My grandpa was a shitty cook...

When we were younger, my mom would dump my brother and I off at my grandparent's place for a week or so at a time while she took some personal time to space the fuck out and forget we existed. Both of my grandparents were wonderful people and took great care of us. My grandpa showed us how to shoot guns, shoot guns at animals, skin animals that you've shot and how to play checkers. My grandma showed us how to accept hugs and be loved unconditionally around the clock. It was a yin/yang type of situation. My grandma also happened to be a sensational cook. She could make anything you could dream up and make the shit out of it. My grandpa, however, was a piss poor cook. He was diametrically opposed to preparing food that tasted good to anybody. Granted, he grew up during the depression when rationing was a way of life and a sauteed bungie cord was a delicacy. Actually, you know what? That was no excuse for some of the shit he made. There were mornings when my grandma would leave early for work and he would be in charge of Frankensteining a bunch of shit together to call a meal for us. On more than one occasion he fixed us Milk Toast. Wanna guess what that was? I'll save you the suspense: milk poured onto a piece of toast. The word "toast" is actually deceiving since it was just dry, uncooked bread. Given access to milk, bread and a kitchen, even an orphan would be able to wrap his head around the concept of toasting the bread and putting the milk in a glass. Like a human being. My grandpa would literally put a piece of Wonder Bread onto a plate and dump milk onto it and feed it to young children. If he happened to notice that we weren't in fact stray dogs and therefore not particularily enjoying the milk toast, he would implore us to simply put more milk on it, which is like pouring more pee onto your diarrhea salad. Needless to say, we went hungry a lot of mornings which generally lasted through lunch time when the menu dead seriously consisted of spam and onion sandwiches. These are things that people eat when they run out of sawdust and paperclips or after their taste buds commit suicide. It was nice to find out that the trend continued when my younger brothers were the same age. One morning he made them scrambled eggs with chunks of pickle in them. Did you know that if you reanimated Julia Child's corpse and asked her if there was any way possible to fuck up scrambled eggs she would say "No. Fuck no. Well, unless you put chunks of pickles in them. But what kind of sick fuck would do something like that?"

My grandpa. That's who, bitch.