Whipped cream and other delights
And, so, at last, the end is nigh, my fellow Americans: Such incivilities are we being bludgeoned round-the-clock with, senseless as a snaggle-tooth jack-o-lantern during this final two-week-dash leading up to whether our country remains afloat as a democratic republic, or capsizes into a fascist dictatorship. Our future dangles from but a fraying thread, precarious as the proverbial sword of Damocles spun by a toying madman clutching a switchblade.
Impoverished males in the swing states are MAGA fodder, with Trump counting on the diabolically defunct Electoral College to fail us as a united nation, yet again.
Welcome to Halloween, American-style, kiddies!
As Octobers go, this is about the scariest one I can remember. How the hell can, yet again, the Orange Creature from the Black Lagoon in all his shambling, rambling, venomous toxicity — this corpulent cuckoo, this convicted felon, this serial rapist and unconstitutional imbecile — somehow, against all logic and law, be in a dead-heat race for the presidency of the United States? And we wonder why Rome fell?
In Trumpville, of course, if you’re not a misogynist, racist bully then you’re not a real man. Hey, hey, Donnie J., how many suckers did you fool today? Such a saggy, tired old tyrant — the very quintessence of that golden aphorism, “You can fool some of the people all the time (the Trumpian diehards); you can fool all the people some of the time (the 2016 American electorate); but, you can’t fool all the people all the time (2024’s votership).
You know the jig is up when even Dick Cheney publicly endorses a Democrat as president — a person of mixed-race, at that, and female, no less.
In his final days as leader of the free world, upon receiving news on Jan. 6, 2021, that the life of his Vice President, Michael Pence, was in mortal danger at the Capitol building, Trump yawned, “So what?” Never, previously, has any president spewed forth two more utterly telling words. Yeah, so what?
So, what if you decide to sit out this election because neither candidate is quite up to level. Snap out of it, people! The bar’s already on the friggin’ floor! There are but two choices here, and one of ’em will be president! Your “sit-out” ain’t gonna cut it, dearies. Disenchantment won’t fly this time.
So, all of you good bois and gurlz over the age of 18, get your tightly noble butts to the voting booths. Please? Make a difference in this world; otherwise, it just might disappear.
Why is this not a slam-dunk, Harris landslide? Oh, but wait —there’s more! For those of you out there (all two of you) still on the fence regarding which presidential option — sanity or Armageddon — more deserves your vote, well, congratulations: You’re the grand prize recipients of a brand new, piously-gleaming, remaindered “Made in China” Donald Trump Bible …. You winners, you!
Clearly, disgust is our emotion de jour this election season. There isn’t a fellow writer I know not apoplectic about the possibility of simply disappearing into oblivion should Titus Andronicus Trump seize back his former throne. After all, he’s promised prison cells to anyone and everyone who’s ever pointed out his puerility; moreover, there’s certainly no reason to believe he’s at all just joking.
Just understand this art of the deal, folks: Choosing not to vote, as a protest act against the candidates, will directly affect your lives. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but apathy always has consequences.
Time now we move onto something less oppressive. Let’s just get frothily right to it, shall we?
Dear Howard: My boyfriend can’t cook worth a damn. Neither can I, for that matter. But just the fact that we’re gay makes me think there has to be some sort of kitchen wizardry lurking deep down within us somewhere. The holidays are swiftly approaching, and we can’t even assemble a platter of fresh cut fruit that doesn’t turn brown. Help us, Howard? — Lee & Isaiah
Dear Princes Leia: How humans ever evolved into being dependent upon oxygen for life — a wildly dangerous, unstable gas — I can’t begin to fathom. Nonetheless, to keep your freshly sliced apples, pears, bananas, avocados and eggplants from suffering exposure to air and turning brown just follow the 5-1-1 formula: For 5 minutes, in 1 cup of water, soak your sliced fruit mixed with 1 tablespoon of any of these following household basics: citrus juice of any sort (lemon, lime, orange), or pineapple juice, or even just a tablespoon of plain vinegar will do. Then drain the water off and refrigerate until time to arrange. You’ll appear so admirably Stepford-spouse to all your guests. Accidentally cut yourself, and wires will pop out.
Dear Howard: The grapevine has it that you’ve an amazingly green thumb. Got any tricks up your sleeve for dealing with algae? I’ve attempted a mini lily pond out on my balcony, goldfish and all; however, my water always keeps going green no matter what. Algaecides don’t work. I’ve tried ‘em all. Only bleach works, but always at the cost of my goldfish going belly-up. Suggestions? — Crawford
Dear Crawfish: Indeed, I do, and my solution will cost you but a handful of pennies. Literally. For any of y’all attempting a birdbath, fish pond, or some little tinkling fountain out on your patio deck, just toss five or six pennies into the water and, voila! No more slimy green gunk! Here’s the caveat, though: Only pennies minted prior to 1982 will work. Pennies were all copper up through 1981. From ’82 forward, pennies became all zinc, with just a filmy copper plating. Finding pre-1982 pennies may take a few hours of scavenging through your old Mason jars, but they sure do the trick.
Dear Howard: The words “whipped topping” send chill bumps ’cross my bubble butt. I mean, come on, queens! As every good gay foodie knows, you can’t cheat when it comes to real whipped cream, especially during the holidays. But how do I store real whipped cream for later without it turning watery? Is there a hack for this, Howard? — DeLyla Dee Lite
Dear Lady DeLyla: The trick to keeping real whipping cream from deteriorating into soupy mush couldn’t be easier: all it requires is the possession of a sieve. Just beat your cream to stiff peaks with a hand mixer — powdered sugar and vanilla to taste — until you can turn the bowl upside down with none of it hitting the floor. Scrape the frothed heaven into a sieve, place the sieve over a bowl, and just store it in the fridge ‘til whenever. Why, you’ll delight your guests’ desserts, DeLyla, with real whipped cream, gurl, for days upon days, no end!
—Howard Lewis Russell
November’s just around the corner, guys: I see that punkin’ pie gleam in your eyes! Come get your pilgrims’ pride voices heard, here at AskHoward@dallasvoice.com.