Album Review: Frankie and the Witch Fingers – Monsters Eating People Eating Monsters…

Frankie and the Witch Fingers - Album - Monsters Eating People Eating Monsters

Frankie and the Witch Fingers – Monsters Eating People Eating Monsters…

By Jay Armstrong

So go ahead and preheat the oven to about two hundred and forty. Grab whatever’s left in the baggy of payday special. Break it up and spread it across a baking sheet. Once you’ve got it about evened out, pull a tiny pinch from one of the corners of the pan to top a bowl off with. Set the bowl to the side—remember where you put it, look directly at the bowl, take a mental picture of where you placed it, swear to yourself this time you won’t forget where you sat it. Toss the pan in the oven. Set a timer for forty-five minutes.

Smoke break time. Hit the front porch and see if the homies are on the way over. Fingers crossed the neighbors aren’t out there to bitch about how the porch looks. You’d think they’d catch a hint by now.

Frankie and the Witch Fingers - Band Back in the kitchen with the timer going off. Pull the pan out of the oven. Scrape the contents into a medium saucepan. Grab two sticks of butter and toss them in as well. Place the pan over low heat. Low! You almost burnt the place down a few years back, impatient as always thinking high heat would work too. Once is a fool’s mistake but twice, you’re better than that. Double-check whether you removed the paper from the butter or not. Now, where did you put that bowl? Goddamn it…I could have sworn you sat it right fucking there. How’d it get in the fridge? Whatever, at least you fou– no definitely check your pockets for a second time, the lighter is there. Take a quick hit. What’s the point of sitting here watching the clock turn if you’re not gonna feel good while you do it? Stretch out on the couch. Flip through some pages of Heavy Metal, getting up every few pages making sure things are sitting at a good simmer. Two issues of the mag should be about good.

Set the oven to three-fifty. Grab three handfuls of unsweetened chocolate and a couple heaping lumps of peanut butter. Toss it in a mixing bowl. Place the bowl in the microwave. Press start. Lurk through the window until all melts down completely. Grab a cheesecloth and strain the butter into the pb chocolate. Toss in two teaspoons of vanilla extract, a half a teaspoon of salt, and a little less than two cups of sugar. Stir the shit out of it. About as good of time as any for putting fire to that pipe again but it’s lost into the abyss…as expected. Take three eggs and crack them into the bowl, stir them in completely one at a time before getting to the next. Drop one and three-quarters cups of flour into the bowl and give it a proper beating.

Rub some vegetable oil along the bottom of a baking pan or hit it with some cooking spray. Pour the batter evenly into the pan. Put it in the oven. Set a timer for twenty-five minutes. Pull up an episode of Magnum P.I. and kick up your feet, missing the days when finger length cutoff jean shorts worn by men with mustaches smelling of freshly cut pine were the norm. Hit pause when the timer goes off. Everything might not be completely cooked but just hang out near the oven sticking the pan with a toothpick every minute or two until the middle is solid. Set it on the counter to cool off. Make your way back into the comfy position to finish the Magnum P.I. episode, almost able to taste the Jovan Musk if it weren’t for that thick sweet wafting scent rolling out of the kitchen. Wouldn’t it be nice to share a couple of brownies with Higgins? What a karate kickin’ gem. Gotta settle for these sweaty ass loser friends instead. Could be worse. Could be that shit neighbor.

Once everyone has settled into a spot around the backyard, toss out a square to everyone and get the jawing out of the way waiting for those eyelids to get a bit heavy, those feet to get even heavier. Vibe.

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