On May 19, 2008, my readers wrote Voodoo Pastry poetry.
Come hither, you gooey filled 'Brownie-Boy,'
Come get licked by Serena Joy.
Chocolaty belly all filled with Cherry,
Yearns to be sucked out by the beautiful Sherry?
A tasty treat that will not be forgotten,
It so wants to be devoured by Miss Begotten.
But it's a Voodoo Brownie, and it has great power!
(After penning this prose, I need a cold shower!)
Flaky outer layers,
Its not a turnover,
Its Zombies illin'.
Not from Dover,
Not from Detroit,
It's hurting immensely,
'Cause it once was a boy.
Parts fell off,
The worst was its 'toy,'
Now there's no proof,
It had ever known joy.
Its not really pastry,
Even though when he was living,
His mind was toasted and baked.
Ah, crap. Why'd I write this?
Now I want cake.
This is my Voodoo Pastry Poetry mixed with today's TWISTED LINGUISTICS entry:
Do it weel?
"Yes!" cried the Nawleans cupcake daddy.
Campiong at one hundard calories per hour baby,
A tummy sergon cannot compete against the sweet carmel high priestess delight.
Casteration is payment enough for this Eunich enriched pastry souffle.
Wedding reings and bridal cakes complete the decedent array.
Poliete people pass on the pumpkin Voodoo pie.
Darogitory and all baby.
When Voodoo pastry screamed
"Bean there, done that!"
I could feel accidents a la Mr. Bean
Right at the place where I sat!
deep fried ring
of batter with pins in it
maybe some of those little sprinkly things on top.
There are people you like,
There are those you disdain,
There are those who are pains in the butt.
But what can you do
When they're bothering you?
You can levy the curse of the donut.
The pretzel-stick stake
Is all it will take,
You stick it like Little Jack Horner,
It's not quite as fun
As explosives or guns,
But it won't draw the wrath of the coroner.