Tasty Recipes to make with your kids

The Garrotting Gourmand

Readers have been writing in all month with their best kid-friendly recipes and, though I don't usually print non-vegetarian recipes, I've just gotten so many of these delightful dishes sent in that I've decided to print the best here for you non-vegetarians to enjoy. (Don't worry--next week we'll be back to recipes that everyone can eat.)

Kidkebabs

Chop the carrots, pearl onions, and jalapeno peppers into eighth-inch slices. Alternate vegetable slices with kid parts on toothpicks, placing shrunken head on the top end of the toothpick for a festive look. Brush with teriaki sauce and barbecue for twenty-five to thirty seconds. Kidkebabs may be doused in brandy and served flaming if desired.

Kidloaf

Chop child in a food processor or blender and combine with eggs and breadcrumbs. Bake at 350 for 50 minutes or until the top is brown and crunchy-looking. I've found that this recipe is equally good whether fed to the cat or shipped to Uruguay.

Childballs

Combine sugar, water, and corn syrup in a small saucepan and cook over a medium flame, stirring until sugar is completely dissolved and mixture comes to a boil. Reduce heat and continue boiling until mixture reaches hard ball stage. Pour over child pieces and stir until child pieces are well-coated. Scoop out portions of child-candy mixture, form into balls, and allow to congeal on sheets of waxed paper.

Child Brittle

Combine sugar, corn syrup, and water in a three-quart saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Cook to hard ball stage, add vanilla and butter, and beat rapidly until mixture loses its gloss. Pour sugar mixture over child pieces, mix thoroughly, and spread onto two greased cookie sheets to cool. For best results, do not make child brittle.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Up the airy mountain
     Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
     For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
     Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
     And white owl's feather.
Down along the rocky shore
     Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
     Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
     Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
     All night awake.

High on the hill-top
     The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
     He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
     Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
     From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
     On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen,
     Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
     For seven years long;
When she came down again
     Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back
     Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
     But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
     Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
     Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
     Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
     For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
     As dig them up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
     In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain
     Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
     For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
     Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
     And white owl's feather.

Your Friend, Global Domination

The purpose of this blog. I'm glad you  asked that spontaneous question! To inform my readers as to why I want to take over ther world, and the benefits they can expect when I take over the world. So, let's learn all about your friend global domination!

    Better living from me! I will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity throughout the world. Under my domination, the world of television will enter a new world of programming and economy as all shows will be limited to thirty seconds, and be about me.

   Additional benfits include new monuments, new amusement parks, and ample opportunity to commune with nature. In my benevolence I will allow fifteen minutes a day of quiet time. Time for you. Time for you to meditate. About me, Zac.

   So, you see global domination only sounds like a scary thing. But it is really only a way to make the world a better place for you.

Every year about this time—give or take an extension—most of us can look forward to spending some quality time with a pile of tax forms and instructions. If it helps, you could think of your US federal income taxes as being like one of the story problems you may have enjoyed back in high school math class...a particularly long story problem.

If you're not one of the three people in your high school who actually did enjoy story problems, this might not be any great comfort, but either way, it does lead one to wonder, "just how long is it?"

You wouldn't be the only one wondering. The length of the federal income tax code (also known as “Title 26” of the United States Code) has itself been the subject of more than a few political speeches by our own Congressional representatives, theoretically the very people responsible for the illustrious Title 26.

 By the way, if you go to the US Government Printing Office ( www.gpo.gov ), you can order a complete set of Title 26 of the US Code of Federal Regulations (that's the part written by the IRS), all twenty volumes of it, at the bargain price of $974, shipping included.

According to the US Government Printing Office, it's 13,458 pages in total. The full text of Title 26 of the United States Code (the part written by Congress--available for an additional $179) is a mere 3,387 printed pages, bringing the adjusted gross page count to 16,845.

Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot…

….But Zac who lived just North of Whoville did NOT. Zac hated Christmas; The whole Christmas Season. Colours and candies and bright jolly sounds. When baubles and trinkets and joy abounds. For all of those reasons and many more too, Zac stood up on his mountain just hating the Whos. Staring down from his cave with a sour grinchy frown at the warm lighted windows below in their town. For he knew every Who down in Whoville beneath was busy now hanging a mistletoe wreath.

