It’s that time of the year again! Cockcockcockandmorecocktember! That special time of year when no matter how many dicks you stuff in yourself, there’s always room for one more. [sighs to self wistfully] This time of year is a wonderful time to reflect on a long, brutally hot summer, to feel gladness at the cool autumn days to come, and to look forward to a relaxing season of sweaters, fall foliage, and that special seasonal treat: pumpkin spiced jizzaccino! As the name implies, they are physics-defyingly hard clumps of wax and metal shavings deep fried in an iron skillet until chocolate brown like the real Jesus’s middle eastern ball sack. Free range? Locally sourced? Who are you, the most important person ever? Ha ha ha ha ha… No. You’re an easily distractible masochistic intent on finishing this sentence. Okie doke, you! This ain’t your grandma’s Pumpkin Spiced Jizzaccino!

 

YOU WILL NEED

• 14 lbs of some goddamned shit
• an omnibus
• 1/2 cup dill raisins
• 1/67 loaf pumpernickel bread
• that Clippy motherfucker who always tried to help you write a resume
• a spongecake
• a granitecake
• 1 tbsp green skittles that have passed through the digestive tract of Betty White
• $20 bitcoin (if bitcoin is unavailable due to it not existing, you can substitute with scabs. A handy metric to remember: for every $1 of bitcoin, replace with 90,000 fresh, wet scabs)
• one pinch of timeliness
• 1 cup of Kraft’s the feeling when you’re just about to send your 5-year-old to kindergarten, thus freeing up 35 hours every week for yourself and your career, but then a bunch of backwards hat wearing fuckheads refuse to take a miracle vaccine during a once in a century pandemic, and now you have to keep your kid home at least six more months instead. (If your local Kroger doesn’t carry Kraft’s the feeling when you’re just about to send your 5-year-old to kindergarten, thus freeing up 35 hours every week for yourself and your career, but then a bunch of backwards hat wearing fuckheads refuse to take a miracle vaccine during a once in a century pandemic, and now you have to keep your kid home at least six more months instead, it’s ok to substitute with yourself screaming “Gaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!” for two hours and then saying, “Fuck it. Fuck everything,” and going to get high.
• 2 fluid ounces
• 1/2 ripe aardvark

 

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Preheat oven to the temperature of snuggling into Henry Cavill’s chin dimple and then falling asleep purring
2. De-orange all of that shit. Start with THAT.
3. Puree grapes until they are pureed. If you have to set a timer, set it to alert you at a specific time. (You never want to over-puree grapes. If you have to ask why, you’re being an asshole.)
4. In a separate Meg Ryan’s mouth, blend dill raisins, and gently fold in granitecake until Meg Ryan is done with you doing that.
5. Scoop all of that into a 90,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 oz pyrex bowl, and bake at Henry Cavill’s whatever I wrote for 30 minutes.
6. While baking, do not rub nipples. That’s not really appropriate behavior in the kitchen. Go to the library and rub your nipples. Not a room in your house you call the library because all of your 15 books you own are in there, the public library. Walk in, and breathe heavily into the librarian’s face, and rasp at them, “Where is a good spot for me to rub my nipples? You know, somewhere kinda private so I don’t freak anyone out.”
7. Postheat oven to the temperature of Henry Cavill will die never knowing your name. Remove whatever it was I told you to make, Pus Muffins? I don’t know what the hell my brain is doing ever.

 

Sprinkle with six packs of tube socks to taste. Serves our corporate master, all hail capitalism. Do not attempt to make.