Cooking with Hunk and Pidge

With special guest: Haggar

 

 Pidge: Hello, welcome, and thank you for joining us for another installment of Culinary Entertaining with Pidge and Hunk. As you can see right now, Hunk is unable to be here with us due to illness.

 Haggar: With the way he cooks it is probably food poisoning!

. . . and this . . . creature (if you can call it that) to my right will be filling in for us. (unfortunately)

 That's the thanks I get for covering your rear while your co-host blows chunks?!
I'll have you know I would not have accepted this job had I not been promised a large and burly Scots man.  That's why I got so dressed up—but noooooo, I get stuck with this pickled shrimp . . .

Whoa . . . You got dressed up? . . . and who promised you a burly Scots man?

I don't remember which one of you Voltron twerps promised me . . . Wait it's that clumsy one . . . now what is his name? . . . Leroy? . . . no . . . Lenny? . . .

Lance.

Yes. Some geek name like that.

Memo to self: Never let Lance handle the guest booking . . .

Pidge shifts what little weight he has, turns away from Haggar, and reaches for the pitcher of water and glass placed under the faux kitchen counter.

I need a drink.

 I have stronger stuff over at my laboratory. Care for some?

The lone co-host pauses for a moment, looks over his shoulder, scrunches his eyes and shoulders in horror/disgusted, returns his attention to the empty glass, and shakes as he pour the water.

(grumbles to self) I thought there was a health code baring her from any kitchen.

 I heard that.

Meanwhile, on another part of Arus . . .

 Hunk: (yawn) I fweel horribthal.
Go away sun.

The sloth pulls his Voltron bed covers over his head. A still settles across the room and is ended by the sudden explosion of pillows and blankets.

The show!!!

Like a whale breaks the surface only to return so does Hunk unto his ocean of fluffiness to fall back in necessity.

I rweally shouldnth odth on Nighth Kwill.

Back to the show . . .

 As much as I would enjoy to watch you drown in you drink . . . we should get on to cooking. I do have MY cooking show to do after this one.
If you can call this one. (cackle)
My I am beginning to enjoy myself—Scots man or not!

(grrr)

Pidge would be angry had his energy not been directed to the words appearing on the bottom of the screen. Pidge reverts to his childish self as he tilts his head with a quizzical look at the screen.

Whatzthat?

 On figuring out what you just said—the judges' are still out. I am going to make a educated guess and deduce that you are referring to what is on screen. As to that, that is a recipe. You might want to try it sometime.

Hey! We use recipes!
(to self) So that is what they look like?

Back at the quarantine . . .

Through some force other than any offered by Ms. Nature herself, Hunk makes it to the television room, and plops his self in his lazy boy–of–justice. Complete with blazing remote control. Our sick hero (NOT THAT WAY!) flips through the channels until he reaches the station in which his show airs—stopping only once for that cheerful aerobic instructor on channel 12.

Coincidently, he lands on his show just as the camera gets a close–up of Haggar.

AHH!

Hey! I can talk normal again!

I can't believe it! Haggar scared the snott out of me—AHCHOO!! Nefer mindth.

(hey what is all those words doing on screen?)

Now back to our show . . .

 . . . It's one of my specialty sauces which I picked especially for that Scots man. Too bad it will get wasted on you.

That is it! I can't handle that . . . that . . .

Witch?

grrr.

Shall we continue?

grrr.

I'll take that as a yes.

As the two begin with their recipe, Pidge's abandoned half full water glass begins to vibrate. At first there are slight ripples that tickle the surface tension of the water. This ripples become more pronounced with each vibration. Soon the tremors become so violent some water is thrown from the glass. Haggar and Pidge stop abruptly from what they were doing because at this point their stools are beginning to wobble. Finally their stools topple over as the glass is knocked over.

Ach! Let's get this over with! I got to use the crapper. (spoken in worst Scottish accent every thought possible)

Pidge looks over from the kitchen counter to be greeted with an extremely large belly. At this point, his knees buckle and his body crumples like a wet tissue behind the counter.

Ach? What's his problem?

 Oh. Don't mind him. The chemicals in his hair styling products have finally leaked into his head.
. . .and who might you be?

Bastard. Fat Bastard.

My what a . . . unique name. Is it Drule?

Not often. Only for babies.

Riiiiight. Are you the Scots man?

Couldn't you tell with my kilt? Or would you like to take a peek what is under there?

Before Haggar could show her repulsion Pidge hops out from behind the counter and lands between Haggar and Fat Bastard.

Hey! Kids could be watching this!

 What? For punishment?

Pidge gives Haggar a sharp glance over his shoulder, but stops once he hears lips smacking coming from the direction of the strange guest.

Say . . . You would not happen to be (lick lips) a baby? Would you?

I don't like the sound of that . . . Haggar! You were telling the audience why you chose this recipe . . . mind continuing . . . please?

A wicked grin sprouts on Haggar's lips.

 Of course. The reason why I chose this sauce is because it goes great with baby back ribs.

Mmmm. I like Babies.

My! Look at the time! See.

Pidge point watch at camera and points to the number.

It just seems to fly away. I'm afraid we have to end it here.

 That is okay. My show is next. We can continue it there.

I would like that.

At this point, Pidge loses it and runs from stage screaming.

AHHHHH!!!!!

Come back baby. You need to get in my be–lly!

Haggar looks brightly at the camera—more so than was ever meant for any mortal more or less a witch. Pidge continues to run on and off stage. His screams serve as a warning to let Haggar know when to step aside.

You belong in my belly! I am bigger than you!!

The camera fades. Meanwhile. Back with Hunk . . .

(zzzz)

Looks like the drugs kicked in folks. Well looks like we'll have to wait until next time to see is Pidge gotten eaten or not.
Good night everyone!