Started by gaabi on Oct. 1st, 2009 at 12:55 pm in Three Word Story Group
The Welsh Chef prepared his best. Searching for ingredients he left home, spoon in hand, and fell into loutish cooking ways. Mixing cockles with mussels alive alive o. Steaming his whelks with some baralawr and laver bread (to be sure it was sweetened). Alas, for him, it made him fond of beans all the more. Beans on toast ...... with Welsh lamb! Flatulence soon followed and intense gurgling sent Llinos running to the ty bach . . . to knit englyns with Spanish tassels full of cynghanedd. Wind, I wonder? Always after beans he had to regrout the bathroom, buy new carpets. What, after beans? Not ordinary beans? Try kidney beans!
Meanwhile in Gdansk, Dai Walesa wondered if human beings can really swim in tomato sauce doing the backstroke. Then there began the crusade to go for a famous swimming coach, 'Dai Two lengths' the master floating 'Ponty Baths' backstroker. Toking with Michael increased his target of holding breath whilst playing trumpet under the water, but not inhaling anything other than rich smelly aromas ofstinking lava bread and Welsh cakes made from genuine Welsh place names.
They began lessons on how to coagulate cuckoo droppings for the French. Ratatuoile des Merdes, the thick brown nasty smelly stuff, is Parisian cuisine gone totally mad with whiffs of ground down walnuts! Grows chest hair all over his boney little elbows! A sudden thought! Where were the whelks? Must have been whelk napped by a lobster or a mobster a criminal crustacean! From Caswell Bay, a barrister came. A languistine lawyer, a shellfish fella, a shark like solicitor bearing briny briefs without wet wipes! A ransom note written on creamy coloured wet clothed clam chowder notepaper; using blackberry tarts for ink. Attorney Lincoln Lobster 3rd lost his briefs papers, scattering all. "Not the briefs! My best polkadot, white with dragon, Italian silk lined blazer is dirty!
I'll have to keep repeating this!! Hic Hic . . . upp, erp! What next? Rapidly regaining composure, loosening his suspenders, he dropped his accent and began his notorious gastronomic exercises snapping mackerels in their briney! Solitude; missing whelks! Now, O Beowulf, what is this? A lot of oration! Peroration! Adjudication! Baloney! I see but no sign of his quitting to use Spam in his final and Beefaroni stained menu compilation, never wiped by Myfanwy's dirty dishcloth. Linc thought, "Yaaahhhh! It's the gallows or the dishes; I must cook the books or tie the knot in my apron to remind myself how to cook boiled beef and cabbage without any bara lawr and cockles!
Cracking his knuckles crackling with knuckles? Sod those cockles! Chef rotated his half boiled cabbage and sod cockled bara lawr on his saucer with bamboo chopsticks missing his whelks which were stewing in the rice, jaundiced by turmeric.
Thus it ended! Rolled into a fetal ball and served alongside a raw, uncooked skunk cabbage, his 'piece de resistance' flopped. Then instantly he hissed, covered up the unappetizing creation now glowing radioactively in the microwave ready to disintegrate, "Blod's bloody whelks!" The moral of this cautionary tale must be digested by all culinary critics, picky eaters and gorging gluttons with extra portions and no manners avoiding any regurgitation of bara lawr or extraordinary phrases: A food tester was poisoned by lethal liver flukes playing hellish banjos out of tune and he died!
updated by @gaabi: 12/15/15 01:31:16AM