Wednesday, December 21, 2005

dorna! makes nice and RSVPs

To the misguided soul who sent me an invite to her Christmas par-tay with the not so subtle suggestion that I schlep along with a tray of my patented Cardiac Arrest Lasagna, a re-mixed P. J. O'Rourke quote, by way of response:
After all, what is your host's purpose in having a party? Surely not for you to enjoy yourself; if that were their sole purpose, they'd have simply sent champagne vodka and women men over to your place by taxi.
I would however, like to take this opportunity to remind you that I have not as yet received your annual offering of fruit cake. I checked twice, yours is definitely not in the pile. Whassup wit dat, I ask you?

And no, you my peeps in northern climes, I eh talking 'bout that culinary atrocity; better used as bio-degradable(?) construction material whose R- factor I can only hazard a guess at; which you sadists Fed Ex to unsuspecting family members who don't make the "cool gift list" cut, troublesome business clients and ex-lovers. I get it - really. It's like the grown up version of Santa's coal, right? Cruel and unusual, people; cruel - and - unusual...

Rather, I'm talking about the dark moist boozy goodness that no Caribbean Christmas is complete without and which is guaranteed to yank even the most strong willed twelve-stepper off the wagon - The Black Cake. That explained, where my cake at woman?!

5 Ninjas, 1 Kitten and a Fifth of Vodka!