Cid's Culinary Adventures
Cid surveyed the kitchen with more than a little distaste. Since Shera was away 'shopping', it looked like he was going to have to make his own lunch. He twitched. The kitchen setup was simple: counters, a fridge, and a stove.
"Nothin' to worry about. Just make myself lunch. Easier than killin' off a Zolom. Heh heh." Cid then remembered the large portion of his arm the Zolom had chewed off in their last battle. "@&$*. Damn Zolom." He glared at the stove. "QUIT MOCKING ME, DAMNIT!!!!"
The stove was silent.
Cid swore again, and warily turned the oven. The contraption hummed, then began to heat up. Cid wiped his hands on his trousers. "There," he said. "That wasn't too hard." Glaring at the oven one last time, Cid walked over to the fridge and opened it.
The pilot was dismayed by what he saw. "What the $#&% is all this @&$* for?" He growled, picking up a can of soda. "How the hell am I supposed to drink this @&$*? It's not tea!" Putting down the offending can of pop, Cid continued to root through the fridge until he found something that interested him.
"Chicken balls! Now why the hell didn't I think of that before? How hard can it be to make chicken balls?" Pulling the box out of the fridge, stood up straight, promptly banging his head on the open freezer door.
"$&@*!!! Damn freezer! Why I otta tear your %*#&^*%# door off it's &%#@*#% hinges! $%^@!!!!!" Cid continued to curse as he unpacked the chicken balls, gesturing wildly and employing the use of words so foul that they are not yet known to mankind and cannot be replaced with %#$%'s.
He had barely loaded his chicken balls onto a heavy steel tray, when the over timer went off.
"Hold yer @#% damn chocobos!!!" Cid yelled, struggling to carry the tray over to the oven without dropping any of his precious chicken balls. But before he could manage to slip his food into the oven, the ever- burning cigarette burnt out.
Cid swore sulfurously as he pondered what to do next. He could put the tray down on the counter, but that was covered by the rejected food he had thrown out as he had searched the fridge for a meal. Seeing no other option, he balanced the tray on one hand while he tried to light up a new cigarette with his free one.
As he struggled to light a match on the zipper of his jacket, the oven started to beep again. Cid managed to light his match.
"@^%&$%* oven!" Cid swore and managed, as burdened as he was, to kick the oven door. The oven, having had enough physical and verbal abuse, dropped open.
"Finally," Cid muttered, balancing precariously on one foot, "You did something right." Standing on two feet again, he slipped the tray of chicken balls in.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Cid set about making the one thing he actually knew how to make- tea.
Three cups of tea and one ciggie later, Cid judged that the chicken balls were done. But as he started to open the door, the oven started to spark angrily.
Cid jumped back. "Now that's too damn much! Now listen here oven! I don't like you, and you sure as hell don't like me. Up until now that's been fine. But now you've got my chicken balls. So I'll make you a deal: I won't hit you or swear at you, and you'll let me get my chicken balls. Deal?"
The oven stopped sparking and opened its door.
"That's better." Cid started to pull out his tray. He chuckled. "Gullible little bastard now, aren't you?"
The hot oven door quite mysteriously shut on Cid's forearms.
When Shera came home that night she had quite a bit on her mind. The rest of the gang was supposed to be coming over that night for dinner, and even though Tifa had agreed to help with the drinks, she still had a lot to do. Cloud wanted barbeque, Berret wanted roasted ShinRa executive, Red XII and Vincent (more specifically Chaos) wanted raw meat, Yuffie liked sugar, Tifa didn't care, and Cait Sith would only eat fried pillow stuffing. She winced. "I hope Cid has the oven warmed up for me."
Not exactly. When Shera opened the door, it was all she could do to keep herself from fainting. The oven was on, certainly. An unhealthy portion of it actually seemed to be on fire. Sticking out of it from all angles was almost every spear Cid had ever owned, excluding the mop. The room smelt faintly of lightning, and wisps of an ultima spell were still drifting around the room. Cid himself stood on the other side of the room, halfway through summoning some monster or another.
"Cid! What the hell are you-" Shera was forced to dodge out of the way as Odin went hurtling past. "Cid! What are you doing!"
Realizing someone was there, Cid dropped his Venus Gospel and hid his hands behind his back. "Nothing!"
Shera was about to discover the maximum extent of her vocal cords, when someone knocked on the door. Cid paled and began a fresh spout of profanity. Shera could feel her left eye start to twitch. Wordlessly she opened the door.
Cait Sith was the first one to try to get through. This didn't work too well, since he was so fat that he immediately became stuck. "Erm, a little help here?"