“And their hanging their stockings” He snarled with a sneer “Tomorrow is Christmas….It’s practically here!” Then he growled with his Zac-fingers busily drumming, “I must find some way to keep Christmas from Coming”

For, tomorrow each child, each girl and each boy would wake bright and early and rush for their toys. And then, oh the noise, the noise, Noise, NOISE NOISE!! That’s one thing he hated. Then all the Whos, young and the old, would sit down and Feast. And they’d feast, and they’d feast and they’d FEAST FEAST FEAST FEAST!! They’d feast on Who pudding! And rare Who Roast Beast, which was something that Zac couldn’t stand in the least.

The more that Zac thought of this whole Christmas thing, the more that he thought “I must stop this whole thing! For too may years I’ve put up with it now. I must stop this Christmas from coming…but how?”

Then he got an idea. An awful Idea. Zac got a wonderful, awful idea!

“I know just what to do!” Zac laughed in his throat. And he made a quick Santy Claws hat and a coat. And he chuckled and clucked, “What a great Zaccish trick! With this hat and this coat I’ll look just like Saint Nick. All I need is a reindeer…” and Zac looked around. But, since reindeer are scarce there were none to be found. Did that stop old Zac, No! Zac simply said “If I can’t find a reindeer, I’ll make one instead!” So he called his bro Enoch, then took some black thread, and he tied a small horn on the top of his head. Then he loaded some bags and an old empty sack on a ramshackle sled and hitched up old Molly.

Then Zac said “Mush!” and the sled started down toward the homes where the Whos lay a snoozing in town. The windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care. When he came to the first little house on the square. “This is stop number one!” the old Zaccy Claws hissed, while he climbed to the roof empty bags in his fist.

Then he went down the chimney with hardly a crack, but if Santa could do it then so could Zac. He got stuck not at all, not a moment or two, then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue where the little Who Stockings all hung in a row. “These stockings” He grinned “Are the first things to go!

Then he slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant, around the whole room and he took every present! Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller Skates! Drums! Chessboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags Then the Zac very nimbly, stuffed all the bags one by one up the chimney!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Who’s fest! He took the Who-Pudding! He Took the roast beast! He cleaned out the icebox as quick as a flash! Why Zac even took the last can of Who-Hash! Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee! “And Now!!” grinned Zac “I’ll stuff up the tree!”

And Zac grabbed the tree, and he started to shove, when he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who! Little Willow-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

Zac had been caught by this tiny Who Daughter who’d gotten out of bed for a cup of cold water. She stared at Zac and said “Santy Claws, why, why are you taking our Christmas Tree, WhY?!”

You know that old Zac, was so smart and so slick, he thought up a lie and he thought it up quick. “Why my sweet little tot,” fake Santy Claws lied, “there’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side! So I’m taking it back to my workshop my dear. I’ll fix it up there and bring it back here!”

And his fib fooled the child, and then he patted her head and got her a drink and sent her to bed with her cup, then he went to the chimney and shoved the tree up. The last thing he took was the log for their fire! Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar. On the walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire. The one speck of food that he left in the house was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then he did the same thing to the other Whos’ houses, leaving crumbs much too small for the other Whos’ mouses. It was quarter past dawn….all the Who’s still a-bed, all the Whos still a-snooze when he packed up his sled. Packed It up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit, he rode with his load to the tip top to dump it! “Pooh pooh to the Whos!” He was zaccishly humming. “They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming! They’re waking up now! I know just what they’ll do! Their mouths will hang open for a moment or two. Then the Whos down in Whoville will all cry boo-hoo.”

“That is a noise” grinned Zac, “That I simply must hear!” So he paused. And Zac put a hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. And it started to grow.

The sound weeping soon grew over the snow, and continued to grow! Then Zac dumped the Christmas junk on down the mount.