"Oh my heavens, what have I done," Dweezil exclaimed in mock horror as he accidentally on purpose knocked the entire contents of the Hotter Than Hell Jabenero Pepper can into his spice mix. He then looked over at Squig, who now wearing his chef's hat, was sulking in the corner.
"Oh Sous Chef Squigman, would you be so kind as turn on the burner under the cast iron pan?" He asked, innocently.
"Whatever Chef Dweezil," Squig grumbled as he walked over to the oven and turned on the burner.
The minute Squig's back was turned, Dweezil quickly mixed in the pepper and began preparing his cicadas. First he speared one, dipped it into the milk, and then chuckling manically to himself, rolled it in the spice mixture. In no time, all of his cicadas were prepared and ready to go into the pan.
"Sous Chef," he called out sweetly, "would you be so kind as to drop the cicadas into the hot oil. But I want you to be very careful when you do it," he continued looking benignly over at Squig," because the oil is hot and I wouldn't want you to get a nasty burn."
Feeling extremely ill used and put upon, Squig marched over, hopped on the counter, grabbed the cicadas and walking over to the stove dumped them in the oil,.
"Oh nicely done." Dweezil beamed over at Squig. "You know, since you're doing such a good job, I think I'm going to let you taste one, before I plate the rest. How does that sound?
"Great. Is there anything else I can help you with, Chef. Anything at all? I'm right here at your disposal. Just name it and I'll do it."
"No, no. I've got it under control. All we have to do is wait until the timer goes off and then you may take the cicadas out of the oil and place them on that plate." He smiled, indicating a festive blue plate sitting on top of the oven.
Ding went the timer and Dweezil, hopping off the counter, turned off the burner. Looking up at Squig he instructed, "Now one by one, take the cicadas out of the oil and put them on the plate. But do be careful, they will be hot."
Not needing to be told twice Squig speared each cicada, now crispy and tinted a fiery shade of red, and carefully stacked them on the plate.
"You know," Dweezil said sweetly, drumming his claws on the floor, "You did such a good job, you don't have to stop at one cicada. You can have as many as you can stuff in your mouth."
Squig immediately speared four cicadas and crammed them in his mouth. His eyes bulged, his mouth was on fire and he spit the cicada bits everywhere, as he ran in circles looking for water.
"I know they're delicious, but there really isn't any need to dance around." Dweezil chuckled.
"Water," Squig croaked.
"This should cool you down," Dweezil said, jumping on to the sink, and turning on the tap sprayed Squig in the face with cold water.
"In my mouth, in my mouth, not on my face," Squig cried opening his mouth.
And with that Dweezil turned the water on full force and let Squig have it, knocking him off the counter and onto the floor. "My, my," he said looking down at his soaking wet friend, "you seem to have lost your hat. I guess your job as sous chef is over. Turning toward the camera, he grinned and said, when it doubt, you can always alter your recipe from crispy fried cicada to fire cracker cicada, which in this instance has done the job quite effectively."