I didn't know gummy bears came in timid. But this one is.

The Raisin Poodle Cookie

The Raisin Poodle Cookie

This cookie looks like a dog, I'm thinking its a poodle. It has a nose in the middle and a tongue at the bottom. It also has two eye sockets, though I'm not sure what happened to its eyes. Maybe they were gouged out by the ChocolateChip Pit Bull Cookie. Anyways, if it were entered in a dog competition, I think it would win Best of Show, despite the lack of a body.

Popcorn

Popcorn,
I am really sorry about what happened to you. I didn't really think it would end that way, you know? I mean, when I first looked at your expiration date, I knew you were sort of too old for me. December 2007, wow. But I had high hopes for you. So, I'm sorry that you got thrown out in the end. I'm sorry that you had to suffer an excruciating 2:15 minutes in the microwave, where your innards burst open, only to be thrown out after. I'm sorry that my mom suggested that you might be rancid. I'm sorry that I only ate two pieces of you before pronouncing you chewy. I should've gotten through the whole bag first to make such a judgement. And because of that, you were thrown into the blue bin, and by now you're probably riding around in the garbage truck. So I'm sorry. Its not fair.

Misters Pesto and Marinara

Misters

Pesto and Marinara

Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara hang out on the town. "Let's go tussle with some pasta," says Mister Pesto. "Right," says Mister Marinara. The summer breeze drifts across the open oven range. Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara hustle on to the counter. They chubby legs step, one two, one, two. These basil brothers nonchalantly hobble over to the cupboard panty. "Hey there," says Mister Marinara. He leans his elbow up on a box of pasta, looks down the avenue. "It's Penne, your main swing," says Mister Marinara. Mister Pesto nods. He asks Mister Marinara, " Who are you going with this evening? Will it be Lasagna again?" Mister Marinara scoffs. "I'm not going with that broad." Penne slouches up to Mister Pesto. "Let's hit the night," she says. Mister Marinara seems sulky. He doesn't have a date yet. He searches the avenue for another pasta to go with. Vermicelli- too tall. Fettucine- too flat. Elbow- too cutesy. Bow tie- well... it could be done. Shell- too small. Mister Marinara sulks even more. Penne looks over at him from the crook of Mister Pesto's arm. "I'll call up my sister Rigatoni."

Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara, along with their dates, stroll along the table. Something white comes into view in the distance. Mister Pesto peers closer. He waves. Mister Marinara peers closer. He becomes upset. It is Alfredo. With Fettucine, his date. Mister Marinara looks away. "Let's book it out of here," he says. Mister Pesto brushes off the statement. He is friends with Alfredo. But Mister Marinara is the arch nemesis of Alfredo. They don't get along. Mister Marinara can be short-tempered at times. Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara continue their walk; so does Alfredo. They meet up. Mister Marinara tries to stare down Alfredo. Alfredo has no problem, he plays it cool. "Hey my brothers," says he. "I'm out for a recovery stroll t'night. I got mixed up with some vegetables- a bad crowd. I have to get my priorities straight, so here I am with my girl Fettuccine." Misters Pesto and Marinara nod. Mister Marinara speaks, "I got to go to the cheese drawer. Either Mozzarella or Parmesan is expecting me and Rigatoni. I'll catch up with you two later." He walks off. "I have a feeling its the end of the road for him," says Mister Pesto. "You were lucky you got out alive, Alfredo." Mister Pesto and Alfredo take their dates home, then return to their jars in the fridge. They are some saucy lads.

The Brand

TAp-TAp. The sound of metal on metal. The tines of the fork scrape against the baking pan. All is silent for a moment. Then-- it is time. The sugar coated fork is lowered, and pressed deep into the flesh of the cookie, branding it with deep ridges. Then again, the fork is lowered and pushed crosswise against the skin. A silent murmur is whispered in the crowd. What is this, you ask? Some primeval torture ceremony? No, it is the INITIATION. The time when every young raw peanut butter cookie becomes an adult, ready for the rough and tumble of the heat of the oven. The peanut butter cookies are known for their primitive traditions. They are also known for inbreeding, as they often marry their cousins. No one knows where these rituals originated, but some regard them as cruel practices.

Some people tend to eat their peanut butter cookies untouched by the fork. They think that they are saving the cookie from pain and torment, when, in actuality, they are simply worsening the situation. You see, the branding is a sort of bond between cookies. When the branded encounter the untouched, a dreadful sort of thing happens. Its called cannibalism. Have you ever noticed that your cookie supply (any type of cookie; unfortunately, this practice is common) runs out very very very fast? They've been eating themselves. It's quite the only rational reason. If its not true... That means there are quite a few gluttons around these parts. Gluttons that congregate around cookies. Whatever, man. I don't buy that.

Peanut Butter Cookies use the brand as their trademark. Without the crosshatching, all you have is a common brown cookie. The brand is a part of the peanut butter cookie identity. Here's what one cookie had to say about the ceremony, right before he was shoved in the oven:

"It was the most exhilirating thing. I'd been looking forward to coming of age ever since I was rolled in sugar. As the fork pressed into me... it was very very painful. I felt my nonexistent spine cracking. But now I am an adult cookie! That was a make me or break me time and I made it! Congratulate me! Now, I am a real peanut butter cookie. Bring on the heat!"

The initiation ceremony is the most important part of a peanut butter cookie's life. It teaches endurance, discipline, strenght, and compassion to a raw cookie. Its more than just a fancy baking thing. Its a way of life.

The Schism

A History of the Outrageous Chocolate Chip Cookie Schism

For some reason, cookies seem to be a tad testy these days. I made some of these Outrageous Chocolate Chip Cookies, which are just chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter and oatmeal. I rolled half of the dough into balls ready to be placed on the baking sheet. I left the other half unrolled. I went away for a little while, and when I returned, it was pandemonium.

The dough had segregated itself. The rolled dough was piled all on one side of the dough and the other dough was just sitting there. Both sides had the frown, glares, and surliness down, and the angry eyebrows to boot. Outrageous. They were absolutely refusing to associate with each other, despite the fact that they came from the same ingredients. I tried to be a mediator, but they would not listen. Rolled dough boasted of their obvious superiority. Their figure was classy and sophisticated. "Spheres are the most amazing of all 3D shapes," they said. They were cultured. They were educated. They were round. They were pro-active. They were ready for business. "oho-ho-ho," replied the unrolled dough, in unison. "That means nothing. We here on our side are in harmony. We are all one and the same; no differences between us. We are a community. We are ready to support one another." Here one of the rolled balls of dough tried to fling himself at the blob of dough and tried to attack, but his cronies restrained him. They only said, "Support? Ha! We know support! We can form our corp into a pyramid and then back down. HA!" The unrolled dough group only deepened their frowns. They tried to turn their back to the balls, but to no avail. They were too sticky. The balls were so compact, however, that they were successfully able to turn their backs to the plosh of unrolled dough. The unrolled dough sent out agents to steal the chocolate chips of the other side. The balls of dough would occasionally moon the other side, leading to shrieks of indignation. I think it would have escalated to all-out war. But I had to stop it before something drastic happened. So I baked the cookies, and then helped to eat them. And that was the end of that.

Little Mister Seal Fish

Oh! Little mister seal fish swims across the sea! He ducks and dives and pirouettes and does all sorts of fancy things. Let me ride upon your back mister seal fish! We will swim everyone, and you will swim faster than any other seal fish out there! You will not have to live in fear of carnivorous mister polar bear, like other seals. Your life will be one of the deep sea, and dances in the ocean blue. Oh! Little mister seal fish!