The Dissemination of Thought

Just because it's in print doesn't mean it's intelligent…

Posts Tagged ‘books

It’s crazy cookbook time, and I need your calamitous kitchen confessions

with 31 comments

I need help. Not the sort offered by a team of psychiatrists and medical professionals, but that which only you, my freakin’ awesome readers, can provide.

After the piece that shared my ridiculously disastrous cooking escapades was Freshly Pressed on 3 February, things went absolutely berserk. 7,331 people read it on the day. Hundreds commented, and the last time I checked, 706 bloggers had liked it. For some reason, people seem to love embarrassing tales of kitchen calamities, especially ones written by self-depreciating single guys.

Will people really buy a cookbook written by someone whose cookies turn out like this?

For those who haven’t read “5 things I’ve learnt about cooking: the calamitous kitchen confessions of a single guy”, this is what happened when I tried to flip the contents of a frying pan for the first time:

Damn you, Jamie Oliver. After observing everyone’s favourite naked chef continually flip the contents of his frying pan with a deft flick of the wrist (no, that’s not a euphemism), I eventually asked myself why I was the only sap left using spoons and spatulas. The concept of the flip didn’t seem that difficult, and with every celebrity cook and wannabe MasterChef contestant sending their stir-fries skyward in a graceful arc with apparent ease, I made the decision to come in from the culinary cold: I was my time to flip.

I chose to try it for the first time while sautéing mushrooms. I was focused. I was visualising it. I was trying to determine how I should celebrate what I assumed would be a successful attempt. Putting the wooden spoon to one side, I eyeballed the frying pan and quickly snapped it upwards in a forceful yet clinical motion.

I wish I could tell you that the mushrooms landed with a poetic elegance, but I can’t: there’s nothing poetic about a hail of hot butter and fungi raining down around you.

Look at him, the Converse-wearing smug bastard. Source:

At any rate, a lot of the comments people left suggested, among other things, that I should look at writing my own cookbook. I received dozens of emails, texts and phone calls supporting this suggestion, so I decided to seriously contemplate it over innumerable glasses of Scotch, a bottle of red wine and more than a few bags of Skittles Sours. My eventual decision? To attempt the impossible, and write a quasi cookbook that someone is prepared to publish. If people are prepared to pay good money to read about my kitchen debacles and take cooking advice from someone with the culinary ability of an oven mitt, who am I to stop them from wasting their hard-earned?

The book is going to be a compilation of kitchen stories and culinary lessons learned the hard way, but it will also include easy-to-follow recipes with idiot-proof instructions provided by yours truly. I’m writing it under the working title Stirring the Pot with TDoT, but the final name will be something much more eye-catching and scintillating. I hope.

No, I didn't make this, but I can provide step-by-step instructions on how to buy some just like it for yourself.

This is the point at which your help is required. While I have a multitude of personal tragic tales, I know there are countless other amusing kitchen stories out there, and I want to include as many as I can in the book. Any that appear that aren’t mine will be fully attributed to the kitchen failure considerate individual who shared it with me. While it’s only fair, I also believe it’s a fantastic opportunity to show the world that I’m not the only one burdened by culinary shame.

If you are happy to share your cooking disasters for inclusion in the book, send me an email with the following information:

  • What you were trying to do in the kitchen when your catastrophe occurred. What went wrong? What was the outcome? Did you walk away with both eyebrows and all of your digits, or did you end up with a painful memento of your culinary ineptitude?
  • How you’d like to be acknowledged in the book. I’m happy to use your real name, your blogging name or any other witty pseudonym you feel comfortable with. Except Snatch Baggins. I’ve already got dibs on that one, should I ever decide to change my name.
  • How many copies of the book you’d like if it gets published and sales tank, resulting in boxes and boxes of unsold copies lying around. I’m thinking that 38 is a reasonable minimum commitment.

