Five years ago, a man’s fantasy became reality, in a form never seen before-- a giant cooking arena, Kitchen Stadium. The motivation for spending his fortune to create Kitchen Stadium was to encounter new original cuisines, which could be called true artistic creations.
To realize his dream he first secretly started selecting and capturing the top chefs of various styles of cooking, and he named his men the Iron Chefs, the invincible men of culinary skills.
Iron Chef Japanese is Dick Ass Mother Fucker.
Iron Chef French is Stinky Floss.
Iron Chef Chinese is Cum Test Dummy.
And Wrinklepecker is Iron Chef Italian.
The Kitchen Stadium is the arena where Iron Chefs await the challenges of Master Chefs from around the world. Both the Iron Chef and challenger have one hour to tackle the day’s ingredient, using all their senses, skill, and creativity, they are to create artistic dishes never seen before. And if ever a challenger should defeat the Iron Chef, they will gain the people’s ovation and fame forever.
What inspiration will today’s challenger bring, and how will the Iron Chefs fight back?
“I have to go home at some point,” groused Wrinklepecker. “He’s kept me here a really long time.”
“I don’t know why I’m Iron Chef French,” Stinky Floss added. “But if I am, then Oui Oui to all you motherfuckers.”
“All I have are these donuts I found on a street corner,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker said to no one in particular.
“I made these cookies myself,” Cum Test Dummy announced. “Chinese food has cookies, right?”
Tonight, our chefs will all be competing against a special challenger, a renowned competitor whose expertise has become recognized in culinary institutions worldwide. Will he be able to dethrone our champion chefs and mount a convincing victory against them all? Introducing our final competitor, Just Will!
“Wait a minute,” Stinky Floss protested. “Wait one fucking minute. He’s supposed to be my sous chef.”
And judging our competitors tonight is a man with an opinion for everything, impeachable judgment, and words when none can be found, Mouth Down South.
“It’s cold, couldn’t we have just done this at the bar?” Mouth asked.
And Mouth now will unveil our secret ingredient.
“What a surprise, it’s flour.”
Our competitors will have one hour to create one vegan item, one gluten-free item, and one item that makes Muff Daddy smile.
“Shit!” Stinky Floss ran away with a handful of flour, while Just Will scrambled off straight after her. The Uniballer, in charge of manning a microphone, stumbled to the ground when the camera crew, directed by Hello Titties, took off after them.
“Interesting strategy by Stinky Floss and Just Will,” commentated Vagina Dentata. “We’re not sure quite where they are going, and the other competitors seem mostly invested in staying in the Stadium and drinking beer. Well, except for Cum Test Dummy, who is going somewhere a little more private with Cockamole and Cosmopolitits.”
“I just wanted to get their opinion on my vegan snack,” Cum Test Dummy explained.
“And we have our first euphemism of the night, ladies and gentleman,” Tuna on Top said proudly.
“Meanwhile, it appears most of our audience has gone off after Stinky Floss and Just Will.”
“I have no idea where this is going,” Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy exclaimed. “No, really, where are we again? Is this still San Francisco?”
“Well, I think it’s a really unusual presentation,” Tricrapylete told the cameras. “Most cuisine you sit, eat, and enjoy, while Stinky Floss has basically upset the whole apple cart by making her meal mobile. Just Will was really quick to take her up on the challenge, so it’s a question of whether the judges decide that they are being revolutionary or reckless, and if it’s the former, it’s down to who did it best.”
“I don’t understand,” Just Chaz gasped as Pepe Le Poop passed him. “I thought we were a running group?”
“Yes, exactly,” Bloqueen called out.
The second course rolled out at Coit Tower, where Wrinklepecker insisted his meal would consist entirely of beer and beer only, while Dick Ass Mother Fucker scrounged some hot wings from a trash can. Eat My Pussy could barely choke down any of the entrees, as he had gotten a late start on the first course. Five Angry Inches, finding that Gloryhole had the right idea by getting an early start on thirds, dragged Circle Jerk along for the ride.
“You know, I offered myself up,” Crabs told Backwash. “I said any of them could use me however they wanted. And did I get any takers? No.” Shaft shook his head consolingly.
The hour is almost up and it’s time for our competitors to put the finishing touches on their dishes. Dick Simmons is working on the lighting for the final presentations, but Mary Tyler Whore keeps on insisting it’s better if he keeps everything dark. Millimeter Peter is rigging… um, setting up the voting process, while Dildo Baggins is making sure that the audience is settled down however he sees fit. He won’t have much to worry about-- It turns out that our judges and audience members, after Stinky Floss and Just Will’s cooking adventures, are even more exhausted than most of our Iron Chefs. Bierectional is steaming like a hot bowl of soup over in the corner there, while Deadbeat looks a bit overdone.
“So now we get to judge them?” Can’t Eat Pussy asked. “Easy, you all suck!”
“There wasn’t enough flour!” yelled Fuck Norris.
“Except for the gluten-free trail, there was definitely too much there,” Fix Her Up Her chimed in.
“I had no idea what to expect, and even that was too much to hope for,” Easy Ride Her called out.
“I say we do my signature move,” Just Get It Over With added.
“Hear, hear,” Wee Wee seconded the motion, and the contest came to a close at a draw.
“Um, did that special meal have flour in it?” Just Marcel asked. “Because I’m experiencing some swelling.” Sleazy and Gondalerrhea moved quickly to his aid.
And so Kitchen Stadium has closed its doors, once more putting the brightest and best Chefs head to head to see who will rise to the top. Join us next week as we force our Chefs to master yet another special ingredient as they strive to achieve victory not only against each other, but against the very standards of modern cuisine.
“Um, can I go home now?” Wrinklepecker asked as the van doors closed in on him.
Hand Pump smiled and bit into an onion.