while the chef silently says to themselves, Fuck YOU! So this year, while you are out partying and carousing and carrying on all over town celebrating whatever the hell it is you call it, take a few minutes out and thank a chef for all the sacrifices of cheffing in December….Peace

A Festivus Visit (Twas the night before….)

night before

 

T’was the night before Festivus
When all through the house
No computer was working
Not even with the mouse

The stalkers were hung by their necks with such care
In the hopes that the end of their peeping was near
The children ate Nestles they,d snuck in their beds
And bounced off the walls banging their heads

Mom in her sexy teddy straddling my lap
Had just bound my hands with a Festivus strap
When down in the kids room there arose such a clatter
Got dressed and untied to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash
Dropped my baggie of weed losing my stash
It fell on the breast of the new fallen snow
I watched as my reefer was falling below

When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
A hallucination of eight tiny reindeer
With a leprechaun in red so lively and quick
I knew in a moment my eyes played a trick

A rainbow of unicorns his coursers they came
He yelled at all eight as he called them by name
Yo Bashful yo Sleepy yo Doc and yo Sneezey
Hey Dopey and Grumpy and Happy and Sleezy

He opened the dresser where Mom hides her thong
Now dash away dash away and put back my bong
Then in a twinkling they all climbed up on the roof
A sled full of presents, this must be a goof

As I drew in a big toke and was turning around
I opened my hand my bong dropped to the ground
The dude dressed in fur from his head to his foot
Was laughing so hard and he was covered in soot

Bundles of medicinal buds were on top of his back
Just like a drug peddler he was carrying a sack
His eyes how they twinkled and dimples they sank
His cheeks red as roses yet his stare was so blank

His droll little mouth drawn up like a joke
His hair on his chin was snow white from some coke
The stump of a chamber pipe he clenched in his teeth
Second hand smoke circled my head like a wreath

He had a big broad face and a little round belly
I aired my first grievance and said he was smelly
He was also too chubby that right fat old elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He rolled a sweet fatty he’d bought from a dread
He spoke not a word but played his big Festivus role
In the middle of the room placed an aluminum pole

With a feat of strength placed a finger to his nose
An sniffed up more coke through a dollar bill hose
His grievances he aired till his team blew the whistle
And feats of great strength had broken the thistle
But I heard him exclaim the illegal drugs out of sight
Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night

Enjoy whatever holiday you celebrate and take time to smile an share some love
PEACE

We Three Kinks Of Orientar

3 kinks

Oh three kinks of Orientar
In our space ships we traverse afar
Cosmic Fountain, Galactic mountain
Following yonder quasar

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Bondage a kink of Beth Liam’s plain
Cuffs I bring to bind her again
Bound forever ceasing never
What is that golden rain?

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Role play wardrobe to offer have I
Naughty nurse of Deity nigh
Submissive praising will have your man raising
Worship him and get most high

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Aromatherapy is mine, a better perfume
Breathing musk in your hotel room
Bound for a boning, bleeding and moaning
Kink is what makes kinky love bloom

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Glorious now his bone shall arise
Kinky sex is your sacrifice
Alleluia Alleluia
Together you both come twice

Oh weed of wonder weed of night
Weed of royal smoking flight
Westward leading pot de-seeding
Guide us to the perfect height

Where Has All The Flour Gone? (Dealing with post baking blues)

where

Where has all the flour gone ,long time passing?
Where has all the flour gone, long time sifting?
Where have all my bakers gone
Scooped the bins everyone
Oh when will they ever learn
Oven makes the flour burn
(Pedro, Paula, and Marty, by bakers)

Finished the annual turkey an fixins, polished off all the Beaujolais Nouveau, had some leftovers, an checked the highlights from the traditional Thanksgiving sport, Mixed Martial Arts Shopping. Since Tueay morning we have been baking our asses off. Pumpkin breads, a variety of pies and cakes, a few thousand cupcakes and the list went on. A marathon of mixing, rolling, scaling, and baking for near about 38 of the 48 hours and now I’m exhausted. And I have post bakematic stress syndrome because all the flour bins and sugar bins have been depleted along with my spirit. The week before thanksgiving had me amped up with so much extra baking that I was on an adrenaline high. But now…..where has all the flour gone?

There’s a huge void in the cupcakery. True I can take a breath before getting re-stoked for the holiday rush still tom come but this day, this black Friday I a blue Friday for me. Bummed that the bakery looks like a war worn battlefield to organize fore the bake off for the holiday. The Hell with holiday, I’m gonna call it what it is for me, PC be damned. Getting ready for the Festivus rush! I should be happy because the airing of grievances, the feats of strength, and all the other peoples holiday rituals will be asking for more cupcakes an baked goods. But something’s wrong! No pumping, no jamming, no looking forward, the Thanksgiving rush has left not only me empty but the containers previously filled with that white powdery gluten riddled product. Where has all the flour gone?

I know, I know, careful what you wish for, when its slow I wish it was buy and when busy slow, and when its cold out I wish it was hot but when its hot and humid I wish it was….Not cold, Hell no! Maybe I wish it was cooler but nothing to do and cold weather sucks way more then too busy or too hot! So I’m miserable now. Not only a flourless kitchen but on top of all that it’s friggen cold as Hell. South Hell Pole to be accurate, which is so cold it makes a guy gonads hibernate in his intestines promising to return only once the heat gets turned on. South Hell Pole is that part of hell often refered to as “A special place in. There’s a special place in hell for him and that’s South Hell Pole. Oh yea it burns like a mother humper in regular hell, near unbearable heat every second of every day, but in South Hell Pole you shiver constantly until your goosebumps have goosebumps and every breath you inhale gives you brain freeze. That’s a special place! On the brighter side, there is flour there.
Therefore I will end all my bitching about how miserable I am and focus on how happy I’ll bee in the next few weeks when I’m sweating off my old ass while breaking in a new one in the kitchen that’s as hot as regular Hell. No more feeling sorry for myself, get up an fill those bins, get those pans ready, and get back to what I do best, baking. I am looking around my beat up kitchen with promise and hope as I head to the storeroom to grab a bag of …..wait…what? No more bags?
Oh woe is me, where has all the flour gone……PEACE