How can you say no to this random guy? Source:

So, there you have it. My shameless plea imploration invitation for you to share your calamitous kitchen stories for inclusion in my yet-to-be-named cookbook companion. Everyone has tales of kitchen woe, so ask your friends. Ask your family. Ask your parole officer.

When Green Eggs and Ham are cooked with lunacy in a can: I’m sorry, Dr Seuss…

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In the midst of riding on an espresso tsunami last week, I somehow accepted a dare from a friend at Mid Life Ranting to rewrite Green Eggs and Ham with my own troubling, incoherent twist. Note to self: starting drinking less coffee. And less vodka. Especially at the same time. Dr Seuss apparently wrote the original story to win a bet, which puts me and my caffeine-fuelled acceptance of a random dare in good company.

After spending almost 5 hours last night trying to comprehend, pull apart and then reconstruct the Dr Seuss masterpiece, I was about two or three words away from being sedated and hauled to far off places by medical professionals brandishing shackled jackets and hypodermic needles.

One of the acclaimed aspects of Green Eggs and Ham is that contains only 50 individual words that were juggled, repeated and shuffled to create the final product. I suggest that anyone who criticises it as being a simplistic children’s book attempts to pen their own engaging chronicle, using just 50 different words.

I couldn’t manage 50. After a lot of editing, rehashing and creative outbursts that bordered on temper tantrums, I finished my attempt with 56 individual words; kudos to you, Dr Seuss. The actual words are: a, ain’t, an, and, ass, bath, cannot, cold, corn, decision’s, die, dish, do, drink, fine, fish, from, glass, gold, grow, hail, horn, hot, I, in, is, it, kill, know, lack, like, milk, mine, no, not, or, pail, paint, pie, restraint, saint, served, shall, share, should, skol, stein, the, this, try, want, warm, will, with, would, yay.

Without further ado, I present Warm Milk and Paint.


Warm Milk and Paint

I ain’t a saint.
A Saint-I-Ain’t.

No Saint-I-Ain’t!
No Saint-I-Aint!
I lack restraint, a Saint-I-Ain’t!

Will I drink warm milk and paint?

I shall not skol it, a Saint-I-Ain’t.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.

Do I want it hot or cold?

I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Would I drink it from a glass? Would I share it with an ass?

I would not drink it from a glass.
I would not share it with an ass.
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Would I want it in a dish? Would I want it served with fish?

Not in a dish!
Not with a fish!
Not from a glass!
Not with an ass!
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Would I, should I, from a stein? Drink it! Drink it! It is fine.

I would not, cannot, from a stein.

I should like it. I should try. I should drink it with a pie.

I will not, shall not, with a pie.
Not from a stein! Decision’s mine!
I do not want it in a dish.
I do not want it with a fish.
I do not want it from a glass.
I will not share it with an ass.
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Will I, shall I, from a pail?

Not from a pail!
Not with a pie!
No from a stein!
Saint-I-Ain’t shall not die!

I would not, will not, in a dish.
I would not, will not, with a fish.
I cannot share it with an ass.
I cannot skol it from a glass,
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Yay! In the bath. Should I, would I, in the bath?

I cannot, will not, in the bath.

Should I, would I, in the hail?

I should not, would not, in the hail.
Not in the bath!
Not from a pail!
Not with a pie!
Not from a stein!
I cannot drink it, a Saint-I-Ain’t.
Not with a glass!
Not with an ass!
Not served with fish!
Not in a dish!
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Do I like warm milk and paint?

Like I do not, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Should I, would I, served with corn?

I cannot, will not, served with corn.

Would I, should I, with a horn?

I will not, cannot, with a horn.
I should not, would not, served with corn.
I will not drink it in the hail.
I will not drink it from a pail.
Not in the bath!
Not with a pie!
Not from a stein! Decision’s mine!
I will not want it in a dish.
I will not like it served with fish.
I shall not drink it from a glass.
I shall not share it with an ass.
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.

I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

I cannot drink it. This I know. Skol it! Skol it! I will grow. Skol it and I will grow, I know.

