I’ve got some shit products. My beautiful sport gave me dutch ovens that look and cook like a toilet. I have four garbage ovens: The first oven is Cubs-branded, the second oven is Dodgers-branded, the third oven is Red Sox (two names for just one oven)-branded, and the fourth oven is The Dreaded Yankees-branded. Which one of my gaudy glazed bakers are you? Take this quiz to find out!
1. Which of these turgid notions or cursed outcomes are you guilty of rooting for?
A) For Joe West to enjoy a pleasant stroll along a choppy, warm coast with nary a raindrop nor falling satellite nor egret’s turd to sully his journey.
B) A home run derby with only Jordy Mercer.
C) Happiness for the composer of the first, last, and only thing you hear in Sean Doolittle’s America: the MLB.TV guitar riff.
D) Aubrey Huff.
2. What did you buy to commemorate your worst, most recent opening day?
A) A shirsey of my team’s second-best lefty reliever but with the number changed to 69.
B) A fake vaccine card for my team’s lithe, infantile shortstop.
C) A Phiten necklace woven from the hair of every AL West team’s bench coach.
D) I mailed a check directly to my team’s owner upon seeing their official social media account wish my favorite great aunt a prosperous Flag Day.
3. My garbage ovens love to burn my fine roasts and mar my soft-boiled eggs with their incorrigible “non-stick” bottoms. What ballpark foods would you heat in your tandoor of sin?
A) I would use it as a vat of Blue Moon. It’s ale storage, to me. I would add oranges. I would trust it to keep my ambrosia cool.
B) Dinger the Dinosaur’s sons. Sous vide.
C) A vegan Boomstick nicknamed The Eggplant Emoji Hero. It retails for the cost of two (2) Roombas.
D) Cauterized pork and beef byproducts encased in old skin. To be served with tomato aioli.
4. This fecund branded cookware produces noxious smells. The odors these kilns omit make me long for the death of my kind. What pace of play procedure would you enact to hasten our collective demise?
A) Pickoff throws require a forfeiture of assets and increase of the capital gains tax.
B) Turning a double play with two outs in the inning results in the imprisonment of a top-30 prospect decided via “fan” vote.
C) Invent a time machine to kill Pedro Baez’s grandfather (as a baby … you are the baby).
D) A robot Roomba umpire that cleans home plate and decapitates younger batters after four (4) consecutive foul balls. Unless the game is in its 5th inning.
5. One time my favorite sport collaborated with my preferred cookware brand to produce a testament to all my sins. The logos were etched on the covers for all to see; God would weep if they could but they have long been blind. My gutter sport sold the ovens for more money than a Roomba. If I buy one the bots will howl. If I don’t, the chill will seep into my bones.
Would you buy a glazed food heater branded with the logo of the athletic unit your pre-corpse prefers?
A) YES, THE TALL PANS ARE GOOD AND I KNEEL BEFORE THEM
B) NO, THE BLOOD OF MY FOES IS ALL THE SEASONING I REQUIRE
C) WHAT IS A BODY IF NOT AN AMBULATORY, DECAYING DUTCH OVEN? YOU ARE SLOW COOKING YOUR OWN ORGANS TO DEATH EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY.
D) MAYBE IF THE PRICE CAME DOWN TO ~$250
WHICH OF MY ABHORRENT STONEWARE POTS DID YOU TURN OUT TO BE?
EVERY ANSWER A IS WORTH 1 POINT, B 3 POINTS, C 5 POINTS AND D 7 POINTS.
TALLY UP YOUR RESPONSES AND FIND OUT WHICH MLB LE CREUSET PIECE YOU ARE:
YOU ARE THE CUBS-BRANDED LE CREUSET OVEN
It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that you are the Cubs-branded Le Creuset oven: one of the most garbage heat units of them all. When I see you I get notes of bile. You are a tasteless thing made for foul creatures. Your loved ones would abandon you, if you had them. You blame your problems on a goat, but the source of all problems is you. You are a cursed, vapid baker.
When you were made I wanted to undo time, as I knew you were a rancid being. I could not, and now you make every day hell. While you take in food you provide only sorrowful gunk in return. You waste fresh items and do not broil them until they are crud. You are dumber than a pressure cooker and fatter than a pan. Go back to the gates of hell from which you were birthed. Go back to your deserved anonymity.
YOU ARE THE RED SOX-BRANDED LE CREUSET OVEN
Haha! What trash you are! You are the Red Sox-branded Le Creuset oven (two names for just one oven) and wherever you go, people hate you. There is no reason for you to exist. You take things that should be nice and you ruin them. You turn short ribs into mush and fine roots into poison. You are not an elegant tool for culinarians; you are a ruby cinder block with a giant butt hole. “Giant butt hole!” people yell wherever you go. You deserve it.
They will never forget your sins. You have spoiled too many good things. You look like something Alex Verdugo would wear. You charge Roomba prices for a Hoover experience. When I see you my blood boils and you smile at my pain. Everything you make is saccharine brown goo. Be gone, Red Devil! You are no oven of mine. You roaster of ill repute.
YOU ARE THE DREADED YANKEES-BRANDED LE CREUSET OVEN
Egad! The worst outcome has befallen you. You are The Dreaded Yankees-branded Le Creuset oven, and the world shall come to rue your existence. You bring promises of festive soups and braised meats, but you are a kiln of lies. Only filth awaits those who open your bedeviled lid. Only pain greets all who dare caress your heat-conducting handles.
Everyone gawks and stares at you. You are expensive and shiny but inside you have only the void. You are an amalgam of blown-out UCLs and strained obliques, encased in enamel and sorrow. New York deserves you, you galvanized swamp creature. You are a harbinger of the end.
YOU ARE THE DODGERS-BRANDED LE CREUSET OVEN
You are the Dodgers-branded Le Creuset oven, and what a ghastly site you are. When you look in the mirror you stand agape with horror at your own lack of substance. Why are you all white? Because you deserve no color. You are as American as Apple Pie Brought to You By Jiffy Lube. You are a combination of two things that should not be. If I could fling you from a seaside cliff into the Gates of Tartarus, I would.
You look upon the Staubs of the world and you spit on them, but you are devoid of meaning. You are refuse in a fancy suit coat who smiles just because you can afford two buffets. You look like your name is “Gavin Lux.” You are proof that money cannot buy happiness. You should not cost more than a Roomba.
Thank you for reading
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