There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like Berret's enemy launcher, and Cait popped through. The rest of the group trooped in. The room was silent, save Cid and his verbal diarrhea.
Finally someone spoke. "You fought your own war and didn't invite us? That's horribly impolite," Red commented dryly.
"What the hell happened in here?" Cloud asked, pulling a scimitar out of the oven's glass door.
"I think we'd all like to know that, " Shera's eye was twitching worse than ever.
"It's not my *&%$& fault! It's that %^$^%#& oven!" He pointed with one bandaged arm at the destroyed contraption.
At the sight of the pilot's bandaged arm, the entire group dissolved into helpless fits of laughter.
"How the hell did you manage that, old man?" Yuffie whooped.
Cid gritted his teeth. If he was ever going to get his dignity back, he was going to have to make this good.
"It's not funny! Shut the hell up!" He took a breath. /Here goes/
"Well, it was lunch an' I was so @%@%'n hungry that it wasn't @^@$% funny! So I go all the way across the #&$&#%^&%$ kitchen to the @$# damn fridge, and whaddya think I find? @^#^!^ junk! So I have to take all the @^@%& ^$&$# out of the fridge and pile it all on the @%$&@ counter, just to find some @#^@$% decent food! So I find some ^%^#@%^& chicken balls, and do you have any %@&^@^$ idea how heavy those things are? They're like miniature boulders or something! So I get them loaded on a @^@&^& tray, then I have to wait for the @^@$#%&^ oven to heat up. Do you have any @%&#& idea how long that takes? It's like three times as long as Sephiroth's #^@$ Super Nova summon! So it finally heats up, and I have to carry the @#^@$ tray all the @#^@ way over to the @^@%&# oven! So I'm almost there, and #%&#, you know what? My @#^@$& cigarette goes out! So I have to light another ^@%^@ ciggie, balance the @$&#$ chicken balls, and open the @$&@&@% oven door! So I get that done, and then I have to wait for the $^#&@ things to cook! So they finally cook, and I have to go all the way back across the @$%^ kitchen to the oven! So I get that open, and I'm pulling the @^%@ tray out, and what does the @^@$^@$% @$%^@%^ oven do? I closes on my @^@$^@$ arm!!!! Now if you don't *@%^ mind, I'm going to bed!"
And so he did go to bed, leaving everybody to puzzle over the meaning of @^@$^@$% @$%^@%^.
Cid surveyed the kitchen with more than a little distaste. Since Shera was away 'shopping', it looked like he was going to have to make his own lunch. He twitched. The kitchen setup was simple: counters, a fridge, and a stove.
"Nothin' to worry about. Just make myself lunch. Easier than killin' off a Zolom. Heh heh." Cid then remembered the large portion of his arm the Zolom had chewed off in their last battle. "@&$*. Damn Zolom." He glared at the stove. "QUIT MOCKING ME, DAMNIT!!!!"
The stove was silent.
Cid swore again, and warily turned the oven. The contraption hummed, then began to heat up. Cid wiped his hands on his trousers. "There," he said. "That wasn't too hard." Glaring at the oven one last time, Cid walked over to the fridge and opened it.
The pilot was dismayed by what he saw. "What the $#&% is all this @&$* for?" He growled, picking up a can of soda. "How the hell am I supposed to drink this @&$*? It's not tea!" Putting down the offending can of pop, Cid continued to root through the fridge until he found something that interested him.
"Chicken balls! Now why the hell didn't I think of that before? How hard can it be to make chicken balls?" Pulling the box out of the fridge, stood up straight, promptly banging his head on the open freezer door.
"$&@*!!! Damn freezer! Why I otta tear your %*#&^*%# door off it's &%#@*#% hinges! $%^@!!!!!" Cid continued to curse as he unpacked the chicken balls, gesturing wildly and employing the use of words so foul that they are not yet known to mankind and cannot be replaced with %#$%'s.
He had barely loaded his chicken balls onto a heavy steel tray, when the over timer went off.
"Hold yer @#% damn chocobos!!!" Cid yelled, struggling to carry the tray over to the oven without dropping any of his precious chicken balls. But before he could manage to slip his food into the oven, the ever- burning cigarette burnt out.
Cid swore sulfurously as he pondered what to do next. He could put the tray down on the counter, but that was covered by the rejected food he had thrown out as he had searched the fridge for a meal. Seeing no other option, he balanced the tray on one hand while he tried to light up a new cigarette with his free one.
As he struggled to light a match on the zipper of his jacket, the oven started to beep again. Cid managed to light his match.
"@^%&$%* oven!" Cid swore and managed, as burdened as he was, to kick the oven door. The oven, having had enough physical and verbal abuse, dropped open.
