The Lone Country Crack-Sack PHUC

I'm pretty sure cooking is a skill not many men can master, especially under your wife's pressure to cook a decent meal. Welp, I regret giving in to that, so let me say I'm sorry for what I'm gonna tell you. If you have Slenderman come in your room after you read this, well----

FUCK YOU, BALTIMORE

My wife had bought the top-tip ingredients from Target (not Tar-GET, Tar-SHAY). "Honey, will you be a darling and cook tonight?" I was shocked at her words, as I was a terrible chef and she new. I guess she didn't want to guilt trip me when I reminded her of the first time I cooked because she said I should QUIT BEING A GODDAMN PUSSY AND FIX UP SOME FRACKING ROAST YOU SON OF A BITCH. Well, that wasn't exactly an attempt to raise my spirits. As I cleaned the veggies with my new Shrek sink I remembered our crockpot had been busted from my first meal. "I'll go get another. Be right back honey." I drove to Wal-Mart, and as I got there they were having a 45% off sale on walls. I had a coupon for $66.60 off any Shrek-themed product, so I used it on a $144.30 Lord FarQuaad crockpot, and I paid only $77.70 since I had the coupon. SHREKTESTICULAR!

The Food

I cut up the vegetables and almost cut off my erection, much to my wife's dismay. After a Donkey Pocket rocket commercial I put in the FoodClub Orge Beef and started the heat at 666 kelvin and watched in agony as a mini Beetlejuice danced on my wife's boobs. After 6 hours, 60 minutes, and 6 seconds, took out the roast and ate.

The Result

I took a bite of the potatoes and cried as it was sauced in onion cum. My wife grew demonic hyper-realistic nipples and squirted lava milk out of them and the Dragon of Shrek spoke Russian while playing Minecraft. I AM DED.