Archive for the ‘Philadelphia Flyers’ Category

— For a variety of uninteresting reasons, Pookie arrived at work this morning with about 20 minutes to spare and a hankering to find videos about Beaks on YouTube. She found this:

When she sent the link to Schnookie this exchange ensued:

Pookie: I found a HILARIOUS video of Beaks and CoreyPerry CoreyPerry. Fighting in Juniors. At the end of a playoff game.
Schnookie: Oh my god.
Pookie: I was laughing out loud in my car. It was Muppet Baby Douchebags.
Schnookie: I’m honestly not sure who I’d think wins that. Of course, we’re ALL winners here.
Pookie: It was like what I imagine baby peacocks would be like if they were chimpanzees learning life skills by copying their parents.
Schnookie: (After watching the video) Oh my god. That’s a beauty. I love Beaks tossing his head. Like, I’m sure he thought, a wild stallion. He looked like Beaks of Chincoteague there. A little wild pony.

— For a variety of uninteresting reasons we ended up discussing Principal Skinner and Superintendent Chalmers during dinner tonight, which, of course, spiraled into an exchange of Simpsons quotes. When Schnookie pulled out the “how will anyone know it’s a Honda without the H?” scene, Pookie suddenly declared that Looch had eaten the H off all the Hondas he’s ever seen. Schnookie agreed, because Looch just loves to eat the letter H. Pookie then remarked, “That’s why that Bruins/Habs game was such a melee. Looch just sees all those little H’s on the sweaters…”

— Boomer made us all laugh really hard after dinner when she tried to read aloud the blurb about Nora Roberts’s upcoming release, Catching Fire, a romance novel about smokejumpers. Boomer launched into the first sentence of the blurb, “There’s little as thrilling as firefighting…” but said instead, “There’s little as thrilling as firefarting.” We still haven’t stopped shrieking with laughter. Being a grownup is grand.

— We got a crazy new fisheye lens for our camera today. VE Mats loves it.

Fisheye VE Mats

So does Rollie.

Fisheye Rollie


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Dear Flyers,

You’re probably all really busy getting ready for this afternoon’s big win-and-you’re-in game, but we’d like to bug you for just one quick second. See, we have a problem. The Rangers have stolen all our marbles. What do we mean? Well, you know that foxy blogger up in Buffalo, Katebits? She once explained to us that sometimes you lose your marbles, but sometimes you let yourself give your marbles away. We know we’ve been guilty of that ourselves, like when we throw our marbles at the television set every time the Devils go on the power play, but this is different. The Rangers forcibly stole our marbles years ago.

April 9 2010

Our precious, precious marbles.

We know at this point the Devils can’t play the Rangers in the first round and that helps a lot. But it would help a lot more if we knew they can’t play anyone in the first round. No one wins if the Rangers make the post-season. No one. Trust us. So that brings us to today. You’re our only hope. We’re counting on you to get some of our marbles back. Think of it like a big game of high-stakes Capture the Flag. That’s fun, right? Gagne, you can use your speed to dart behind the enemy lines to snag the marbles, while Beaks, you can use your wily ways to be a decoy, pretending you have the marbles, while Farts, you can use your good looks to distract the marble guards. Pronger, Carle, and Boucher? You guys, uh, just arrange the Gatorade and orange slices, m’kay? Just… don’t go on the playing field. Everyone else? Play the Capture the Marbles game of your life!

You’re our only hope.

Hugs and kisses,
The Ookies

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So the Devils have clinched their 13th-straight playoff berth. All that remains between now and the first round loss start of the playoffs is convincing Kovalchuk he should sign a Hossa-esque 1-year deal with the Devs, convincing Paulie his arm really is bionic and his shot is now unstoppable, and convincing Zharkov the Candygram is not an urban myth. Join us as we watch all these things happen and more in tonight’s match-up with the Flyers!

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Join us for a Saturday night open thread as the Devils and Flyers do battle. We’d say they’re going to engage in battle royal, but according to Wikipedia, that requires 3 or more parties, and frankly, we’re on vacation, so we’ll take a rain check.

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That the Devils are fifth overall? That they’re only two points behind the Penguins?! That they’re 8-2-0 in their last ten games?!? That they’re four points behind the league leaders with two or three fewer games played?!?! Wowza! The things you learn when you bother to check the standings before mid-March!

Other things that stood out as we marveled at the after-one-month standings:

— The Sharks have as many points as the Avs, but don’t seem to get any press for it. Must be everyone’s finally really learned their lesson when it comes to SJ.

