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Cooking with Hunk and Pidge

With special guest: Queen Merla


We find our heroes hustling about a stage slash kitchen in last minute preparation of their new show.  Both Hunk and Pidge are sitting in the middle surrounded by make-up artists and hair-stylists.  Hunk is bouncing his right leg.  As the camera gets closer, the group breaks up until it is just Hunk and Pidge.

 Hunk: Hello Everyone!

 Pidge: And welcome to the first Pidge and Hunk Cooking Show.  Where today—

Pidge is shushed by a friendly wave of Hunks hand, Hunk leans into Pidge vicinity and with a jolly chuckle respond to his friend’s mistake with kindness.

“No you must be mistaken little buddy.  It’s the first Cooking with Hunk and Pidge Show.  We decided on this along time ago."

“No.  No.  No.  You must be mistaken, (big guy).”  

Pidge playfully hits a slightly dazed and confused Hunk in the shoulder and continues.

“We decided that its was going to be called the Pidge and Hunk Cooking Show because it rolls off the tong better—and the catcher the name the more products will sell.”

Hunk regains his thought. “Who said that!?”

“Look around the whole marketing empire—”

“Not that!”  Hunk replaces a piece of hair that fell out of place and begins again only less aggressively.  “That the “Pidge and Hunk Cooking Show” sounds better?”

“. . . Lance.”

Hunk folds his hands together, and begins to nod.  “Lance?  Oh really.  Not just yesterday did he say that Cooking with Hunk and Pidge had more class.”

“He did, did he?”

A self-righteous Hunk nods positively.   “I think I had figured out where we went wrong.”

“What?”  He leans in closer into Hunk.

“We listened to Lance.”  Pidge pulls back and then joins Hunk in his nodding.   Hunk continues.  “I mean please, when did he become a marketing consultant.”

“Well he has more web sites than you big guy.”

Hunk’s brows wrinkle.  “That is because the camera always catches his better side.”

“Not quite.”  Pidge slugs Hunk in the shoulder and grins.  “Remember how many times we had to re-shoot the escape scene from Basilic six because ol’ butter-finger Lance kept dropping the keys down the heat vent.”

A stupid grin spreads across Hunks face like jam on a windshield.  “ . . . and then he mistakenly slammed the iron prison door on Keith’s finger.”

Both bend forward and grab onto their bellies as if to hold them in so not to explode from laughing so hard.  “Yeah the censor had a ball with that one!”

Pidge tries to stop laughing long enough to say his next comment.  “What really got me was what Keith did to Lance later on that night.”

“The floor-waxer has never been the same since!”  Both fall off their stools and disappear from camera sight for several minutes.  Loud boisterous laughter comes from their kitchen counter top.  Finally, a hand slaps on the counter top and both Pidge and Hunk pull themselves up.

“Speaking of floor-waxers.”  Both look at each other puzzled at Hunk’s comment.  “We have a show to do.”

“Right and here to help us is Queen Merla.”

Canned applause comes from stage right as Pidge and Hunk stare at a door located at upper stage left.  Nothing happens.

“We did mention this was our first show . . . right?”

“Right.  And it is a good thing that we have some help from MERLA.”

Once again there is an uncomfortable pause.  Which is followed by a flustered Merla entering the kitchen.  Merla leans on the counter top, which once served as Hunk and Pidge’s asylum, for support.

 Merla:  Sorry (huff puff) I’m late. (whoo)

(Where were you?)

Merla straightens her business dress coat and brushes off her slacks.  “Somebody gave me the wrong directions.  I asked were the cooking show was and I got directions to Haggar’s Cooking Show.  I think it was called Witch’s Brew.”


Hunk waves his friend silent once again and tries to gain control over the show.  “Wait.  Wait.  What did the guy who gave you the directions look like?”  Pidge continues to mumble behind Hunk’s back.  (Why that copycat.  Had to stick her warty nose in our business.)

 “Actually her show has been out longer than yours . . . like a year now.  Anyway, come to think of it, he looked a lot like your friend Lance.  I did not recognize him at first because of the uniform he was wearing.”

Pidge stops his grumbling long enough to respond to the accusation.  “Lance was wearing a uniform?”

 “Yes and he was loading a large package said it was for some other show.”

“Aha!  It can’t be Lance because he will never do ANY physical labor that will not lead to his benefit . . . Speaking of benefits.”  Pidge leans over the counter top like a vulture in Merla’s direction.  “What kind of benefits do you get from working with Doom?”

 “I do not know what you mean.  I was never ever really involved with Doom.”

“Come on now, it has been all over that you were . . . involved with a certain person on Doom.”

Merla looks away her eyes shut and her brows turn in.

 “It has been a long time since I have visited that place . . . all that is behind me.  Now I have become empowered womyn and live a vagan life style as I continue on my quest for inner purity.”

An elfish grin sprouts on Pidge’s face as he leans in closer.

“Do you suppose this 180 degree turn in your life may have something to do with the breaking-up with this certain person?”

Merla’s head snaps into Pidge’s direction and she smirks.

 “I suppose some of your styling moose must be leaking into your head.”

Pidge’s mouth drops.  “Don’t take you aggressions out on me!  It is not my fault he dumped you!”

The room is filled with the stamp of Merla’s high heel to the tile floor.  Nostrils flaring, shoulders jaunt, and brows furrowed Merla defends her honor.

 “He didn’t dump me, we left on neutral terms!”

Pidge climbs onto the counter top—Hunk tries to grab him but Pidge scampers over to Merla, his face apple red with a smile that could split his head in half.

“So you admit being involved with Cossack!!!”


“Cossack?”  Hunk shakes his head to knock the nasty thought out.  “COOKING . . . Cooking . . . time to start.”  He blurts out and grabs the other two’s attention.

Merla and Pidge stare blankly at Hunk as if he just pointed out Elvis.

“Pidge?  What is our first Recipe?”

“Let’s look in the box and see.”  Pidge walks over to the huge box and hesitates long enough to glance over at Merla before opening it.  Merla smiles devilishly back at Pidge; she recognizes the box from earlier.

“Well let’s see.”  Pidge pulls a card from the crate, reads it, and smiles impishly.  “Broiled Wilder Beast.”

Merla gasps in horror.  She was prepared for something but not this.  How dare the brutes.  She turns her head away form them, she would not let them have the pleasure of seeing her.  After cooling herself she looks over her shoulder at them with a sub-Kelvin glare.

Hunk runs over to Pidge and frantically starts fumbling with the cards.  “Here!  Here!  Pick another one!”  He shovels an armful to Pidge who had yet to look away from Merla.

“Here is another one . . . Cajuns Carnage.”

Her glower sharpens; Hunk does not need to look at her to notice it.  He dives into the crate and starts tarring through cards reading off names.  “Mad Cow Massacre—Blazing Sword . . . Fish—”

Cards fly all over the kitchen/stage.  Merla calmly picks-up a card that fell at her feet.

 “How about this one.”  She smirks to herself.  “Roast Pigs.”

“Uh . . . we don't have any pigs.”

 “I know where we can find some!”  Merla rips off her business attire and reveals her old warrior armor.  Pidge squeals as he runs off stage.

Hunk goes to help Pidge but stops abruptly and looks at the camera.  “Look at the time!  Catch our next show in which are special guest will be Sven.”  Hunk turns around and chases after Merla.

Let Merla take you back to the comic page. Boo! I scared you didn't I?