Give me a Fucking Break

Imaginary conversation between a devil and an angel on each side of Iron Chef Cat Cora's head:

Angel (crunching into a raw broccoli floret): I just feel like we don't get the respect the other Iron Chefs do.

Devil (Spreading mayo on a deep-fried Charleston Chew): Word. I mean, Flay and Molto have these sick reputations and achievements and we just seem like the Equal Opportunity hire. We have to do something about it.

Angel (moving into Flowering Shinto Lotus yoga position): Maybe if we just hold our own in the challenges, behave with dignity, and do some really great food, we'll make our own reputation over time! At least we'll stand out behaviorally from Flay, who's manners are less than...

Devil (scratching balls): Oh Flay's retarded. Yeah, he was raised by boxcar children. No doubt. But we'll never get by on performance alone. Even if we outclass these guys, we'll always get our jockstrap hiked up our ass in the locker-room after the battles by the chanting circle of big-guy chefs. No no. We've got to do something drastic.

Angel (drinking green tea): You mean like shave our vagina?

Devil (swilling Beam): Yes and no. I've got an idea...Who's the classiest person alive?

Angel: Nelson Mandella?

Devil: That asshole? Gimme a break. RACHEL RAY.

Angel: (visibly uncomfortable)

Devil: We'll follow in Ray's footsteps and make some skanky nudie photos. Plus, we got better jugs than Ray.

Angel: Well that's certain.

Devil: Done. Trust me on this. We'll have the respect of the Iron Chef locker room in NO TIME. Bite THIS pepper, Chairman!

Nothing says "I deserve respect" like jamming a can of spam in your canola-oiled cleavage!

Let's just hope Batali doesn't follow suit.