hey, this is funny!

A bit long, especially for the standard American attention span, but
well worth the complete perusal.

Kelly J.

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From: zr_gnxrguvfbhg@cevzrarg.pbz (kEvin)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Stock Options
Date: 24 Mar 1997 15:51:01 -0700

Right after the new year, I made one of those impulse buys that
haunts one for months. Fresh turkeys were on sale for a mere US
$0.50 a pound. I bought a twenty pounder. I live alone. I'm not
much of a cook.

Surprisingly, I managed to cook, strip and freeze most of the
bird without incident. I saved a hefty portion for immediate
consumption and to celebrate my newly discovered culinary
prowess, I made side dishes. The asparagus ended up as sandy
as always (I love asparagus, but not when I cook it.) The
mashed potatoes were white, mushy and a tad dry. Seizing the
phone on impulse and hoping to take advantage of my last clean
saucepan, I quickly dialed my sister-in-law for detailed instruction
in the art of gravy. After a short conference and much taking of
notes, I embarked on a voyage of discovery.

You see, gentle reader, the liquid in the pan that comes from
the bird is not just grease and congealing fat; it's also that
fabulously useful stuff known as stock. This was a subject of
much discourse, for I was unaware of the variety and usefulness
of the wonder material known stock.

Unfortunately, the art of gravy cannot be learned in a single
phone call, and though with the addition of stock I came closer
to succes than ever, I did not achieve a state of culinary grace.
After a promising but failed experiment, I resorted to packaged
gravy and stored my stock for further research. Care must be taken
in the storage of stock, for if it leaks, it can wreak untold havoc
on the refrigerator ecosystem. I chose to store my stock in two
large tumblers; this choice being dictated by the disgraceful paucity
of clean dishes so shockingly common in kitchens I frequent.

Having safely stored my stock, I went into a torpor lasting some
months and did little but glance through the deep translucent
orange of the stock and wonder at the marvels it held. To safely
unleash the power of stock requires research and careful
experimentation.

With the coming of Spring, I arose from my torpor and set about
righting the appalling crime against humanity known as my kitchen.
In the process of setting wild goals, I rashly decided to restore
all of my glasses to cleanliness simultaneously. This entailed some
handling of my hoarded stock. Having determined that it had cooled
past the temperature at which plastic melts in its three month stay
on the right corner of the top refrigerator shelf, I decided to
transfer it, in all it's umber luster, to a ziplock bag.

At this point, I discovered one of the many wonders of stock. While
I had stored it as a hot, thin liquid, it was now a cold, rolypoly
solid! Inverting the glass over the ziplock did not produce the
intended result, although these attempts allowed stock to reveal
to me the wonders of that all-too-rare phenomenon known as vapor-lock.

Despairing of my futile efforts to dislodge the stock unaided, I
sought help from the silerware drawer. Calling upon my trusty
butterknife I endeavoured to free my umber wonder without damaging
it. My fears were exagerated, for with a quick press of the knife
along its side, the stock came free with the briefest blorp.

Unfortunately, my planning was insufficient to contain the power
inherent in unleashed stock, and although it traveled the path I
had laid into the baggy, its energy refused to remain static
and it rebounded upwards with astonishing power. Startled, I grabbed
the naked stock in midair. This was a telling moment. Never before
had I handled stock in my bare hands. The sheer raw power and untapped
potential that lay nascent in my hand awed me. I stepped out onto the
balcony gripping the curved, comfortable shape of the stock in my
right hand to better contemplate this new aspect of stock.

As a liquid, turkey stock holds great promise for peaceful and
beneficial use. With further research, I could safely use it
for the betterment of all humanity. But the comforting shape
in my hand was not liquid stock, it had been transformed into
something much more. My stock had taken on the shape of the glass in
which I had stored it. It was now both firm and yielding, with a
consistency that guaranteed both aerodynamic efficiency and satisfying
splatter. While it retained its potential for good, in that form and
in that place, it could become an instument of chaos, of random
destruction. I could hurl the stock into the deep stillness of the
night, and it would make a long descent along the slope to splat
upon the hated drive-slow-in-the-left-lane-Volvo occupying one of the
neighbors yards, or I could drop the stock into a safe container and
devote myself to learning how to tap its potential for good.

I had to make a choice between using the great power in this substance
for random destruction, or of holding back until research revealed the
future benefits it could provide. Everyone eventually has to make
this choice, but there's really only one decision. After a moment of
brief reflection, I consigned my stock to its best use.

Then I quoted Oppenheimer.


kEvin
missed.


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