Scalloped Potatoes

Scalloped Potatoes
A love poem by Steven Wallace
Written on January 22nd, 2003

"Yum! That meal hit the spot!" I said, wiping my mouth with a paper napkin. Let us go over the history of today, child. First, I peeled a bunch of potatoes. Not too many, and not too few, mind you. Good sized potatoes they were, observe? Puny potatoes they were not. T'was an awesome sight, all them there potatoes, stripped bare, resting gleefully on the counter. After admiring my work of nudifying them spuds, I pulled out a nice large Spanish onion. I chose a Spanish onion because they have twenty-four grams of folic acid, and we can never have too much folic acid (it helps build healthy cells, after all!)

I sliced the onion into rings with my Ginsu(tm) knife, which I had ordered off the telly and got a special price for calling in the next ten minutes. I'd like to note that Ginsu(tm) makes the best knives I've ever used. The stainless steel finish is remarkable! Never before have I seen such fine craftsmanship as I see in these knives, but I digress, we were talking about my delicious scalloped potatoes!

Since I was in the mood to slice with my outstanding Ginsu(tm) knife, I decided that t'would be a good time to cut up my manly potatoes into thin slices. Cutting I did. Cut cut, and cut some more. Whew! T'was quite a task! Finally I was done. I put the potatoe slices and the onion rings in a big pot and started cooking, when I realised that I had forgotten the mushrooms and milk. Oh dear! Oh no! I was out of milk! Leaving the stove on, I rushed out to my local grocer, to get my fix.

They were all out of 2% milk, so I settled with whole. Bleck! Whole milk is THICK! Then, I drove back home. I was in a rush, I was. I sped, I did. Ooooh turd. I saw those familiar flashing lights behind me. Not good. I had gone my whole life thinking "not me," and now my card had been pulled. As the stern looking police officer walked up to my hip, new '79 Chevy Nova (dat tings a classick yo), I realised that I had forgotten to time tape the infomercials on channel 18. It just wasn't my day. The mounty informed me that I failed to use my left blinker at the last light.

Oops! Everyone messes up once in a while, I'll admit to it. I made a mistake. I forgot to use my blinker. The kind gentleman took pity on my worthless soul and let me go with a warning. I thanked him and went on my way back home, fearing that I was missing an exciting informercial for Carlton Sheets' "No Money Down(tm)" thingamadooey.

Driving down my street, I noticed an orange tint to the sky. "OH NO! MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE!" I yelled. The fire department and everyone were there, watching my shack burn to the ground. "Woe is me! Woe am I!" I cried as lay on the sidewalk. Suddenly, however, I realised that I had left the stove on when I left the house. I'm an intelligent little ooglet. Ah well, it was just a shack, just all my worldly possessions. Nothing important (like my celebraty toenail clipping collection, which I keep under the seat of my vehicle. Sometimes I like to just sit in my car and smell them. Ahhh, such delightful little pieces of protein, but I digress.)

I walked back to my car. I had no house, nowhere to go. So I went where I knew I'd be welcome, where I'm always welcome. Yes, that's right, I went to Denny's and ordered a Grand Slam Breakfast(tm). It was good, and the waitress was very friendly, she didn't even mind that I was wearing my underwear on the outside of my pants. Her name was Dorris.

"Yum!" I said, "That meal hit the spot!" Dorris giggled as she took my plate from me. I began to tell her the story of what had happened to me earlier in the day. I told her about how I was peeling potatoes in the kitchen, and--

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there partner," Dorris said. "I think I know the rest of the story."
"Oh but you don't, my dear Dorris, for there is much that is hidden." I said, speaking in my Dragon Master voice. "For I was in here earlier today, and there was another waitress named Dorris, and I told her my story, just as I am telling you. Now, if you're going to keep interupting me, I will have to stop, and share my wisdom with others." Dorris seemed uninterested in hearing the rest of my story, and told me that she had to go serve other people their food. She was gone. We had our time, but it was now over. She was my friend for a couple minutes as I told her my story, but then she ditched me, like all the rest, and I was out in the cold again. Alone. Alone in this cruel world.

Remembering that my shack had burnt to a crisp, I slept in a ditch by the highway. It wasn't long until I woke up from a truck stopping next to me, it was your truck. You took me in, you gave me a warm place to sleep. You fed me a wonderful meal of beef jerky. You're my new best friend.