This poem takes forty-two seconds to read, more or less —
which, when you stop to think about it, is roughly the time
it takes for the edges of an egg to brown and crisp,
particularly when it’s being fried (as eggs should be) in
genuine butter.
But unlike that fried egg, this poem is unlikely to repeat
on you, or drip yolk on your tie, or cake itself to your
plate like some alien yellow epoxy. And of course, this
poem probably won’t cause you to have a massive coronary
at fifty-one.
So, you know,
you’re welcomed.
This is Deb Frisch’s brain on Protein Wisdom.
Okay, whatever. Is it me, or that poem is not even rhyme. SOrry but…
I love it, Jeff.
Honestly, though, I think you should simply have taken her photo down as a sheerly aesthetic matter. No putting that fugly genie back in the bottle now, though.
I read it in like 20 seconds, I’m not gonna get salmonella or some shit, am I?
And, ha ha, I’m 55 so eggs can’t kill me.
You didn’t mention salt and pepper. Did you actually season it, and fail to mention that, or did you deliberately eat a bland egg, just so your poem would read better?
BECAUSE OF THE SEASONING!!!!!
gail,
This business about eggs not being able to kill you at 55 is a common misapprehension. Eggs can kill anyone at any age. Get the details at eggsareevil.org.
Hi Jeff,
I’m sure you’ve heard this from lots of people, but I extend my condolances for what you’ve experienced.
This foul woman out to be locked up.
Unfortunately,she’ll probably just get another job as an `educator’ somewhere. Perhaps those with an interest could keep track of her whereabouts and let potential employers know about her history.
If you ever need to, you have an open invitation to blog at my site anytime.
Best Regards,
Freedom Fighter@ JoshuaPundit
Hee hee hee. I did read it faster as well, hmmmmm.
Hash and eggs would be lovely. And pie.
Dan, I couldn’t find anything at that link. Maybe eggs killed them all.
Pablo, I prefer parsley or cilantro.
Given the turn of the comments, I’ll bet Deb wishes she hadn’t spoken with Inside Higher Ed:
http://independentsources.com/2006/07/08/deb-frisch/
Cilantro is the best, especially if you’re going to be drinking tequila.
Stating the obvious here, but the irony of Deb turning off comments on her own blog in light of her so-called stated attempt at getting banned from PW is, well, delicious!
Mmmmmmmmmmmm! Deep-fried egg.
Still, you haven’t gone far enough:
Waking up in a Georgian country house
With a hangover of biblical proportions
I slide my arm from beneath
The slender alabaster neck
Of the recumbent debutante
I silently pick my way through the detritus
Of last night’s party to the kitchen.
As soft golden sunlight arcs low across the
Paddock and gilds the chromework of the range
Like melted butter
I find a big pan.
I heat an unconscionable quantity of oil to
A gentle simmer and slip in
The freshly made local sausages.
Tea is made as the sausages poach
A gigantic ‘Brown Betty’ teapot
Of the type used to fortify British battalions
Throughout the last Great Unpleasantness
A spoonful of leaf tea for each person
And ‘one for the pot’
Water over tea leaves
Tea! The Englishman’s chicken soup.
(Etc., etc., with mention of Heinz Baked Beans, Tomatoes, Mushrooms, etc.)
This is not cooking
It’s an emergency clinical intervention
Better to die later
Than now.
(with apologies to TwoChapsTalking)
Oh, and this poem takes more than 42 seconds.
But then, were you really looking for the answer to life, the universe, and everything?
Fuck that shit, just fry it in bacon grease.
My first post here, having been steered here by the brouhaha between Jeff and that lunatic. The Arizona Star has a story, which looks pretty accurate to me, about it:
http://www.azstarnet.com/sn/hourlyupdate/137300.php
Well, I was allowing for dietary restrictions.
From the article (posted by Cap’n Billy):
Well, she’s the expert.
You all can maybe have some fun with this, my head just exploded and I gotta clean up the mess before it stains the carpet.
