Cooking with the Pickle

Soon, at work, we'll be holding a dessert bake-off to determine who makes the best pies, cakes, and cookies. Since it wouldn't be fair for my coworkers if I were to bake all of these on my own, I am watering down my kitchen virtuosity by forming a team with the Paddington Bear and the newest member of our team at work. I've yet to give the new person a nickname, although I'm leaning towards Chewy, since that's what her last name sounds like and also because I've yet to find a young lady whose heart isn't warmed when she's likened to Chewbacca. But anyway, since we're a team, our first order of business is a team name. After a few seconds of thought, I suggested the Six Degrees of Cookie Bakin'.

Now, when written out like that, the name is beautiful. However, it is proving to be slightly problematic when said aloud, since the general response to it is, "What the hell is cookie bacon?" It almost makes me mad enough to lock myself in my laboratory until I create something that could pass for cookie bacon. But since I've been having some bunsen burner issues, it is a lot easier to just come up with a new name. Now, I'm a busy man. As much as I'd love to sit around and think up great bake-off team names, I can't; I have Liberace memorabilia to catalog. So, I put it to the people of Goulash. If anyone here can think up a name we can use, I promise to mail them some crap. Of course, if I happen to think up the winning entry, the would-be winner then has to mail me some crap; it's only fair that way. Leave your entries in the comments, or send them via email.

I think I am going to try to play some tennis this weekend. I was quite the Little Lord Fauntleroy of the courts when I was younger, but it's been a long while since I last played. Nevertheless, if Pete Sampras happens to find himself on the public courts of Austin this weekend, I promise to take his pride AND his shoes. Unlike the chumps at Wimbledon, I play for keepsies. I also need to get Octopussy's claws trimmed before she accidentally dismembers me in a fit of rage. She's like Shredder from Ninja Turtles with those things. Boy, isn't this paragraph an anti-climactic way to end an entry? It just reinforces the first rule of goulash: don't expect anything from goulash. Okay, I'm blowing this joint; have a good weekend, yo.