..No we bloody well can't!
So I heard this funny story from my boss of all people last week and had to share.
His sister in law to be, at the time, was preparing for her wedding to my bosses brother. One of the prep items was to bake the Wedding Cake and one ingredient the cake called for was Crisco Shortening. If you don’t know what shortening is, it is essentially rendered vegetable fat in its purest state. You use it for such gastronomic treats like coco-pop crispies and other gastric horrors. It fell out of favour in cooking for some time when people wished not to have heart attacks at the age of 8. All those dead children were just a hassle and blocked up the garden sprinklers. Anyhoo our bride skipped off to David Jones, providers of all type of poshy noshy to buy 20 packets of Crisco.
Unfortunately David Jones was bare of fat slabs, but before the bride reached for the Sara Lee mix a rather helpful clerk whispered to her she could purchase Crisco at an alternate location, a rather comely place in the gay ghetto…called Toolshed. It was demonstrated through whiteboards and a laser pointer to the Bride that some men of the man loving type, rather enjoyed nothing other than inviting a chum over for peach schnapps, Golden Girls reruns and shoving their hands up each other bottoms. This past time, known as ‘fisting’ required a lot of slippery assistance to get a big ole man hand up ya backtrack. Obviously a bottle of whiskey and a mallet to the head won’t suffice and the most popular access ‘assistant’ was our humble Crisco Shortening.
So with some glee the bride ran off to Toolshed, where you can buy all kinds of delights like hardcore Belgian cat porn and dildos of all shapes and sizes it would would not be out of place in some Mardi Gras version of “It’s a small world after all”, but judging by the sizes you can buy it would be more of “It’s a sore world after all”. The wise Bride called ahead to make sure they had spare Crisco, it was a Saturday anyway. So bounding up the stairs she found 20 blocks of Crisco were awaiting her next to what she called ‘A very well stock S&M section”. All was sorted, the bride was able to make her cake for the wedding and all was good, the cake was delicious and no one’s bowels were relocated to their brain.
But I can’t help but think of people eating the cake when all of a sudden they are finding they have swallowed their entire hand to the elbow and did not know it. ‘How did that get in there’, let alone if you dropped a piece and slid on it. You could slip all the way to New Zealand.