— Schnookie’s been saying all along that the Rangers were going to do their usual coming out of the gate strong only to tail off starting in November. She’s a genius, that one.

— There are two teams that have identical records. One team’s coach is on the perpetual hot seat. The other is being lauded as a rejuvenated genius. Who are the teams? Why, the Flyers and the Sabres, of course. (Obviously, the situations and expectations of the two teams are wildly different, but it’s still noteworthy to us because everything we’ve heard around the water cooler [and by “heard around the water cooler” we mean “read on Puck Daddy”] suggested to us that the Sabres were tearing it up while the Flyers were having a disastrously slow start.)

— The Hurricanes are worse than the Leafs. Good thing we didn’t go on record picking the Canes for the Presidents Trophy.

— We did go on record picking the now-24th-overall Ducks. Are we chagrined? Hell no! Instead, we’re looking forward to the wild second-half that’s going to catapult Getzi and his compatriots to the top.

Yes, yes, Gentle Reader, we know. Looking at the standings this early is a foolish exercise, but… watch out for those Ducks.

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There are a lot of questions surrounding the Devils these days, but none more pressing than “how is it that a team of professionals can be this confused about how to play hockey?” Gentle Reader, it won’t surprise you that we, being the intrepid reporters we are, have gotten to the bottom of this story and discovered the reason the Devils are so fucking fucked up right now. It starts, as all things do this season for us, with the Flyers. Bear with us, Gentle Reader — this is going somewhere.

Apparently Flyers head coach John Stevens is somewhat renowned for his creative, unorthodox, and totally cheesy approach to instructing and motivating his hockey charges. And at least once (possibly twice — it was hard to say based on the article we found this in) he has employed this amazingly brilliant team-building tactic with professional hockey players:

Stevens held a team meeting at his Washington Township, N.J., home and instructed each player to bring an ingredient. Eggs, flour, sugar, frosting – they were going to bake a team cake.

The idea, as Stevens said the other day, “is that all the ingredients by themselves aren’t that appealing. But when you mix them with some fire you come up with a better product in the end. That’s kind of who you are.”
(Philadelphia Daily News – Thursday, May 8, 2008)

How awesome is that? We can just see how that would play out… The big guys would be there with their cool-kid ingredients, Richards with the flour, Carter with the sugar, Hartnell with the eggs — no, that’s a disaster waiting to happen… Hartnell with the butter, Knuble with the eggs, Biron with the vanilla, Lupul with the baking soda, Coburn with the salt, and so on and so on. Each guy would solemnly add his unappealing-on-its-own ingredient, contributing to the once-it-gets-mixed-with-fire-it’s-delicious dessert treat, and then, when it’s all done, Riley Cote would be like, “Cool cake, Coach! This was a really great team exercise. But, um… when do I get to put in my ingredient? You told me to bring raisins.” And Coach Stevens would say, “Well, Riley, that’s an important part of this exercise, to show that some unappealing ingredients don’t belong in a cake.” And Cote would be like, “Uhhh… Are you trying to tell me something?” And then Danny Carcillo would pipe up, “I brought what you told me to bring and we haven’t used it yet, either. It’s, um,” and then he’d read the label from the bottle he’s holding, “T-U-R-P-E-N-T-I-N-E. When do we add that?” And Stevens would sigh, “That’s to teach us all that some unappealing things aren’t ingredients at all.” And Carcillo would be like, “*Crickets chirping*”. It would rock.

We have NO DOUBT that the Devils have decided to take a crack at the “Let’s Bake A Cake Together” trick themselves recently, perhaps a “Let’s Bake A Cake Together To Celebrate Marty’s 552nd Win” exercise, even. Clearly Sutter has decided he can’t trust his veteran players to be able to do their jobs with pride and self-respect, and instead has to resort to the creative, unorthodox, and totally cheesy. In any event, this is the cake they made.


For those of you who are at work and can’t watch videos or something, here’s what the recipe the Devils are working from is all about.

1 (10 to 12-ounce) purchased angel food cake
1 container (16 ounce) vanilla frosting
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 (21-ounce) container apple filling or topping
1 (1.7-ounce) package corn nuts
1/2 cup pumpkin seeds, toasted
1/2 cup popped popcorn

Special Equipment: Kwanzaa candles

Using a serrated knife, cut cake horizontally into 2 layers. Place bottom cake layer, cut side up, on a serving platter. Mix frosting, cocoa powder, vanilla, and cinnamon in large bowl until combined. Spread about 1/4 of the frosting over top of cake layer on platter. Top with second cake layer, cut side down. Spread remaining frosting evenly over top and sides of cake to coat completely. Spoon apple pie filling into hole in center of cake. Place candles atop cake. Sprinkle top of cake with some corn nuts, pumpkin seeds, and popcorn. Sprinkle remaining corn nuts and pumpkin seeds around base of cake.

