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February 08, 2005
The Superbowl of football games
There was a pop-culture spectacle on Sunday and, after the dust had settled, the most boring dynasty in the history of sports was established. Oh well, at least we got to have a big, ridiculous party. BSH was nice enough to spring an LCD projector for our viewing pleasure and Ben, Andy, and I pooled our turkey fryer resources to help create 15 pounds of wings and a 20lb. turkey. My garage and basement still smell like a KFC. In addition to camping, brewing, and yardwork, we should do this shit every weekend:
First, set up two turkey fryers. To ensure that Brian doesn't get anything to eat, fill both fryers with peanut oil:
Heat the oil to a fantastic 350°F and toss in some wangage. Beware of action:
Remember, safety first. Not only should every house have a fire extinguisher on every floor, but the homeowner should know how to use them. I have ABC rated extinguishers, which I assume is good, because they can handle wood/textile, liquid, and electrical fires. The picture below is for my father-in-law:
The only thing better than a deep-fryer is a hundred deep-fryers. We were forced to settle with two:
Following the wing rodeo, Andy deep-fried a turkey. For those of you who have never wrapped your chompers around a turkey that has taken an hour-long bath in some hot oil, I can only say, please join the community of man. It is literally a party in your mouth and everyone who is a deep-fried turkey is invited. And once you've prepared a 20lb. turkey in an hour as opposed to the usual six hours, you will surely point at your oven and cackle a horrible, mocking cackle every time you pass through your kitchen. Seriously. Before we could dunk the big bird, we had to add some oil. Safety Ben and Reckless Andy had a nice long debate about the best way to add cold oil to hot oil. In the end it was decided that the best method would be ... pour it, bitch:
Meanwhile, there was a professional sporting event being broadcast on the wall upstairs. We have GOT to get one of these projectors. Seriously, if anyone knows where we can score one of these cheap, we will be all over it. If you say eBay, I will kick you in the eyeball.
Even the cat likes football when it's broadcast on the wall in hugevision. Here's a picture of BSH taking a picture of the cat watching the Eagles lose:
About an hour after initial submersion, the turkey emerged from the oil cooked to fantastic goodness. And there was much scarfing:
Alison made a football cake, which was summarily destroyed by our collective faces:
Even the cats got to party. When you only weigh ten pounds, lack opposable thumbs, and are covered in fur, smokin' bluntz looks like this:
The party officially peaked when "action" broke out in the driveway. Depicted below is a re-enactment of Paul2k unsuccessfully trying to kick BSH in the jimmy:
It was all downhill after that. Nothing says, "We're bored with your antics. Please go away," like three ladies on the couch with their knitting out.
Before the party officially ended, the Geester and the Lucy decided that they'd had enough and crapped out on the couch.
Eventually, everyone cleared out and all that was left was the wreckage of rampant consumption. Having the superbowl on a Sunday and not giving America the next day off is a horrible, horrible pile of stinky bull-plop. Wreckage:
Gia managed to sleep through an hour or so of me kicking dirty-dish ass in the kitchen. I knew that if I woke up on Monday to a kitchen that looked the way it did after the game I might just have to end it all, so I knocked it all out before going to bed. Unfortunately for me it took until almost 1am. But it was worth it when I plodded into the sqeaky-clean kithen the next morning desperately seeking some water. "Nice work, Tony," I said. "Thanks," I said.Posted by tony at February 8, 2005 10:36 AM