Greetings, My Little Meat Minions, let's get into it.
Ali Hobson traveled by metal bird from the far off land of
New York City. She landed amongst the forestry and liberal mindset that defines
the upper left corner of the continental United States. She was disoriented and
a wee bit scared but she had a trick up her sleeve. For you see, Ali Hobson is
a mystical meat magician.
My lady homie, Mad Dog Maddie Weber, first swept Ali into my
life. The pair, who had become acquainted during high school, decided to reunite
their camaraderie in the city that I call home. When I first met Ali, or
Alibaba as her magician friends call her, she seemed like a normal muggle to
me. It was not until her last night in town, while down at Richard Goodfellow’s
shire, that she revealed to me her true identity. On the plateFULL night of her
grand unveiling it was just me, Mad Dog Maddie, HairMaster Seth, Guru
Andrew and of course, Richard Goodfellow. As we assembled we spit and spat
about this and that until Ali gathered our motley crew tight around her and
spoke in hush tones. She told us of her culinary shamanism and a devious plan
to leave our taste buds tongue-tied. We gathered ingredients and like an army
of kitchen minions, we began the preparation process. With pepper jack, onions,
red peppers and glorious bacon all sliced and diced, Alibaba waved her hand,
effortlessly intertwining everything in a big bowl o’ beef. She conjured beer
battered onion rings, commanded obliging eggs to fry and with a delicate
sleight of ham, made maple bacon materialize. With stuffed burgers sizzlin’
and toasted buns properly sauced, Alibaba joined everything in an unholy matrimony.
What would follow can only be described as gentlemanly carnage. HairMaster,
Goodfellow, Guru and myself descended upon the sorceress’ creation with
precision and childlike glee. It was messy, meaty and gone in a matter of
seconds.
With Alibaba’s powers expunged for the night and the
stomachs of four fine hombres still gurgling, I set about prescribing
meaticine. First, after hot oil had done its part, we let battered onions take
shelter in our stomachs.
But with stubborn hunger still lingering I was forced to resort
to more drastic meatsures. I called the spare maple bacon that was lying idle
on the sideline into the game. I coated the bacon in beer batter and sent it
head first into the bubbling broth of glorious grease. Minutes later our eager
mouths were sated by crispy crunchy goodness.
The finale to our whirlwind night nearly brought me to
tears.
I took the last morsel of stuffed burger, coated it in
batter, and then fried the bageebies out of it.
The result was divine and like a pack of wolves on a fresh
carcass we ferociously tore the heavenly deep fried burger to pieces. As I
licked my lips and surveyed the room, I could tell everyone’s tank was full. Hunger
was thoroughly defeated.
Thank you Alibaba, your meatgic is welcome back anytime.
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