Napalm

Always wanting to know what it feels like to be Napalmed, I've just splashed boiling oil all over my lower abdomen (one of my most prized bodily assets). I was squeezing some typically American meat from its plastic tube into my skillet pan, when, with all the gusto of a caged sex-offender, it all came gushing at once. In line with the laws of displacement, the sudden release sent a solid spoonful of searing vegetable oil within five inches of the crown jewels. I think I may have taken this fetish of cooking naked to its outer reaches. I'll be buying myself stockings and a gimp mask next. Now I know why chefs wear those faggy aprons. Still, it's my birthday coming up, and if anyone would like to buy me one of those aprons with a cartoon image of a naked chick on the front I'd be much obliged. In the meantime, I'll keep applying the whetted cloth.