MKR 2017: The One Where Karen and Ros are Safe and We Are DRANK

1 Feb


We have a confession to make, lovers.  Last night affected us deeply and so we drank.  And drank.  And drank.  And now we ARE drank.  So, deeply DRANK.  Rico reckons this is not about alcoholism but rather about protection.  We simply can’t handle another dish like last night’s dessert, so we’ve fortified ourselves with the nectar that God created the day after Adam shagged Eve and he had to come to terms with his children having sex.

Karen and Ros tonight so we’ve got our wet wipes at the ready in case Ros and her pork grease-shade of Maybelline brush past our pristine lounging pajamas.  That’s right, lovers, we are DRANK but we are DRESSED and prepared for whatever depravity lies ahead.  So let us clasp hands and stagger forth into the world that is Karen and Ros…

Diamond Creek, Melbourne.  Where midwives stride around jogging tracks in lycra so tight you’d need a blowtorch to get it off.  Between them they’ve got 40 billion offspring.  Karen would very much like to top the Leader Board.  Ros is in her usual Worzel Gummidge cosplay.


Entree is a cheese gnocchi that even the 9 year old deli worker at Coles likes the sound of.  Main is the lamb Pauline Hansen rejects:  Middle Eastern, and Dessert is a pav with a bit of nutmeg chucked in it because such are the wild roads they travel.

Their Instant Restaurant is called ‘Procreations’ and literally has a birthing pool that Manu will be reclining in later – if he manages to get his pants off.  In the kitchen Ros talks about things looking ‘caramelised’ and Rico mutters darkly into his port.

The other teams show up and they’re all dressed in pastel pinks and blues in defiance of the Millennial trend of gender fluidity.  Amy is wearing a sleeveless frock and The Dog reckons if she had a choice in the matter he’ll eat his Vogue subscription and shit it back to Anna Wintour.

Ding dong.

Ros still looks like a scarecrow and Amy admits that hugging is hard for her under usual circumstances, let alone in the presence of the denizens of Oz.   In the ‘restaurant’ Damo reckons he’s having flashbacks to his two times in the birthing suite when Caz dug her nails into his hand HARD and didn’t care that it was actually his penis.

David and Betty have to explain their ‘relationship’ to Damo and Caz.  Betty states that ‘they’ will never happen because he’s not her brother in the Tasmanian way. David explains that he was once married and hasn’t always owned a pair of binoculars.  Caz feels for poor rootless David – it’s not his fault Betty is an emotionless robot who poses in her kicks on Insta but then won’t let her ‘brother’ go through her laundry basket.  But then she  remembers last night’s dark chocolate, the sentient evil that lay coiled within and the way Damo kept waking her up in the night screaming.


Anyhoo, while Karen and Worzel bust hump in the kitchen to make gnocchi, Kyle states that he’s pleased to be sitting across the table from Ash’s cleavage wife-to-be Bek.  Betty, meanwhile, wants them to hurry with the baby making, but only so everyone can stop hypothesizing over how David will comfort his poor, neglected penis.

After the arrival of the judges in which Karen is crestfallen that Manu failed to turn up in a full length frock coat of pink gaberdine, Tim gushes that Karen and Worzel are bound to be good cooks due to their long years of experience shoving smashed broccoli and pizza shapes into the mouths of toddlers.  Amy, on the other hand, thinks Tim’s logic is flawed and wouldn’t describe the menu as ‘sophisticated’ because being laughed out of town is worse than the pitchforks she’s used to.

Out comes the entree and Skinny Pete wants to know what their kids would say.  Rico mutters that HE’S a child in all but the ability to purchase hard liquor and HE’D say blue cheese belongs on the first rocket to find the missing Dr Spock.

Back in the kitchen and Worzel cuts into the lamb only to find it as pink and inviting as a stripped bunk in maximum security.  Worzel is devo.  Pete and Manu toast jugs.  Manu says the Middle Eastern promise confused him.  Pete says they should have done a tagine or a lamb shank or just shanked themselves.

Around the table and Ash thinks witnessing bubbly people deflated is like seeing tiny, yellow ducklings flattened by a teenager in a souped-up Holden.  Betty adores that it’s like a granite counter top with orange sauce, but then Tyson declares his bit wasn’t too bad and outrage reaches Trump inauguration proportions.

To the cameras Tyson says he’s well aware it’s shit, but just not AS shit as, say, the things he forced past his tonsils in Tassie and NSW.  Septic pastry, anyone?

Back in the kitchen and Worzel is reminiscing about her mum’s pavlovas that never cracked and, come to think of it, she’s always been a deep, deep disappointment.  Karen experiments with a bit of snap dragon but opts to leave it off the pav when her cheeks turn inside out and her remaining teeth make a break for the back of her throat.

Out go the pavs and Pete reckons they look ‘rustic’ and like something you’d find in a magazine sealed in Gladwrap and bought by secretive Germans.  They like it.  Tyson doesn’t hate it.  Damo is incandescent with the need to UNDERSTAND Tyson.  David tastes lamb because even when he cuts off the circulation he can still tell it’s his hand doing the wanking.

Scoring is a mix of sixes and sevens, with Tyson and Amy once again scoring on the higher side.  Pete and Manu are also generous – only not with the main which earns double twos and is still a better love story than Gangrenous Afogato.

At 65 they are safe and at 10.03pm we are DRRAAAAAAAANNNNKKKKKK.

Sunday will be Bek and Ash and we’ve been promised a broken record which will probably be a meal for which people wait so long another species will rise to inherit the Earth.

Until then lovers, drankers, countrymen!

xo Flawless





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