for miz TQ
6/5/04 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyFor you,'cause you asked me!
Hans Dieter swept about his kitchen, scowling and muttering under his breath. That woman was impossible! How could he have been so stupid, to vork for her! Vat a horrible fishwife this Von Schtupper. Von, his ass, the Schtupper pair were a schtinking set of country bumpkins. He had strangled chickens with better bloodlines then these two had. And den za amazink gall! To come into his, Hans Dieter’s kitchen, and tell *him* what to prepare for this stupid little dinner party. Ha! Had this hexe no sense? Her und her mealy-mouthed (well to be fair za Herr had a pretty talented mouth but! This vass besides za point!) husband had pulled on his last nerf!
He banged pots and pans about with a fury, and snorted and yelled and in general terrified the help into tears. “Get out! You are all useless und schpineless!”
As one the help fled from the kitchen. They didn’t know what schpineless meant, but when the Chef was in an insane mood they knew enough to flee first and ask questions later (if ever…).
It took quite a bit of work. It required shouting; screaming and assorted acts of intimidation but finally the bitter young Chef had things in the order he wanted. Frau Von- Schtupper had been put in her place, Herr Von-Schtupper properly chastised and the menu was spectacular, if he said so himself. He stopped to admire himself briefly in an extra shiny pot (the help certainly knew how to grovel) and strolled contently to the state of the art fridge. He froze at a tiny crunch behind him. Someone was sampling the cucumber sandwiches!
He snatched up a cleaver from the chopping block and whirled on the suicidal intruder.
“Ha! Prepare to die-ooo!” Gott in Himmel! Who was this, this, sex on za stick?
The intruder smiled, and as he nibbled on a cucumber slice, most of Hans –Dieter’s brain cells burst into flame. His mouth dropped open and the cleaver dropped to the floor. It was the sound of expensive carbon steel hitting the tile floor that brought Dieter out of his lust-induced trance.
“Vat za*hell* are you doing in my kitchen!” Hans-Dieter managed to yell (and without a quaver in his voice, he was quite proud to note). The supple stranger poured himself across the tiles and fetched up against the chef. He leaned close and his voice slid over Hans-Dieter like a perfectly silky sauce.
“I hear you’re the best at what you do...”
“Yes. This is entirely true,” Dieter responded.
“I’m Lex Luthor. I collect only the very best.” The word shivered into the shell of Hand Dieter’s ear and he trembled from head to toe. So, this was The Luthor. He’d heard many stories about him. ‘Bitte, Herr Gott, let them be true!’ he prayed fervently.
“What can I …do… to convince you to work for me?” he whispered.
“Well, the Herr gives a pretty damp good blowjob,” Hans Dieter replied with a bland little smile.
Lex blinked, opened his mouth, closed it and blinked again. He looked Hans Dieter up and down and then shrugged. Dropped to his knees.
Hans Dieter was the absolute best at what he did. He knew no one could compete with him. He was The Master. Or he had been until the moment he met The Luthor. Sheisse! He’d just gotten the kitchen exactly the way he wanted it, and now he was going to have to break in a new staff and organize a whole new kitchen and- Yow! Liebe Gott! This man must be part Hoover-- hmm, He’ll take the knives and-- Yeee-ow! No vun has ever done that before…“Yes! YES! Yes!”
“Yesh?”
“Yes!”
‘Ha! And ow, my knees,- take that you Schtuppers!’ He crowed to himself. ‘I’ve got the best chef there is!’
They smiled at each other like contented sharks, and in both minds, a single thought. ‘Oh, yes, I *own* him!’
and off I go!
Hans Dieter swept about his kitchen, scowling and muttering under his breath. That woman was impossible! How could he have been so stupid, to vork for her! Vat a horrible fishwife this Von Schtupper. Von, his ass, the Schtupper pair were a schtinking set of country bumpkins. He had strangled chickens with better bloodlines then these two had. And den za amazink gall! To come into his, Hans Dieter’s kitchen, and tell *him* what to prepare for this stupid little dinner party. Ha! Had this hexe no sense? Her und her mealy-mouthed (well to be fair za Herr had a pretty talented mouth but! This vass besides za point!) husband had pulled on his last nerf!
He banged pots and pans about with a fury, and snorted and yelled and in general terrified the help into tears. “Get out! You are all useless und schpineless!”
As one the help fled from the kitchen. They didn’t know what schpineless meant, but when the Chef was in an insane mood they knew enough to flee first and ask questions later (if ever…).
It took quite a bit of work. It required shouting; screaming and assorted acts of intimidation but finally the bitter young Chef had things in the order he wanted. Frau Von- Schtupper had been put in her place, Herr Von-Schtupper properly chastised and the menu was spectacular, if he said so himself. He stopped to admire himself briefly in an extra shiny pot (the help certainly knew how to grovel) and strolled contently to the state of the art fridge. He froze at a tiny crunch behind him. Someone was sampling the cucumber sandwiches!
He snatched up a cleaver from the chopping block and whirled on the suicidal intruder.
“Ha! Prepare to die-ooo!” Gott in Himmel! Who was this, this, sex on za stick?
The intruder smiled, and as he nibbled on a cucumber slice, most of Hans –Dieter’s brain cells burst into flame. His mouth dropped open and the cleaver dropped to the floor. It was the sound of expensive carbon steel hitting the tile floor that brought Dieter out of his lust-induced trance.
“Vat za*hell* are you doing in my kitchen!” Hans-Dieter managed to yell (and without a quaver in his voice, he was quite proud to note). The supple stranger poured himself across the tiles and fetched up against the chef. He leaned close and his voice slid over Hans-Dieter like a perfectly silky sauce.
“I hear you’re the best at what you do...”
“Yes. This is entirely true,” Dieter responded.
“I’m Lex Luthor. I collect only the very best.” The word shivered into the shell of Hand Dieter’s ear and he trembled from head to toe. So, this was The Luthor. He’d heard many stories about him. ‘Bitte, Herr Gott, let them be true!’ he prayed fervently.
“What can I …do… to convince you to work for me?” he whispered.
“Well, the Herr gives a pretty damp good blowjob,” Hans Dieter replied with a bland little smile.
Lex blinked, opened his mouth, closed it and blinked again. He looked Hans Dieter up and down and then shrugged. Dropped to his knees.
Hans Dieter was the absolute best at what he did. He knew no one could compete with him. He was The Master. Or he had been until the moment he met The Luthor. Sheisse! He’d just gotten the kitchen exactly the way he wanted it, and now he was going to have to break in a new staff and organize a whole new kitchen and- Yow! Liebe Gott! This man must be part Hoover-- hmm, He’ll take the knives and-- Yeee-ow! No vun has ever done that before…“Yes! YES! Yes!”
“Yesh?”
“Yes!”
‘Ha! And ow, my knees,- take that you Schtuppers!’ He crowed to himself. ‘I’ve got the best chef there is!’
They smiled at each other like contented sharks, and in both minds, a single thought. ‘Oh, yes, I *own* him!’
and off I go!
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
6/6/04 08:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
6/7/04 01:42 am (UTC)Hey - somebody wants to use the St.Glide icon - any objections?
I said i didn't care, but if you don't wanna share, we won't. :)
(no subject)
6/7/04 02:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/7/04 06:19 am (UTC)You should come up with a Prayer to St.Glide and a Rosary.
Hee!
*evol and lovin' it*