Zach and Travis are tasked to bring several angel food cakes, so there would be enough finished product to go around. Patty, Paulie and Langer draw frosting. Madden, Greene and Rolston are assigned to bring the cocoa powder. Sutter tells Whitey and Iron Boar to bring vanilla. Rupp and Oduya are told to bring the cinnamon. Zubrus, Gio and Holik are instructed to get the pie filling. Havelid and Shanahan are assigned corn nuts. Mottau and Clarkson draw pumpkin seeds. Marty and Weeks are told to bring the popcorn. And Pando is assigned to bring the turpentine.

Everyone assembles at the set time in Coach Sutter’s kitchen for the big baking exercise. The first thing everyone notices is that this recipe is chock-a-block with unappealing ingredients, but since no one was told to bring candles, it is very short on fire. Sutter agrees that when the cake is assembled, they’ll grill it. Because as Coach Stevens would say, that’s kind of who the Devils are. Then they set to making the cake. Zach has brought his share of ingredient, because he’s nothing if not dutiful, but Travis, when called upon, has to admit he didn’t bring any cake.

“I watched the video, Coach,” he explains, “That lady didn’t use corn nuts. She said she was using acorns. I made sure we had acorns.”

Sutter tries to keep his temper in check, because this is a nurturing learning exercise and all. “That’s nice, Travis,” he says slowly, “But we already have nuts. Corn nuts. Havelid and Shanny brought them.”

Havelid squirms uncomfortably in the back of the room.

“You brought corn nuts, right Havelid?” Sutter tries not to snarl.

Havelid grimaces, showing his missing teeth (on the top and bottom), then sort of dumbly looks around at everyone else. “I didn’t get them.”

Sutter: “Why not?”

Havelid: “I dunno. I just didn’t.”

Sutter groans inwardly, then asks, “So who was it again who was supposed to bring corn nuts if not Havelid?”

Zach pipes up eagerly, “Shanny! Shanny brought them!” Pause. “Where’s Shanny?”

Sutter sighs, “I gave him a maintenance day today.”

The other guys all start grumbling jealously, except Travis, who happily exclaims, “Good thing I brought the acorns then, you know…”

Sutter looks impatiently at his wristwatch. “Fine. Fuck it. We’ve got one cake and no corn nuts. Whatever. Next step. Frosting. You sad fucks brought icing, right?”

Patty steps forward and proudly hands Sutter a can of frosting. “You bet I did. It’s Funfetti! Super-colorful!”

Zach pipes up urgently, “NO! Coach, the recipe says vanilla frosting! We can’t use Funfetti!”

Glaring at the ceiling, Sutter reluctantly agrees. “Funfetti’s going to make our cake look like ass, Elias. Can’t you follow the simplest of instructions? Fuuuck. Who else brought icing?”

This draws an angrily furrowed brow from Langer, who steps forward and growls, “I did, Coach. And as captain, I am going to step up now and get the job done.” He then pulls a can of vanilla frosting from the grocery bag he’s holding, makes to toss it across the kitchen to his waiting coach, winds up, and throws the can ten feet wide, right out the window and into an open dumpster outside. A long, awkward silence follows, which is finally broken by Langer mumbling, “I’m working hard enough. I mean, I’m doing what I’m supposed to out here…”

Sutter: “Good thing Paulie also brought frosting.”

Paulie looks up from the can he’s been intently digging in for the last half hour. “Yup. It was delicious.”

Sutter: “Pando, go outside and get Langer’s can out of the dumpster.”

Pando grudgingly does as he’s told, but the guys nearest the open window can hear him grumbling the whole time.

“Okay,” Sutter says through clenched teeth, “This is going great. What a fun team-bonding experience we’re having here, right? What’s next?”

Zach chirps, “Cocoa powder, Coach!”

Sutter: “Right. Fucking cocoa powder. Tell me we have fucking cocoa powder here. Greene, I figure you fucked this up somehow, but Madden and Rolston, you guys are vets. I can trust you to do this, right?”

