I don’t know what it is, but the after watching the news tonight, I thought, hey. You know what sounds really fucking delicious?



Millions of peaches…

Fuck yeah. So that’s what we’re making tonight.


For the filling:

5 ripe peaches, peeled, cored, sliced – and ready to leave office.

¾ cup granulated sugar, as white as every hillbilly who voted for a realty show star in our last presidential election. NOTE: You can make this a little richer by substituting up to half of this sugar with brown sugar, but don’t tell Grandma Carole. She’ll just ask why it’s so hard these days for white sugar to catch a break.

¼ teaspoon salt – preferably kosher, but can be substituted with salty republican tears

For the batter:

6 tablespoons real butter – not Crisco as Russia has had dibs on that for a bit, not sure what that was all about.

1 cup all-purpose flour – as bleached as Ivanka’s $900 haircut

1 cup granulated sugar (stick with Grandma Carole’s favorite for the batter)

2 teaspoons baking powder – double acting, much like a 3rd party candidate or Tulsi Gabbard or that dipshit DINO who just jumped ship from his party (and his career).

¼ teaspoon salt – again…tears.

¾ cup milk – as full of fat as the the calf we’re all waiting on now. You don’t want skim here. In fact, never buy that shit.

Cinnamon to taste (not to be confused with Stormy)

For you:
The appropriate celebratory liquor. I’ve chosen a nice small batch bourbon this evening.


Add the sliced peaches, the super fucking white sugar (or brown because, you know what? Fuck you, Grandma) and the salty salt salt to a saucepan and stir to combine.

Pour yourself a drink. I’m sipping on a tasty bourbon from Kentucky where a bunch of Trump-humpers are crying into their Coors Lights right now.


Mmm. Burny but smooth.

Cook over medium heat for just a few minutes, until the sugar is dissolved and helps to bring out juices from the peaches. Show no mercy, bleed those motherfuckers dry. Toss a little bourbon (or wine or vodka or even beer, why the fuck not?) in there for luck and say a silent prayer to whatever sky goblin you pray to that they’ll actually remove this piece of shit president from office.

Take another drink when you realize that this probably won’t happen, but you can hope.

Remove from heat and set aside. Don’t forget to drink. You deserve this. Pretend your liver is that lady at the co-op who got her entire yoga class to vote for Jill Stein: Give it a beatdown.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Slice butter into pieces and add to a 9×13 inch baking dish. One like the one your racist Aunt Sally used to use before she descended into madness over her obsession with Pizza-gate.

Place the pan in the oven while it preheats, to allow the butter to melt. Take another drink. Take a moment to wish Susan Sarandon the worst case of hemorrhoids imaginable. She deserves this as much as you deserve that bourbon or whatever celebratory adult beverage you’ve chosen to partake in.

Once butter is melted, remove the pan from the oven.

In a large bowl mix together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salty salt salt.

Stir in the milk, just until combined. Pour the mixture into the pan, over the melted butter and smooth it into an even layer. This shit is going to look a lot like our most recent presidency, but it’s going to taste a lot fucking better. I promise. And yes, I realize the bar was set low.

Spoon the peaches and juice over the batter.

Sing the song “Peaches” by The Presidents of the United States of America. It seems appropriate if not ironic.

Sprinkle cinnamon generously over the top. Tip her well. Just like you deserve that drink and Susan Sarandon deserves ass cancer, Cinnamon deserves that tip, goddammit.

Bake at 350 degrees for about 38-40 minutes. Pull out when the batter has baked to a golden brown and is as done as this administration.


I have been looking forward to this.

Once slightly cooled but still warm, serve with a scoop of ice cream and drizzle a little hope for the future. Grab your glass. Raise it.