by Pa Rock
Storyteller
Last week while preparing the Rusty Pails piece that ran in this space on Thanksgiving Day, I did some basic research on "foods that explode." It turns out there are a variety of foods that can be induced to explode, especially with an assist from a microwave oven. As I explored this often neglected area of culinary expression, I kept running into slightly different versions of the same urban legend.
Basically, urban legends are stories that are not true, yet the people who tell and retell these weird tales are usually convinced of their absolute truth. When the storytellers are questioned, they will admit that they did not actually know the person who suffered or perpetrated the experience, but in almost every case they claim to know someone who was personally acquainted with the victim, or culprit, or central character in the tale. They are adamant that they almost have firsthand knowledge of this amazing happening.
The basic outline of this particular urban legend, which is usually referred to as the "Biscuit-Bullet Story" or some close variation thereof, is this:
Okay, I wasn't there - but my sister's landlord's girlfriend's cousin was a nurse's aide at the hospital where it all went down. The story is absolutely true!
Storyteller
Last week while preparing the Rusty Pails piece that ran in this space on Thanksgiving Day, I did some basic research on "foods that explode." It turns out there are a variety of foods that can be induced to explode, especially with an assist from a microwave oven. As I explored this often neglected area of culinary expression, I kept running into slightly different versions of the same urban legend.
Basically, urban legends are stories that are not true, yet the people who tell and retell these weird tales are usually convinced of their absolute truth. When the storytellers are questioned, they will admit that they did not actually know the person who suffered or perpetrated the experience, but in almost every case they claim to know someone who was personally acquainted with the victim, or culprit, or central character in the tale. They are adamant that they almost have firsthand knowledge of this amazing happening.
The basic outline of this particular urban legend, which is usually referred to as the "Biscuit-Bullet Story" or some close variation thereof, is this:
A woman (gender is not important to the story) is getting into her car on the grocery store parking lot when she notices a person slumped over the steering wheel in the next car over. That person (let's make this one a man) is in some type of obvious distress and is holding the back of his head with his hand. His car window is down.
"Oh my goodness," exclaims the woman. "Are you okay?"
The man slowly opens his eyes. He looks terrible. "I've been shot," he says, "and I can't move my hand because I am holding in my brains."
The woman freaks, but being a truly good Samaritan, she finally is able to call 911 on her cell phone. She waits patiently at the man's side until emergency responders arrive on the scene. Soon thereafter, either in the ambulance racing to the hospital or at the emergency room, the man's hand is pulled away from his head so that his wound can be examined and evaluated. When the hand comes down, the amused medical personnel discover that the exposed brain is actually biscuit dough from a canister of biscuits that exploded in the warm back window of the victim's car!
Okay, I wasn't there - but my sister's landlord's girlfriend's cousin was a nurse's aide at the hospital where it all went down. The story is absolutely true!
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