Greene, Rolston and Madden all stand mutely in front of their coach. Very slowly, Greene lifts an extended index finger to silently point to Rolston, who meekly points his own finger at Madden, while Madden is quietly pointing back at Greene.

If you listen very closely, you can hear the clot that Sutter is about to throw. But he manages to maintain a stoic facade as he snarls, “Fine. Fuck that. I hate chocolate anyway. Cinnamon then. Please tell me we have cinnamon.”

Rupp steps forward enthusiastically, “Of course I brought cinnamon! You tell me what to do, Coach, and I do it. I, um, didn’t have a lot in my house, but I brought what I could.”

Oduya beams as he produces from his pocket a little spice jar as well. “I brought all of my cinnamon, too.”

Zach leaps up and snatches the jars from both guys, and eagerly measures it out. “Uh oh, Coach,” he quavers, then whispers tearfully, “Neither one of them brought enough. We only have 1/4 teaspoon here and we need a full teaspoon!”

Sutter slumps onto a chair and runs his hands through what little hair he’s got left. “Well that’s just tickety-boo. Who wanted this to be cinnamony anyway? We’ve got vanilla to make up for that.” Without looking up, he waves one hand defeatedly, “Whitey, Sal, give Zach the vanilla.”

The Iron Boar looks sheepish. “I, um, don’t have it,” he says softly.

Sutter is just silent.

Iron Boar continues sadly, “I was on the PK, and everything was going fine, and then all of a sudden… I was just throwing the vanilla over the glass. I couldn’t help myself. I just love throwing things over the glass.” Pause. “Sorry.”

Whitey rolls his eyes and hands over a tiny bottle to Zach. “I brought mine,” he rasps.

Zach looks at the label at the bottle, then his gaze, wide-eyed, sad, and tearful, shifts up to look at Sutter. “Uh oh,” he swallows hard. “Did you say your eye still makes it tough for you to read, Whitey?”

Whitey shrugs, “Sometimes.”

Zach wordlessly hands the bottle to Sutter, who reads it aloud, “Sardine Extract”.

The guys groan nervously.

Sutter suddenly gets a happy glint in his eyes. “Well, we finally have an ingredient here. Add the extract Zach.”

Zach looks horrified. “But… but… without vanilla, it won’t have that homemade taste!”

“Zach,” Sutter snarls, “Add the extract.” With shaking hands, Zach does exactly that.

Several happy moments follow as the team cuts and frosts the cake. It’s like craft time for little kids, but tiptoeing around the high-grade explosives that is Coach Sutter. When their little cake is assembled and iced, everyone stands at attention again, ready for the next round of ingredients.

“Okay,” Sutter looks at the recipe, “Where’s the apple pie filling?”

Holik defiantly declares, “I don’t like apple pie so I didn’t bring any.”

Gio and Zubrus hastily try to cover for him, and they say nearly in unison, “Don’t worry — I brought mine!”

But Sutter just smiles happily at Holik, “That’s my boy. Don’t ever change, Bobby. I love that spirit of yours.”

Burning holes through the back of Holik’s disobeying head, Zach heaps a few spoonfuls of pie filling into the center of the cake, then snaps primly, “Clarkie and Motts, you guys have the pumpkin seeds?”

Mottau just shrugs, “At this point you didn’t really think I would, did you?” and Clarkson insists on applying the seeds to the cake himself. Needless to say, this involves him running around behind the cake, trying and failing to cut a tight corner, wiping out, and tossing the seeds everywhere but on the cake.

Sutter sits in place, staring in disbelief. “What in the fucking fuck?” he mutters to himself. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d have a team like this. Never.”

“Don’t worry, Coach,” says Marty, “It’s not like we had any popcorn either. I ate it all on the drive over.”

Sutter just stares into space.

Travis then pipes up happily, “Well, I’ve got the acorns. Maybe if I put them on the cake now, it’ll look good…” He puts them on the cake, and it doesn’t.

Pando then speaks up, “Well, I’ve got the turpentine. I’m sure it would make the cake look great, especially when we grill it, but you know what? I’m not sharing.”

Sutter: “This is the last time I ever take John Stevens’s advice when we’re at a coaching workshop.”