"Finally," Cid muttered, balancing precariously on one foot, "You did something right." Standing on two feet again, he slipped the tray of chicken balls in.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Cid set about making the one thing he actually knew how to make- tea.
Three cups of tea and one ciggie later, Cid judged that the chicken balls were done. But as he started to open the door, the oven started to spark angrily.
Cid jumped back. "Now that's too damn much! Now listen here oven! I don't like you, and you sure as hell don't like me. Up until now that's been fine. But now you've got my chicken balls. So I'll make you a deal: I won't hit you or swear at you, and you'll let me get my chicken balls. Deal?"
The oven stopped sparking and opened its door.
"That's better." Cid started to pull out his tray. He chuckled. "Gullible little bastard now, aren't you?"
The hot oven door quite mysteriously shut on Cid's forearms.
When Shera came home that night she had quite a bit on her mind. The rest of the gang was supposed to be coming over that night for dinner, and even though Tifa had agreed to help with the drinks, she still had a lot to do. Cloud wanted barbeque, Berret wanted roasted ShinRa executive, Red XII and Vincent (more specifically Chaos) wanted raw meat, Yuffie liked sugar, Tifa didn't care, and Cait Sith would only eat fried pillow stuffing. She winced. "I hope Cid has the oven warmed up for me."
Not exactly. When Shera opened the door, it was all she could do to keep herself from fainting. The oven was on, certainly. An unhealthy portion of it actually seemed to be on fire. Sticking out of it from all angles was almost every spear Cid had ever owned, excluding the mop. The room smelt faintly of lightning, and wisps of an ultima spell were still drifting around the room. Cid himself stood on the other side of the room, halfway through summoning some monster or another.
"Cid! What the hell are you-" Shera was forced to dodge out of the way as Odin went hurtling past. "Cid! What are you doing!"
Realizing someone was there, Cid dropped his Venus Gospel and hid his hands behind his back. "Nothing!"
Shera was about to discover the maximum extent of her vocal cords, when someone knocked on the door. Cid paled and began a fresh spout of profanity. Shera could feel her left eye start to twitch. Wordlessly she opened the door.
Cait Sith was the first one to try to get through. This didn't work too well, since he was so fat that he immediately became stuck. "Erm, a little help here?"
There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like Berret's enemy launcher, and Cait popped through. The rest of the group trooped in. The room was silent, save Cid and his verbal diarrhea.
Finally someone spoke. "You fought your own war and didn't invite us? That's horribly impolite," Red commented dryly.
"What the hell happened in here?" Cloud asked, pulling a scimitar out of the oven's glass door.
"I think we'd all like to know that, " Shera's eye was twitching worse than ever.
"It's not my *&%$& fault! It's that %^$^%#& oven!" He pointed with one bandaged arm at the destroyed contraption.
At the sight of the pilot's bandaged arm, the entire group dissolved into helpless fits of laughter.
"How the hell did you manage that, old man?" Yuffie whooped.
Cid gritted his teeth. If he was ever going to get his dignity back, he was going to have to make this good.
"It's not funny! Shut the hell up!" He took a breath. /Here goes/
"Well, it was lunch an' I was so @%@%'n hungry that it wasn't @^@$% funny! So I go all the way across the #&$&#%^&%$ kitchen to the @$# damn fridge, and whaddya think I find? @^#^!^ junk! So I have to take all the @^@%& ^$&$# out of the fridge and pile it all on the @%$&@ counter, just to find some @#^@$% decent food! So I find some ^%^#@%^& chicken balls, and do you have any %@&^@^$ idea how heavy those things are? They're like miniature boulders or something! So I get them loaded on a @^@&^& tray, then I have to wait for the @^@$#%&^ oven to heat up. Do you have any @%&#& idea how long that takes? It's like three times as long as Sephiroth's #^@$ Super Nova summon! So it finally heats up, and I have to carry the @#^@$ tray all the @#^@ way over to the @^@%&# oven! So I'm almost there, and #%&#, you know what? My @#^@$& cigarette goes out! So I have to light another ^@%^@ ciggie, balance the @$&#$ chicken balls, and open the @$&@&@% oven door! So I get that done, and then I have to wait for the $^#&@ things to cook! So they finally cook, and I have to go all the way back across the @$%^ kitchen to the oven! So I get that open, and I'm pulling the @^%@ tray out, and what does the @^@$^@$% @$%^@%^ oven do? I closes on my @^@$^@$ arm!!!! Now if you don't *@%^ mind, I'm going to bed!"
And so he did go to bed, leaving everybody to puzzle over the meaning of @^@$^@$% @$%^@%^.