A Saint-I-Ain’t! I will drink it. Decision’s mine! I will skol it, from a stein.

Yay! I like warm milk and paint!
I like it, I do, a Saint-I-Aint!
And I will drink it with a horn.
And I will drink it served with corn.
I would drink it in the hail.
And it in the bath.
And from a pail.
And from a stein.
I will drink it served with pie.
It is fine, I shall not die!
I will drink it from a dish.
And I want it served with fish.
I shall skol it from a glass.
I will share it with an ass.
I will drink it hot or cold.
I will like it served in gold.

I do know I like warm milk and paint.
Restraint will kill, a Saint-I-Aint!

I know this isn't relevant to Green Eggs and Ham, but I really want that hat. Source:

Written by disseminatedthought

January 3, 2012 at 10:03

Screw you, Stan Lee: 3 things that comics lied to me about

with 6 comments

Those people at Marvel and DC Comics have some explaining to do for the lies they indoctrinated me with during my formative years.

Where the lies all began. Source:

Comics misguided me into thinking that any 11-year-old boy could be a billionaire playboy by day and an angry vigilante with a latex fetish when the sun went down. They made me believe that women who ran around with a golden lasso while wearing knee-high hooker boots were of sound mind and available to date. Here’s an important safety tip: if a woman professes to own an invisible airplane, back away slowly.

A hot woman flying an invisible airplane should be a warning sign. Source:

Let’s debunk 3 other childhood beliefs that came to be because of comics:

Belief 1: That wearing glasses and parting my hair on the side would keep my true identity safe.

A thick-rimmed pair of glasses and container of Brylcreem do not an alter ego make. If I threw on a beret and novelty nose/moustache combination I’d still be a giant, and I’d still get picked out of a police line-up in about four seconds. The only conclusion one can draw is that the residents of Metropolis were as dumb as fuck.

If Clark Kent had worked for a real newspaper, he would have been made as Superman the first time he took his glasses off to sing karaoke at an office function. Or when someone smarter than Lois Lane realised that he could always guess what underwear they had on, including the orange and gold crotchless number that they had custom made in Thailand.

Come on Clark, you aren’t fooling anyone. Source:

Belief 2: That wearing my underwear on the outside would make me popular and sexually appealing to women.

Publicly displaying your undergarments – especially when they are worn over your jeans at the railway station – is not socially acceptable behaviour. Doing so will make you about as popular as that one monkey at the zoo that insists on flinging its faeces at the other inhabitants of the enclosure.

As for using exposed briefs as a visual aid to help seduce a woman, I now know that capsicum spray and my eyes can never be friends. Apparently women don’t find a guy in underpants curled up while frantically rubbing his eyes sexy. Go figure.

Dude, you are 43. Just don't do it. Source:

Belief 3: That being bitten by a radioactive spider and shooting stuff from my wrists would allow me to climb walls.

There are two problems with this premise. The first is the belief that radioactive spiders with a proclivity for biting unsuspecting students are in plentiful abundance. Unless your high school is based somewhere near Chernobyl, they aren’t.

A grown man in lycra with a camera: creepy. Source:

The second – and most critical – issue is that public excretions from any part of your body are frowned upon by society. Wearing a mask and skin-tight costume while you egest will only exacerbate the problem. Had Peter Parker walked around in real life ejaculating an unidentified sticky substance from his wrists, he would have been tasered, incarcerated and put onto a myriad of lists and registers before he got five feet off the ground.

So, Stan Lee, screw you. Your tales of deceit have not aided my quest to find horny superhero groupies who find grown men wearing Batman underpants desirable. Further to this small grievance, I still can’t fly.

What did comics – or other children’s literature – lie to you about?

Author’s note: for the sake of this post, comics have been deemed children’s reading material. Deal with it.

The Caveman Batman? No wonder I’m confused. Source:


Written by disseminatedthought

December 18, 2011 at 15:44