If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is the ingredients, and all that Betty Crocker kind of crap. But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s cookbooks. So I’ll just tell you what we ate last Christmas, me and D.B.: he’s my brother and all, got a Jaguar cost him damn near four thousand bucks. So we hit a turkey on the highway, stuffed it in the trunk and stuffed it again when we got home, with a loaf of Wonderbread soaked in a bottle of Overholt a John left in the Jaguar. Did I tell you D.B.‘s a prostitute? Works in Hollywood. Anyhow, stuff your turkey with the rye-soaked loaf, roast it for a couple of hours and just before serving, fill one of those fancy icing gun things with ketchup and squirt „Happy Holidays, Phoneys“ across the crispy skin.
Moray McGowan, a Hiberno-Scottish silverback, wrapped chocolate, delivered mail, dug trenches, picked fruit and baked boiler insulation, taught for forty years at universities in Germany, the UK and Ireland, and now shuffles between the marshlands of Somerset (UK) and the jungles of Berlin.