Fear Factor called. They want their cookbook back.
Yes, honey, it IS sad that everyone had to leave the Halloween party so early. And, now that you mention it, it does seem rather odd that they all seemed to remember some previous engagement minutes after walking in the door. Well, aside from Stacy, of course. After all, she hoarked after, I don’t know, three, maybe two minutes of stepping inside the house. It’s weird, because she seemed to be at the peak of health when I saw her earlier today. I wonder what came over her.
Oh, wait. I think I may have an idea.
You know, in a way, this is my fault. When you told me you wanted to make something “special” for the party, I probably should have asked just a few more questions. You do know it’s a song, right? Not an actual recipe? Yes, dear, that’s why there aren’t any actual measurements listed. Right.
No, no. I know it’s chilly, but I’ll just stay out here on the porch for a while. Maybe overnight. The cool air might do me some good. You’ll take care of the dishes, won’t you? Excellent.
Wear this shirt: the next time someone tries to pass off a bowl of cold spaghetti as brains.
Don’t wear this shirt: if you have a weak stomach.
This shirt tells the world: “You’re insulting them and embarrassing me. Eat it.”
We call this color: Oogly Olive Ogre Teeth
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