How I Can Just Kill A....Cookie

Yes, that was a Rage Against the Machine reference. And yes, this entry is going to feature the careless concoction of a kitchen catastrophe called "cookie". I was going to use this space to express my disdain in the usual manner (wordy and alliterate), but since rants are criticized and poems are patronized I will try the lyrical approach.

Get those crisp-ity, crumbly cardboard cookies out of my face.

A mix between candy-coated crackers and burnt flaky cake
Culinary sophistication only a 5-year-old should create.
And when is a cookie ever appropriate to plate?
Never seen a snickerdoodle on a $100 date.

And why are they so dry and bland?
Take a lesson from M&Ms,
Melt in my mouth, not corrode in my hand.
With every bite, coating my clothes like sugary sand
Doubling as exfoliate for dry flaky hands.

And if you're asking me,
I say there's something obscene
About a pastry making me feign for animal fat and liquid protein
Lady Fingers, Wafers, Biscotti and Tim Tams
Sounds like the names of washed out 80's bands.
Let's call them Blondie or Duran Duran
And hope they fade away and quickly disband

Kebbler Elf, keep your crap off my shelf,
Or I'll have your creamy center ripped out and splattered myself
Chips Ahoy,
Oh, boy...
Get your chocolate chips scattered by the clips from my semi-automatic "toy"
And Gingerbread Man?
You better run while you can
Cause you'll never escape my pistol-whipped backhand.

Get those crisp-ity, crumbly cardboard cookies out of my face.
(Unless they are white chocolate macadamia, I kinda like how they taste.)

Original, innocent photo found here.

I feel this song is appropriate. Have to thank my friend for reminding me how much I like it.

Pistol Grip Pump - Rage Against The Machine