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Eagle-eyed Gentle Readers around here may have noticed two recent trends in our thinking: one is that we are vaguely obsessed with the Flyers, and the other is that we’re incredibly obsessed with Tastykakes. Now, we’ve lived in the outlying Philadelphia region for the better part of our lives, and up until this very day, our only exposure to Tastykakes was those shockingly vile pictures of them on billboards along I-95 on the way back from the airport and/or sports complex in Philly. But ever since finding out that the Flyers and Tastykakes go together like, well, some sort of iconic unholy combination, it has been our sworn mission to immerse ourselves in the Tastykake experience. If our beloved Tranny Brides actually officially score goals for cases of Tastykakes (to be donated to children’s charities), we simply must know what that case of deliciousness is really like. Seriously, Gentle Reader, this is what motivates Mike Richards when he’s breaking away shorthanded; don’t even try to tell us he’s not thinking, “Dude, you just gotta score here — there’s Tastykakes on the line.”

Boomer is the most shameless of the three of us, so she willingly volunteered to go to the nearest gas station kwik-e-mart to stock up on our Tasty vittles. We weren’t sure how much would be available, so imagine our delight when she sent us an email this afternoon titled simply “yum yum” with this as the entire body of the message:

Tastykakes In The Car

Mission accomplished. We were ready to spend this evening watching the Tranny Brides on tivo delay while enjoying our very own custom-built case of Tastykakes.

Here was the haul, divvied up:

Tastykake Sampler

It should be noted that we undertook this taste test without the safety net of a spit cup; it was just us and the Tastykakes. If the Flyers give them out to sick orphans, how bad can they be?

It should also be noted that when you sit for a few minutes next to a groaning platter of pieces of Tastykake, the smell is nearly overwhelming. And the sliced-open Jelly Krimpet will glare balefully through your soul.

Peering Into Your Soul

The more we thought about it, the more terrible an idea this seemed to be. Because seriously, if the Flyers give these things away to sick orphans, there’s no way they’re edible. They are the Flyers, after all. The only thing to do is just to dig in.

Jelly Krimpets 2

Our methodology is to just plow through, and then rate them on Boomer’s proposed High Disgust Factor scale, ranging from Beaker to Boulerice (Beaker being not at all disgusting, Boulerice being, well, Boulerice).

First up: The Pound Kake Junior. It is just a little brick of pound cake. There is actually nothing junior about it, as it could probably feed a family of four for a week. This is really a manly lunchbox dessert, even by our standards.

High Disgust Factor: Knuble. It’s actually pretty likable, in a workmanlike way. It tastes not unlike microwave popcorn butter, but in cake form. Or rather, kake form.

We wash this down with generous swallows of Diet Coke (is it actually Koke tonight?) and gird ourselves for more.

Second up: Creme Filled Koffee Kake Cupcakes. We’re confused by the spellings — why aren’t they “cupkakes”? Schnookie’s especially eager for this kake, because her fondest elementary school snack memory is that one time in first grade that her class got Drake’s Coffee Cakes. To this day, when offered a free snack, she irrationally hopes it will be something like that, but she has never once, in all those years been rewarded again. This cupkake is a little blob of yellow kake with what looks like tan mouse droppings on top and a blob of gleaming white creme in the middle.

High Disgust Factor: Gagne. Almost — almost — good. But, like Gagne, it has a fatal flaw. Gagne’s is that he’s a Marty killer, and the Koffee Kake’s is that its lingering (and lingering, and lingering) aftertaste is strongly of coconut. Or Kokonut. But the mouse poops are surprisingly crunchy and delicious, and the whole thing tastes genuinely of cinnamon. If this was a free snack at some event we were attending, we’d be psyched. Until we finished eating it, and then we’d spend the rest of the event wishing the world didn’t taste of coconut.

Chocolate Cupcake

Third Up: As Pookie puts it, “Should we get this Lemon Pie out of the way?” It’s a hard brown crust around a blobby glob of dull yellow goo.

High Disgust Factor: Asham. We expected profoundly disgusting, and as it turns out, it’s actually not vomit-inducing. In other words, pleasantly surprising. The filling is fairly lemony, and the crust isn’t as stale-tasting as we thought it would be. It’s doughy and fake tasting, though — kinda like Asham.

Fourth Up: “Tasty Treat”. This is Tastykake’s contribution to the premade Rice Krispie treat canon. When cutting these things into pieces, this one smelled the worst when first opened by a knife. How do Rice Krispie treats turn out like that? How is that possible? We were about to find out.

High Disgust Factor: Carter. Dude. This is the dessert that’s all blond hair and white teeth. It tastes like a rice krispie treat that has yellow cake mix (not kake mix) powder in it. It makes us want to make our own rice krispie treats with yellow cake mix sprinkled in, just to see if we could replicate this flavor, but in a wholesome, homemade way. Heh. We actually went back for more of this one.


