Cooking with Audioccult
Illustration by SHALTMIRA
There’s a lot of things to like about living in Berlin. Too rarely, it’s food. Yesterday I saw a milkshake that was just a banana mashed into a glass of normal milk, and the ingenuity of its awfulness inspired me to share my recipe for 100% All-American Meatloaf. Press play on the embedded tracks from a variety of weird underground artists, and by the time you’re finished cooking your ground chuck lust will be so fucking swole you’ll need to use a trowel to scrape off the stink-stash of saliva pouring from your mouth. That’s my word.
https://soundcloud.com/ghe20g0th1krecords/shmurda-ha-skyshaker
Audioccult’s 100% All-American Meatloaf
Ingredients:
- 8 oz. canned water chestnuts.
- 14 small bags of kale.
- Some pebbles. Note: For a nice burst of nostalgia, shriek “Barney, my pebbles!” when you add them. Also, make sure to chop off your bloody dick and flail it around your head as well. #90sKids will get this.
- 3 cups gibbon oil.
- 1 teaspoon fishnets.
It’s very important that you measure your ingredients properly. If you ever feel like, “Hey, it’s okay if I waste something,” just imagine what that chef who hates everyone would say.
Mean Chef Gordon Ramsey: [Aghast, pulling yards of wasted mesh from garbage can.] “Look at it!” [Waves mesh in face of bad cooks while voice rises in pitch like teakettle.] “LOOK AT IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII [Voice turns into dialtone from The Matrix.]
Hahah, now I’m imagining Korn showing up to get in on the fun. They’re yelling and wailing on you, calling you a disgusting lady and making you wear these boxer shorts:
“Good evening Mrs. Korn,” they say as they position you in the middle of the giant pair of pants they always wear instead of a car (two per leg + one middle).
Directions:
- Forgot to get ingredients
Bought a Calzone Instead But Dropped Part Of It
AAghpthh. This whole recipe debacle is simply further evidence that my cookbook will never be published, because it keeps turning into interludes where I imagine characters from books and movies hanging out with me and signing the merchandise from their respective properties. Who knows if I will ever even breed. Maybe I’ll just make a calzone baby. Stuffed with goodness, my calzone baby. Warm and soft, like a real baby, but soooooo nice with parmesan.
Each night the moon will find me standing over my calzone baby’s crib. My heart fluttering in my chest. The sky’s light eclipsed by the clouds. A movement in the dark. The soft sigh of a minute, a breeze of movement across my cheek like a kiss on a tear. When the clouds pass before the moon again, they wipe away a stain of sauce from my lips. My calzone baby and me.
Published April 24, 2015.