Pancakes

Hmmmm… These are so…

When growing up I always wanted a baby brother or sister, I mean always. I knew that they didn’t come from the fabled stork or from the cabbage patch, that instead you pulled them up like turnips from the neighbor’s garden. I waited many years for my parents to go and up root me a little brother or sister, they finally did and now I’ve tried to put her back in that ground. Unfortunately for me, the neighbor saw that we got the rotten and spoiled turnip out of the garden so he packed up all of his belongings and hauled his family to South America… I think. So, with that said, I’m pretty much stuck with this rotten turnip that is my little sister, though I love her to death I’m seriously contemplating a life of eating only meat. Honestly though, I wouldn’t trade her for anything and though we fight like a turnip fights the cooking pot, we know that we love each other which is why this story happens.

Ah, I can remember this like it was yesterday, because after an experience like this, you don’t soon forget it. She was wanting to cook some pancakes, not sure why but she wanted to. I’m pretty sure that she was driving mama crazy to do this, as she so very often and quickly does, but that is beside the point. It is so besides the point that if I wrote about it in every story, ya’ll would be annoyed and taking Prozac, Zanax, and whatever other nerve medicine was out there like it was Skittles or a new type of cereal. Suffice it to say that it is a typical day in the Bennett hacienda, which is like French or German for home… I think? Passed the point though, so let me reverse my Rascal and cruise backwards, dang that beeping is on my last nerve; let me just turn around… ooops, got the cat… Muhahahahaha, having Chinese for supper tonight!

Ok, I’ve arrived back at the point and am ready. You’ve got Kelli is annoying the crap out of me… I mean mama to cook pancakes; so mama agrees. Meanwhile I’m back in my room plotting how to take over the world, as soon as I can figure out how to control Kelli and use her as my secret weapon against the most formidable foes known as the Zimmywigs. Oh and if you don’t know about Zimmywigs… let me just tell you, you don’t need to know; I’ll sacrifice for you and save you the horrible realization that we… are infested with them. I’m plotting, mama has to run to the restroom, personally I think she was running away from Kelli who is using the sharpest knife in the drawer to stir pancakes… remember I live with this everyday, so… yeah… I’m moving in with the Zimmywigs. Kelli is cackling like a witch stirring up her brew, mama is crying in the bathroom, I’m plotting, and Dipper… well, you guessed it he’s destroying something or sleeping as usual. With nothing else to her disposal to waste time, Mama returns to the kitchen where Kelli is mumbling to herself in some strange alien language and stabbing downwards into the bowl of pancake mix. Mama gently removes the knife from Kelli and hands her the mixer, much better than a sharp knife used to stab your brother with anyways. So they begin to mix in the other ingredients, mainly sugar.

“No mama! I’ve already put that in,” Kelli said with eagerness and full throated heartedness. Mama just look at her confused, mostly because Mama had to get it out of the cabinet and it hadn’t been opened yet. So, with confusion, fear, trepidation, and a whole heaping lot of worry she asks, “You did?” Kelli, with a murderous grin on her face, a sneer that would make Ted Bundy cower in fear, and a look in her eye that would make any insane person sane… nods. Did anyone else just “gulp” there, I can assure you that I was there and I just gulped myself.. in fact I’m still gulping and I wasn’t even in the same room when she did this. Poor Mama was in the room, no wonder she has to wear a wig and dye it now; but gotta love Mama anyways. So, Mama probably gulped, said a big prayer, breathed heavily, and asked again to make sure. Kelli glared at her with the laser beams of “don’t ever again” and Mama nodded. Kelli then pointed to the Morten’s Iodized Salt box. Why is it called a box when its more cylindrical?