Wordweb let me down – what’s apoxy? Epoxy?
Anyway, eggs are useless without hot sauce. Coincidentally, om raisu for dinner – a rice omelette, one of my favorites. And we have hot sauce.
Later.
TW: appeared. Mark appeared at the dinner table.
Excellent poem, Jeff. And thanks for not bringing grits into it.
from Cap’n Billy’s link
UNBELIEVABLE and yet….
Again, UNBELIEVABLE…this woman decides to make hideous comments, doesn’t understand the fuss, but is writing a book on decision-makings! (apparently BAD decisions)
Deb, I suggest you look into the topic of consequences of bad decisions.
From Cap’n Billy’s link.
I’m on the brink of hysterical laughter or cerebral hemorrhage or both.
Um, BWT, shouldn’t be “epoxy”? Just sayin’. Mr. Oh-I’m-Almost-Got-My-PHd.
And hear I thought you were the “so-called” export on all things paste.
Oh, so now apoxy is just down the memorey hole. Okay. I see. I got screen grabs, Pastey so, don;t even. The truth will come out in the wash.
Fried eggs in butter…an all-time fave, especially sunnyside up over mashed potatoes. But if I can’t have them that way, I would prefer them in a pie. I nice quiche Lorrain, with Gruyere, ham and bacon and eggs whipped in a lovely cream, baked in a five inch pie shell, so that I don’t have to share with anyone. Yes. That is the best way to eat your eggs and your pie.
Witheld,
That’s a slander. Export paste? Jeff eats 100% American paste.
Could be NAFTA, CAFTA, or Chilean paste, Dan.
Viva comercio libre!
tw: Stop paste piracy!
I love posts like this.
Hah, haw!
Witheld misspelled rime. Hang your head in shame, ding boy.
tw: been
Hah, haw! TW misspelled bean. Hang your bytes in shame, ding brain.
Hey, hold up—wait a minute! Don’t you people realize what this means!?
We’ve all been banned from her blog!
SCORE!!!
<high fives all around >
Hash and eggs is awful.
Buds and flowers can be nice in an omelet or frittata. But hash needs chocolate.
That took about five seconds to read. After it was finished, I felt like having a heart attack because it was so awful.
Well would you allow someone that hands out cowbells to post on your blog McGehee… Huh?!…Huh?!
(annnnnd….just who did that….. Ermmmm…. we all did?)
TW: ‘Twas verily a labor of da love…..
Nope. Never.
<bans self>
Well don’t let any concern about hurting my feelings stop you, “Dante.”
Speaking of which: Yeah, Clerks II!
Back when “epoxy” was spelled with an “a” I thought there was a clever cross-reference to apoplexy going on here. But now it’s been fixed.
Being in my ‘50’s, and liking fried eggs (with various types of meat, potatoes fried in butter and heavy cream, fruit juice, milk, hot cocoa, coffee, and mounds of hot buttered carbs of various kinds—just the meal for going back to bed and dying) the message of this poem will stay with me for awhile.
It’s a Shakespearean reference. A poxy on both your houses.
Butter spatters too much. I use olive oil and baste the egg by spooning a little over the yolk towards the end instead of turning it over. If you do it just right the yolk is nice and runny but all the white is perfectly cooked.
Just reading this post for 42 or so seconds sent a frischon of paedophilic sexual energy surging up my spine.
I personally like pico gallo upon the whole eggs, lightly toasted in butter. Even better is bearnaise sauce over poached eggs on Canadian bacon and crumpets. But tiny eggy pies with diced Jalapeno peppers and monterrey jack cheese, you bake them in muffin cups, well those are just precious.
nice try, bud
No one mentioned that eggs don’t cause heat attacks. Dietary cholesterol has almost no relation to blood cholesterol. Eggs are as safe to eat as any other food containing the same amount of fat.
Fine. I’ll take the time. Where’s the poem.