It was like being in sixth grade and waking up to eight inches of snow on the ground. I would liken it to walking into a bank with no tellers, an open vault, and a note which reads, “make yourself at home”. It was similar to having the key to every kart at Malibu Racing, and an unlimited free pass which allowed you to skip to the front of the line. I have never been to heaven, and my future spent there is most certainly debatable, but please know, if there is a heaven, I want it to look like this….
It was a Saturday morning, much like any other. I was coming home from a morning trail run, and my appetite was roaring. Amanda was working, so I was on my own. As I turned the key to the back door, I stuck my head into the den and began to make my way to the kitchen. As I rounded the corner of the dining room, that is when I saw it. That is when the situation began. That is when my inner-fat kid sprang forth, and said, “Sit tight big boy, I will take it from here.” I was defenseless from this point forward.
I had completely forgot. Amanda was having a surprise baby shower for a friend of hers at work. They would be coming to our home to celebrate that evening, so the food was already prepared. Up until this moment, this was not a problem, however, I had not taken into consideration a twelve mile appetite, cupcakes stacked up like plump little angels, velveeta cubes, Panchos dip, ground beef, chorizo, sour cream, shredded chicken, rotel, and tortilla chips.
Gosh dang. Son-of-a…
How in the hell was I supposed to handle this?
This had to be some sort of sting operation?
Am I even expected to act in a responsible manner, when I am up against these sorts of odds?
Anyone who knows me, or the history of the Horrell family, wouldn’t leave me alone in a house full of prepared food, at least, not if that food wasn’t supposed to be eaten. Amanda knows better. She might as well have left a bottle of vodka, a couple dozen oxycontin, a pack of Marlboro’s, and some syringes filled with hidden valley ranch. This was my paradise. This was most of the things that I enjoy. As I have heard it said,
“Everything that I enjoy is either illegal, immoral, unethical….or high in fat”
Well, this was certainly high in fat, but I felt like I could manage to turn it into a moral and legal dillema as well, if I wasn’t careful. That’s how hungry I was.
The food was off-limits, and not to be touched. I knew the rules….but those rules were made the night before, and twelve trail miles ago. Certainly, no one would expect me to abstain entirely, right?
As I surveyed the delicately stacked cupcakes, I began to calculate. Like some sort of shape-shifter or mathematical savant, I started to formulate how to remove one cupcake without anyone’s noticing. I was deep, deep inside the noodle. I was contorting my body as I journeyed through my conscience, like some kind of portly Matt Damon with a beautiful mind and a fat ass.
How do I get
one… two… some of these cupcakes, up off the table and into my belly?
Is there a mathematical equation which allows for this to happen?
How can I bend reality and upset the time-space continuum in order to allow me to have my cupcakes without any cupcakes being missed?
That is where the manipulation and deceit really kicked in. Surely, there’s a way. There is a lifetime of alcoholic and drug addicted behavior crammed into my memory bank, so there is ALWAYS a way of getting immediate gratification, even if it involves long-term consequences. I can be such a dog.
I can blame it on the dog.
Like a scientist in a lab, calculating the laws of physics, I began to visualize and calculate the force times the intertia, times the quantom gerder, multiplied by the mass, divided by density, square rooted by the compound something-something. Like a scholar of Newtonian Mechanics, I began making mental keyframes, as to where I would splotch icing on the table, to make it look like Charlie had knocked off the cupcakes. My visions looked like a scene from the Sherlock Holmes movies, where each step is highlighted and freeze-framed. I have watched enough CSI to know how to cover up a murder. Framing a dog for some cupcakes should not be a problem. I would remove four cupcakes. Three-and-a-half would be for me, and the extra half would be to splotch on the table, the chair, and to rub on Charlie’s beard, so it would look like he had been eating icing. I would also give him his small cut…for keeping his mouth shut. Snitches get stitches. Charlie knows what time it is.
It had only just begun, as I had not yet reached the kitchen. Upon entering the kitchen, I saw it. It was beautiful. It was a radiant yellow, much like the idol in Raiders of the Lost Ark, and I approached it with the same intensity as Indiana Jones. I licked my lips, as I gazed at its splendor. I rubbed my thumbs against my fingers, preparing myself to go in for the kill, like a camouflaged cheetah, mere seconds before the strike. This edible pile of gold was Velveeta. Velveeta cheese, nicely cubed up and ready to be placed in the crock pot, where it magically turns into rotel dip. I don’t understand exactly how cubes of cheese become a radiant waterfall of flavor, but, much like the microwave, I don’t have to understand it to appreciate it. God bless you, Mister Crock-Pot-Inventor-Guy.