Besides the point, I must go on no matter how much I am shuddering and crying in a fearful memory. “That is salt honey,” said Mama to which Kelli replied, “it looks the same and therefore it will taste the same.” Mama didn’t argue, perhaps because Kelli not only had that glare about her, but fire from her fingertips was starting to cook the batter, and the spatula in her hand looked an awfully like an axe ready to come down. Well, they go on to spray the pan and dip up the ladle full of mix onto the pan. The sizzling, the smell, the wonderful aroma of the cooking pancakes brought me running from my planning stage of destroying the Zimmywigs and their pitiful world. I can write that, because they can’t read English, not that I write perfect English anyways as my grades all through school can atest to. But, I slide into the kitchen, much like the runners slide into a base on the baseball field; I was totally safe. Though on hindsight, I wish I was out by a mile, like literally out of the door and a mile away from the torture I was fixing to endure. Just kidding Kelli, love you mean it, please no more of your special pancakes… I have to throw that in or else I get them for breakfast and even a sighted person can’t tell the difference. But anyways, I was safe at home, except not in the healthy sense of the word I was handed a hot pancake, keep in mind I have yet to mention a drink… it definitely comes in to play. I toss it from hand to hand, because the thing is hotter than the sun and burning my skin in 4th degree tendencies. Finally it cools and I slide it lovingly into my mouth, with Kelli and mama watching. I should have known something was up, because Dipper was doing his lazy dog laugh outside and in hindsight I think they gave him one first and now he knew what was about to happen. But then again, maybe he was drinking our well dry and still starving for more. I bite down and chew it up.

Gag! I mean I can’t write that enough, because I was choking as it burned my tongue, gave me 37.5 ulsers, and dried up my blood- true story! I was choking, I was dehydrating, I couldn’t breathe and was on the floor. I was praying to God to releive this and I immediately knew that not even the people starving out in the world would eat this; they’d say “Not a chance, we’ve heard about Kelli and her cooking.” I mean, I’ve never tasted anything this awful, except for maybe mixed vegetables at school, because those things have to be the absolute leftovers off of everyone’s plates from the year before after sitting in the trashcan for a year or two. Anyways, still no drink, no hint of drink, I was a blind man in the Sahara Desert and no oasis in sight, or in my case unsight. Stumbling around, Dipper was still laughing and even pets we didn’t have were laughing, I stumbled towards the sink. Wrong, it was the fridgerater, but I couldn’t open the door, it had been padlocked with a combination and a regular key lock, in each link. I slam my head into the door, fall back and head towards the sink, but only find a bottle of vegetable oil, but know better than to drink it, cause it’ll probably catch on fire, because my mouth is so dry from the salty cakes that any friction is likely to cause a fire. I spin around, no one has even asked me about my failing health, and I hit the door.

Oh, blessed releif as I stumble outside towards Dipper’s sanctuary, I still swear I can remember him saying, “She got you too?” I think I nodded, cause I couldn’t speak, and I trip over him, lazy dog laying in my way, and slam face first into his water bowl, that is full. Remember, he was drinking the well dry, anyways he speaks again. “Oh no you don’t! That’s my reserve!” So, the normally lazy dog, runs over and begins to viciously attack me, the person that fed and watered him all of those years and not to mention saved him from a Zimmywig infestation at his former house. Biting and snarling, growling and panting, kicking and clawing… I wrestle the water bowl away from him… and people say that dogs can fight… I could be UFC Heavyweight Champion and any other Champion if I ate a Kelli Special Cake and you promised me water if I kicked that other dude’s tail. Well, Depper went limping off, whining like the little baby that he is and I drank heavily of his water; turning it up and draining it before licking every water droplet from it. I could finally speak now and my first words were… “Water, I need water.” All I could think of was our well quitting at this point and me having to dig down to it with a shovel or my own bare hands. I drank down the first glass, the second glass, the third glass, then I was floating in myself as I reached number five hundred and sixty-seven and was somewhat satiated. “How was it,” Kelli asked. Me, knowing better than to say otherwise, said that they went well with the water. I’m bleeding all over the place and they finally asked about the fighting sounds from outside, did I have to break up a cat fight? “It was something like that, you know Dipper,” I answer. Then they go on to ask me if I wanted seconds, fortunately they believed me when I stated that I was full and had homework to do.