That’s Not How You Do It, Dickbrain

William Toblerone, contributor

 

Let me help you out, you imbecile. It actually causes me pain to watch you struggle with your myriad of deficiencies. If you’re going to make white clam pizza in an authentic undersea oven, you’d better just stop your flailing and follow my instructions.

 

Since you let your floating countertop drift out in that riptide, you’re going to have to float on your back and roll the dough out on your belly. Jesus Christ.

 

What’s that, dumbass? Yes, I suppose it would be easier to make this on land, just like a twice-baked potato would be easier if you baked it only once. We’re making undersea pizza, you idiot. Stop wasting time and grab some of that seaweed that has collected around your man bun. You’ll need it for seasoning later.

 

Now grab that hot mama sea lion by the nipples and get some of that hot mama sea lion nipple milk for the white sauce base. Gently now. One nipple at a time, stupid. Now spread it on the crust. Be quick about it.

Now flop the dough on your big head like a beret while you preheat the underwater oven. Don’t forget to plug in the the damn oven, you witless ape. Wait for an electric eel to pass and then shove the plug deep into his little eel nostrils. Don’t worry, he likes it.

 

Now dig around with your toes until you find some clams. Don’t use your big toes, that’s crude. Respect the delicate grace of ocean life. Cradle the clams carefully between your pinky toe and your ring toe. No, your other ring toe.

 

Now put it all together and get ready to put in the oven, which should be hot by now. You’ll have to be very fast with the opening and closing of the door or the whole damn thing will fill with water. Ready?

 

Close the fucking door! Seriously? You must have thought I said to take your sweet time. The pizza is soaked and the oven is full of water. I wouldn’t eat this.  Would you eat this? No, because It’s a pathetic disgrace.

 

Get out of the water and dry off. And don’t  forget to moisturize. Performing fine culinary arts in the salty ocean can dry your skin, and you’re already embarrassingly ashy. Now go home, Chef Boy-Ar-You-Dumb. You have the cooking skills of a goat with double polio. Don’t  be late for tomorrow morning’s master class on traditional Twix pickling.

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