Fifth Up: Tastyklair. Pookie: “So far we haven’t had one that makes me want to gack, but looking at the Tastyklair, I don’t think I can put it in my mouth.”

High Disgust Factor: Hextall. Ron Hextall gave us hours and hours of laughing-at-him joy while also being someone we could genuinely loathe. Likewise, this was the item that most delighted us while studying up on Tastykakes, and is also something we can genuinely regret having eaten. Pookie: “This tastes like a ‘treat’ I would have been given in Russia.” She doesn’t mean that in a nice way. Once again, it’s the doughy, dry crust, this time filled with cake-mix flavored cream and a crumbly “chocolate” topping. It’s iconically bad.

Sixth Up: Chocolate Cupcake. Tastykake totally dropped the ball naming this. It’s a dry lump of chocolate cupcake with a thin, sad layer of chocolate frosting over the top. It doesn’t look encouraging.

High Disgust Factor: Briere. We’d rather pretend this never happened. It was strangely crumbly, yet had a gummy mouthfeel. Schnookie: “This is the opposite of all the others, in that it started out revolting, then had a lingering aftertaste of just cocoa.” Pause. “No, wait. Now it’s revolting again.” Pookie: “Maybe we should rate this as a Terry Murray, because for you it was literally a choking situation.” ZING!

Seventh Up: Creme Filled Chocolate Cupcake. It looks less malignant than the plain chocolate cupcake because it has a flat smear of “white” frosting on top, and a gleaming blob or white creme in the center.

High Disgust Factor: Lindros. It’s an enigma. It doesn’t taste as bad as its non creme-filled counterpart, in large part because its cupcake foulness is broken up by that glob of sugared, whipped crisco. We rate it a Lindros because it was puzzlingly difficult to figure out what was going on with it — we couldn’t figure out what we were tasting, how bad it was, what its intentions were, and it would have been greatly improved by Scott Stevens smushing it into oblivion.

Jelly Krimpets

Eighth Up: Fudge Nut Brownie. Schnookie balked here, after struggling mightily with the chocolate cupcake. This is a very flat slab of brownie substance topped with a thick sludge of “frosting” studded with pieces of walnuts.

High Disgust Factor: Cote. Like Cote, this sucks at what it does, but it’s also kind of benign. That said, if Cote was a metaphor for this brownie, and picking Cote for a roster was a metaphor for choosing an after-dinner treat, then playing with an empty spot in the lineup would be our metaphor for opting to go dessertless. To spell it out. Pookie: “This tastes like brownie jerky.”

Butterscotch Krimpet

Based on our “observing the billboards along I-95” research, we think Krimpets are the signature Tastykake. So we saved them for last.

Ninth Up: Jelly Filled Krimpet. This is perhaps the scariest item on the plate whose name doesn’t rhyme with “Blastyklair”. It’s a sponge cake with a squirt of red goo in the center.

High Disgust Factor: Forsberg. This is a surprisingly ephemeral dessertstuff, yet it packs an enormous wallop of grotesqueness. We each took eensy-weensy bites, and yet we still found ourselves overwhelmed by the powerful wretchedness that is the flavor of the jelly filling. It tastes like a fruit roll-up that goes on for miles. Like the Flyers-Era Forsberg, it’s not very substantial, but it’s also pervasively vile. Pookie: “I felt like it wasn’t actually playing in a game, but it was still calling a press conference during the action to tell me stuff it’s already gone over time and again before.”

Tenth Up: Butterscotch Krimpet. It’s sponge cake with a limp square of tawny “frosting” drooping over the top of it. It looks almost as bad in person as it does in its I-95 glamor shots, and we hoped it would be a Tastykake experience for the ages.

High Disgust Factor: Cechmanek. The Butterscotch Krimpet is a very puzzling experience. Pookie: “I couldn’t tell you what this tasted like. It’s like… a sugary… citrus… sawdust…” Schnookie: “It’s like Roman Cechmanek. It’s beamed into my life from a mysterious planet, it’s doing god-only-knows-what here, and then it’s going to beam back away.” Pookie: “But it’s going to leave me with great happiness like Cechmanek did, because my Tastykake tasting experience is now over.”

So there you go, Gentle Reader. Perhaps our Tastykake obsession is safely behind us. If there’s one lesson we’re taking away from this exercise, it’s that you really, really don’t want to be a sick orphan in Philadelphia.

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