All Apron's Bitches

I had this idea for a book.

I say that a lot. It must get annoying for the people to whom I say it. They're probably like, "I have this idea for a friend who isn't you."

But, seriously, I have this idea for a book. I'm going to tell you about it now. Why? Because, you choose to come here, so you kind of deserve whatever you get.

Here's my idea for a book:

It's a biography, of sorts. See, Americans love to eat (so you'd think it'd be a cookbook, but I just told you it's a biography so you know it's not a cookbook) and we love to eat processed shit that comes out of a box or a package, because we're largely (and large) too stupid and lazy to cook and bake things from scratch.

So, we like things that are made for us, because we're largely large Americans. Invariably, these packages and/or pre-packaged meals have pictures on them featuring the kindly faces of females who, the corporations would like to have us think, had some hand in either cooking or baking these tasty treats for us, or that they originated the recipes or that they developed some of this shit in their Hobart ovens in, like, the forties or whatever.

So, I thought it would be a good idea for a book to write a biography of all of the women featured on food. I mean, these ladies all have stories and, for the most part, they are untold-- hidden, concealed, unknown. Well that, I think, is kind of a tragedy or whatever, and I'm determined that, once our twins have graduated from college, I'm going to remedy that by dragging these food femmes out into the spotlight by their hair and exposing them for whatever they are. A lot of careful research has already been done in preparation for this project and I'm happy to share with you the preliminary biographical sketches for some of the subjects for the project I have given the working title of:

"All Apron's Bitches"


You might be tempted to think that Dolly Madison was the wife of U.S. President James Madison, but you'd be wrong and, additionally, a sexual deviant. Dolley Madison was James Madison's wife, and she wasn't much to look at if we're being honest with each other. It was Dolly Madison who brought much edible happiness to American families through snack-cakes and other engorging foods marketed by Hostess Foods.

While Dolly Madison was not, in fact, James Madison's wife, she was, in fact the twin sister of President Madison's wife, Dolley. Dolly and Dolley Madison were born on May 20, 1768 to Fred and Elizabeth Schwartzburg, of New Garden, North Carolina. Fred and Elizabeth, (both amateur comedians and frequently shared the stage, singing lighthearted duets about subjects such as hangings, slavery, and multiple orgasms) shared an uncommon sense of absurd humor and thought it would be a "real gassbag" if they named their twins the same name, but just adding an "e" to the name of the twin who came out second.

The joke never quite took. In primary school, the Schwartzburg girls were ridiculed mercilessly. In high school, they were sexually molested by the members of the school's rugby team, with moderate mercy.

While Dolley Madison flourished in polite society, eventually marrying the man who would become the president, Dolly Madison never quite found her way in the world. "Her misshapen head and rather obscenely-proportioned breasts made her somewhat of an anomaly amongst the streetwalkers and Presbyterians of the day," historian and amateur fencing instructor G. F. Jarlsburg commented in a recent interview. "She was never quite facile at mid-afternoon tea or dinner parties, preferring to spend most of her time inside empty oil barrels impersonating members of the Ottoman Empire and pigeons. She did marvelous impersonations of pigeons."


Mary Frances Catherine and Shira Tziporah Rhavannaptrum were born by J-Section on April 12th, 1961, and then again on April 16th. They lead a relatively happy, carefree life in Camden, New Jersey. "We were just kids havin' a blast. The crackpipes strewn about the ground never bothered us," Shira recounted in an interview for "Time" magazine, "we just used them to smoke crack."

"We had no idea how to ride a bicycle when they shot those commercials," Mary Frances remembered, "so they just paid two homeless, black teenage boys $10.00 each and dressed them up like us. Major credit goes to Hazel Whittfield who did all the make-up for DoubleMint's ads and commercials. I mean, is she amazing or what?"

It is popular legend that Mary Frances and Shira were appearing in a low-budget porno film when they were discovered by DoubleMint casting agent Rick Tickler, "but that's not the case," says Shira, "the budget on 'Zulu Cock Artists' wasn't low at all."

This bitch is a fucking illegal immigrant. She came here from Cuba on a goddamned 1951 Ford truck riveted on top of a motherfucking life-raft. After hocking bananas to the unsuspecting populous in an effort to turn every last one of us into a fucking ape, she was shot by immigration authorities after pointing what was believed to be a handgun at them during a nighttime confrontation outside the Cuba Libre. Turns out, it was a fucking banana.


Regrettably, no photographs of Mrs. Paul exist. The long-time, and long-suffering wife of author J. D. Salinger, Mrs. Paul reveled in her late husband's notorious reclusive nature. It was reported that Mrs. Paul (nobody knows her real name, birthplace, age, or blood-type) fed only fish-sticks to her husband every day of his life, and did so intravenously. She is reported to be a devout vegan and a sporadic Methodist.

According to local legend, Mrs. Paul is still living inside the remote house she once shared with her husband and his collection of unpublished manuscripts and human feces. It is rumored that she carries at least five concealed firearms on her person at all times, and that her left breast is made of copper.


A Nazi sympathizer and war criminal currently being hunted by the Mossad. If you have any information as to her whereabouts and/or are concealing her from the authorities, you are advised to contact the Israeli consulate at once, because, you know when it's real.