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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Miss All That (MAT) came in all prissy; serious cooks laughed a scoff. Dare this woman think she’d make the finals in the ultimate cook off? Something wrong with her we decided; her waist was too thin for sure. We are serious chefs, burly with shaved heads who create chili pure. Slimy's secret ingredient gives you flatulence and burps galore. Many cream their britches before they reach the bathroom door. Believe it or not, more people ate his chili than the chili of others. He has thousands of relatives, I think fourteen younger brothers. What do you call that crap? Asked a newcomer named Surly Sue. We did not warn her in time, and she was now headed toward the loo. Slimy slipped his secret ingredient into the donut she had been eating. She did not make it for customers were taking up all the toilet seating. Mother Russia in the form of Rotund Roth began his concoction. Kremlin always bought his chili to make money at their biggest auction. You sign up to stand in the bread lines waiting for two slivers of toast. Best quality is chili's persuasive ability to bend wills of man and ghost. I pulled out all the stops this year, introducing the Super Power Slide. Gives you a kick in the salivating glands that makes you want to hide. You turn invisible so no one can see your flatulence propelling you. Around the room twice, before letting you fly out the window too. Miss All That asked about six thousand questions to every single cook. I wanted to say "Here lady" and hand her my dilapidated cook book. But instead, I fell into niceness mode and helped her like the others. Her chili was named the best; for she slept with all of Slimy's brothers.
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