There was SO much Velveeta. It was an Everest of Velveeta. There was enough Velveeta to feed so many, and yet, I was so few. This was a no-brainer. I could eat a few of the cubes and get it away with it, no problem. Amanda would want me to enjoy some Velveeta, I am sure of it. In many countries, Velveeta is widely considered the earth’s richest mineral and anti-oxidant. Velveeta has been known to increase testosterone and promote joint health. In a recent study, men who ate more Velveeta were less likely to develop heart disease and performed better on standardized tests taken overseas.
I should eat some of this cheese. I grabbed about four pieces and turned to look into the refrigerator. Before I could even open the handles to the door, my brain told me to grab one more handful of the golden nuggets. As I sat there in the kitchen, mouth chauked full of cheese, I realized that I had forgotten to breath, and I stopped for a moment. It was time to open the refrigerator doors, but there seemed to be some margin for error still available in the Velveeta container, so I grabbed just a few more. Before I knew it, I had eaten quite a sizeable chunk out of the tub of cheese, and was somewhere between being remorseful and conniving. The next thing I know, I am bent down at eye-level with the un-melted, orange jewels, and playing a most intense game of reverse Jenga, while trying to re-construct the cheese in a way that the hollowed inside is not overly-visible.
As I moved to the refrigerator, it was all more than any one man is supposed to have to face alone. There was SO much food, all prepared, all ready, fully-cooked, and ready to be devoured…competition style.
I remember a fishing guide who would take a syringe and inject the worms with air, so that they would appear thicker, and float off of the bottom. I began to wonder if I could put a needle on my air compressor and inflate the ground beef and chorizo to make it appear like there was more than there really was. What if I was to eat about one third of each? There are so many ways to cover up the empty one-third of defiantly eaten beef products, but making a decision on which technique to use was proving difficult.
Maybe I should just pull the “Pick and Swipe” method?
This is where you simply Kamikaze an entire portion of one ingredient and then act as if it never existed. (This helps if you have a history of doing a poor job of covering your tracks). The key here is playing ignorant, standing your ground, and keeping a consistent story.
Possibly I should inaugurate the “De-load 28% Across” tactic?
This is when you consume EXACTLY 28% of each of everything being served and blame it on the food industry’s conspiracy to give you less product for more cost. My family has been using this since WWII. It takes an appetite and commitment, but if executed properly, there can be no case built against the perpetrator. You have to be thorough and you must be prepared. The De-load 28% makes no exceptions. If you eat 28% of the beef, you have to eat 28% of the lettuce, and sour cream, and shredded cheese, as well as the onion. This is no time to pick and choose. Upon finishing the food, you must be prepared to fully turn the conversation towards the food industry and attack them with everything that you have. The sale of the De-load 28% Across is crucial. Blame. Blame. Blame. Continue to shift blame.
My favorite modus operandi is the old fashioned “Bum Rush” procedure.
This is where you eat anything and everything that you want. There is no need for weights and measure, or covering your tracks. You can simply divulge into every delight that was planned for the party…..and then you trash the house. That’s right. You eat anything and everything that you want, and then ransack your entire property. You shatter your flatscreen tv, turn over all drawers, flip your refrigerator, and smash all of the windows. It is easily the most highly effective way of transferring attention from the food that you were not supposed to eat.
Pro Tip: When performing the Bum Rush approach to food gorging, disrupt house BEFORE you eat. Otherwise, you run the risk of falling asleep on the couch before finishing the job. This is a bad thing. Here is the proper workflow for the Bum Rush:
1. Tear up entire house and smash all contents.
2. Eat all the food.
3. Take nap.
4. Flip couch (couch is the last article to be turned over, for obvious reasons.)
5. Call police and file report (You can be honest with them. They deal with this all the time. They are on your side. Same goes for you homeowners insurance. ***you are allowed one cheese-induced house trashing claim over the lifetime of your policy***)
6. Call wife. (Ideally she will come home while you are filling out the police report. This helps with the transferal of guilt.)
Every fat-kid-at-heart is knowledgeable of each of the varying techniques. Some of us are more highly skilled in the different schools of fooding, but we all know the feelings that come with being left alone in a paradise of forbidden fruits. And by fruit, I mean stuff covered in sugar, grease, and cheese. Those are my favorite fruits.
Keep in mind, this is just a revisited version of my thoughts, and not necissarily my actions. I am neither conforming nor denying any construction/reconstruction of cheese items, reshaping of cupcakes, nor percentage shaving of meat products. I am just doing like OJ…if I had done it, I would have done it like this.
Peace, Love, and all things Beef related,