I was reading a post by Karly over at Wiping up Snot – or maybe it was her guest post – anyhow, she said something about a fluffernutter sandwich – now I have heard this before – but really never knew what it was – so I confessed my ignorance to her and she wrote me back – actually making a derogatory comment about one of my favorite sandwiches – I think she said she thought she might hurl – I like Peanut Butter and Mayo (with lettuce when available). Apparently, for anyone else as ignorant as me (I think it might be geographic, but that is still somewhat unclear) – fluffernutter is peanut butter and marshmallow “fluff”. And in New England there is a brand of fluff called “fluff” that is the very best – if fluff is the same as the Kraft Marshmallow Cream that we use here for fudge – and by “we”, I mean those of us who refuse to stand over a pot of boiling sugar and butter with a thermometer rising up to the atmosphere of Hell and instead of timing the nasty goo religiously with a clock with a second hand – btw… I find it ironic that nearly everything that is a “holiday treat” requires you actually have a clock with a second hand – my children cannot read clocks with hands (well not easily or well) but they can time the hell outta pizzelles or fudge with the second hand, lol. I know that ‘candy’ making fudge people look down their noses at us marshmallow cream fudgers – but, my fudge is always the first one gone on a buffet so pfffffft!
Okay well anyhow, if “fluff” is the same as that nasty crap that I put in the fudge, I could just hurl – so I guess Karly and I are even in that regard. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to combine the joys of fresh bread and peanut butter with nasty nuclear waste sugar – and I suspect she thinks of mayo as greasy nastiness or something equally as unappetizing.
But this brings me to another thought – and then I signed into my blog and remembered that I wrote about puke yesterday – so this is like a segue between puke and um… puke.
I love to tell stories on my children, and occasionally strangers – geez I wish I had voice recognition typing in my car – I wrote the best post last week in the car about inconsiderate bitches and bastards that leave shopping carts all about the parking lot among other transgressions – of course I was driving so I was just “writing” out loud to myself, and it will never come out the same on “paper” as that original artwork! Anyhow, time for a story on me – I suppose it would work as a ‘dirtiest’ story – but what the hell, we’ll just stick it in as a Friday – don’t celebrate the weekend this way!
We were at the lodge – the one mentioned previously in fish gut stew post and again after that in the “I splashed the sheriff but I didn’t get the deputy” post. The kids were very small, in fact, even in my slightly drunken stupor – I remember being concerned about their safety while roasting marshmallows – and asked my much more sober husband to keep a very close eye on them – and to definitely not let them fling the flaming balls of sugary goo into the faces of all the drunks sitting around “supervising”. The other questionable decision I made was to actually consume the beautiful wonderful snacks that my darling babies had made “just for me” even though they contained one of the most hideous “food” products hidden away in the pantries of most Americans (I doubt that people in any other part of the world would even consider putting that crap in their mouth! – note to self google marshmallows in the rest of the world). And I didn’t just consume one or two ‘smores’ – NO, my babies loved me a lot that night, and they just kept making me samples of their sugary love – and the little turds wouldn’t even turn back to lighting sugar on a stick on fire one more time til I took a bite – so though I managed to ditch a few of them in the garbage, I pretty much was forced to consume them.
Well here is an interesting scientific fact – marshmallows and copious amounts of beer do not actually complement each other when combined gastronomically – and in fact, as we all know ‘fresh’ marshmallows (do they ever really get stale???) float when thrown in a lake (or cup of hot chocolate)… well that floating quality does not cease with partial digestion, and in fact flufferbeer puke floats well in the lake also. It does not however clean up very well off of carpet – and like the lake, it floats in the toilet, which by the way, will cause you to hurl again – because it’s oh so lovely to see your puke floating inches from your bloodshot eyeballs. This particular weekend, the hostess saw fit to give us the rooms on the third floor, so by the time we climbed up to the lodge from the beach and then up all those flights of stairs to the lovely little tiny 1930’s bathroom – I frankly thought I may die at the lodge – if not from the flufferbeer rock and roll party in my stomach, then surely from the embarrassment of vomiting all that loving gooiness right into the lake in front of my sweet babies.
So… while I have never really liked marshmallows anyhow, not even as a kid – I really only like them in fruit salad – the idea of a ‘fluffernutter’ sandwich could just be my next diet tool. I think I will find pictures of them and post it on my refrigerator. Maybe pictures of big fat nasty rude people who leave their shopping carts in the middle of the fucking aisle two spaces from the corral after they’ve bought a huge jar of ‘fluff’ and are headed home to binge themselves on the nasty goo.