Current mood:	hungry
Current music:	(hed)p.e. - "Dracula"

Mighty chef was Zorakzoran
I don't think I'm a bad cook, actually. I'm a cookie-bakin' fiend. I do reasonable pasta -- I can even make it from scratch (but don't, because I'm also a smart guy. Man, is it work.) Granted, I'll eat just about anything I make myself because I have the tastebuds of a ravenous crow, but when I cook for others I do like to put some work into it, the odd microwave burrito aside.

Having suffered, however, yet another culinary disaster, I thought it prudent to not merely share it with others, but to decant it in epic verse:

Hear the tale of Badchef Ricebane
Destroyer of another meal.
Hear the tale of wasted foodstuffs
Vanquished by fate's awful seal.
Mighty chef was Zorak-zoran
Angry troll with his flamehair.
Cooked he did a hundred inners
Satisifed with tasty fair.
Came one night that he was sleepy
Had not slept the night before.
Zorakzoran he still was hungry
Lunch he'd had but not much more.
Coming home he turned on oven.
Placed a pot on top it so.
Filled the pot with steaming water.
Boiling rice in bubbling flow.
Thinking he that much time had he,
Sat upon his bed to read.
Book he'd read a dozen times 'ere,
Concentration did not need.
Soon his mind was away slipping,
Falling into numbing bore.
Fear the horror of this good chef,
For alas he soon did snore.
Nine hours he slept and more was needed,
But he woke with weary sigh.
"Funny" thought he to his ownself,
"The lights are on," his muttered cry.
Yet apartment filled with fog was,
Obscuring daylight streaming here and yon,
"Fucking hell!" his brain responded,
"I fucking left the oven on!"
Not just burned was tasty rice dish,
Cremated into bits of ash.
Scots ancestry soon was shrieking,
"Dammit for that rice paid cash."
Soon on door was puzzled landlord,
Wondering to apartment's fate.
"I smelled smoke, what are you doing?"
Windows opened, but too late.
Hear the story of the Ricebane.
Think of tale while there you sit.
Zorakzoran a fine good chef is,
As long as keeps his mind on it.

Hear my tale of woe and sorrow,
Lost 30 cents of rice I had.
Luckily my growing hunger,
Overcomes my feeling sad.
So off to lunch I am now going,
Because my pot is filled with muck.
Worst of all I've burned rice before,
When will I learn, the silly fuck?

HRB Index: 71 (-3 being amused by burning rice, -2 for good night's sleep, -2 for nice chat with friend evening before, +2 for spending time doing stupid poem and not writing dissertation)

Current Book: Article by Peter Fritzche, "History and Nostalgia."