Read Online My Point...And I Do Have One by Ellen Degeneres - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellen Degeneres
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pretzel factory, but I don’t believe that lying grizzly bastard.” So she hires another bear to follow the Papa Bear—a Detective Bear (or, if you prefer, a detective goat—don’t be afraid to add your own spin to the story).
Well, the Detective Bear shadows the Papa Bear for a week. Then he tells the Mama Bear that every night, after work, Papa Bear goes to the same hotel room in the Poconos. Well, Mama Bear decides that she’s going to give Papa Bear a big surprise. So, she goes to the hotel, kicks down the door, and there in the heart-shaped tub, sipping champagne, as naked as the day they were born are … No, this isn’t a good way either.
There is a big fat queen bee, and she likes her honey. So, she’s in her hive and all these male bees are just buzzing around saying, “Oooo baby, I feel lucky tonight.”
Or you take a big tub of butter, some milk, two or three eggs, a dash of vanilla … No, I’m sorry, that’s not sex, that’s my recipe for French toast. At least I hope that’s not sex.
You know, I think the best idea is just to let the child watch cable TV. Or go out and rent
9½ Weeks
. When I was in school, they showed us a sex education film about a boy calling up a girl on the phone and asking her out on a date. Nowadays, I’m sure they show
9½ WEEKS
or something starring Sharon Stone.
So, in conclusion, that’s how. I would talk to a child about sex. I sincerely hope that I’ve been of help. Excuse me, but I’ve got to go out for a short walk. All of a sudden it has gotten very hot in here, and I’ve developed a craving for French toast.
in the kitchen
with ellen
or
as tasty as poison and just as
deadly
W hen I wasn’t famous, nobody cared about how I ate or how I cooked or how I did my laundry or how I communicated telepathically with animals. But ever since becoming well known through my appearances on television, people seem to be a lot more curious about those things. Seems kind of funny to me, but, hey, if the public wants to know some of these things, I don’t think I have the right not to tell them.
Well, I guess I do have the right to not tell. I mean, there’s no law that says any person of famous or semifamous stature or reputation shall find it incumbent upon said person or personage to divulge eating, cooking, laundry, or animal-telepathy habits to the general public at large, or even in small groups. This is strictly a matter of choice for me, and I choose to say, “Yes. Yes, I
will
tell you what you want to know about me.” And one of the things you seem to want to know most about me is my recipe for French toast.
It is one of my favorite recipes, and I bet dollars to donuts that after you try it out, it will be one of your favorites, too. Come to think of it, I’m not exactly sure I know what the saying “betting dollars to donuts” means. Maybe it used to be “betting donuts to donuts,” but then … no, that still doesn’t make sense. I don’t even know when people started betting donuts. I do know that if you’re in Las Vegas, you can’t just go up to the roulette table, put a jelly donut on number 17, and shout out, “C’mon. Mama needs a big mess o’ crullers!!” Believe me, I’ve tried. Oddly enough, you can put a chip down on any number. But it’s a plastic chip and not the kind that you eat. So maybe it isn’t all that odd after all.
But I digress.
Anyway, this is something that I cook up whenever people drop by, whether it’s invited guests (Gus, my mailman), or tour buses filled with screaming fans (who tell me that I serve better food than Kevin Costner or Madonna).
Believe it or not, Ellen’s Real Frenchy French Toast is also a great alternative to candy for trick or treaters on Halloween. Ah, the look on the little children’s faces when I drop the still-steaming hot bread into their bags followed by a generous dollop of butter and a splash of maple syrup. You can see their faces because in Hollywood children don’t
Well, the Detective Bear shadows the Papa Bear for a week. Then he tells the Mama Bear that every night, after work, Papa Bear goes to the same hotel room in the Poconos. Well, Mama Bear decides that she’s going to give Papa Bear a big surprise. So, she goes to the hotel, kicks down the door, and there in the heart-shaped tub, sipping champagne, as naked as the day they were born are … No, this isn’t a good way either.
There is a big fat queen bee, and she likes her honey. So, she’s in her hive and all these male bees are just buzzing around saying, “Oooo baby, I feel lucky tonight.”
Or you take a big tub of butter, some milk, two or three eggs, a dash of vanilla … No, I’m sorry, that’s not sex, that’s my recipe for French toast. At least I hope that’s not sex.
You know, I think the best idea is just to let the child watch cable TV. Or go out and rent
9½ Weeks
. When I was in school, they showed us a sex education film about a boy calling up a girl on the phone and asking her out on a date. Nowadays, I’m sure they show
9½ WEEKS
or something starring Sharon Stone.
So, in conclusion, that’s how. I would talk to a child about sex. I sincerely hope that I’ve been of help. Excuse me, but I’ve got to go out for a short walk. All of a sudden it has gotten very hot in here, and I’ve developed a craving for French toast.
in the kitchen
with ellen
or
as tasty as poison and just as
deadly
W hen I wasn’t famous, nobody cared about how I ate or how I cooked or how I did my laundry or how I communicated telepathically with animals. But ever since becoming well known through my appearances on television, people seem to be a lot more curious about those things. Seems kind of funny to me, but, hey, if the public wants to know some of these things, I don’t think I have the right not to tell them.
Well, I guess I do have the right to not tell. I mean, there’s no law that says any person of famous or semifamous stature or reputation shall find it incumbent upon said person or personage to divulge eating, cooking, laundry, or animal-telepathy habits to the general public at large, or even in small groups. This is strictly a matter of choice for me, and I choose to say, “Yes. Yes, I
will
tell you what you want to know about me.” And one of the things you seem to want to know most about me is my recipe for French toast.
It is one of my favorite recipes, and I bet dollars to donuts that after you try it out, it will be one of your favorites, too. Come to think of it, I’m not exactly sure I know what the saying “betting dollars to donuts” means. Maybe it used to be “betting donuts to donuts,” but then … no, that still doesn’t make sense. I don’t even know when people started betting donuts. I do know that if you’re in Las Vegas, you can’t just go up to the roulette table, put a jelly donut on number 17, and shout out, “C’mon. Mama needs a big mess o’ crullers!!” Believe me, I’ve tried. Oddly enough, you can put a chip down on any number. But it’s a plastic chip and not the kind that you eat. So maybe it isn’t all that odd after all.
But I digress.
Anyway, this is something that I cook up whenever people drop by, whether it’s invited guests (Gus, my mailman), or tour buses filled with screaming fans (who tell me that I serve better food than Kevin Costner or Madonna).
Believe it or not, Ellen’s Real Frenchy French Toast is also a great alternative to candy for trick or treaters on Halloween. Ah, the look on the little children’s faces when I drop the still-steaming hot bread into their bags followed by a generous dollop of butter and a splash of maple syrup. You can see their faces because in Hollywood children don’t
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