#13 “The Ballad of D.K. Cook“ by Jordan A. Gillis

*1992 East London* 

D.K. Cook (an absolute mad man), went for a naughty walk down the wrong street at 11:43 on a Thursday night. Cook was approached by a man wearing a hooded black puffer and tattered Adidas. Cookie made a swift 180 and took the next left. Another hooded man with the same beat shoes met him at an alley’s opening. He was trapped. Before Cook could negotiate his way out of this pickle he was cracked with a tire iron in the back of the skull. 

Cook soon woke up in a hospital, surrounded by family and friends. Cook was overjoyed to see his loved ones, but confused. Bandaged and bruised, Cook tried to speak. A bass tone barreled from his vocal cords. The tone was so low and so raw his family members had to cover their ears. Doctor Yoko rushed upstairs, having felt Cook’s emission four floors down. As he strode towards him, Cook noticed that the doctor had a mild erection tucked behind his lab coat, which poked his pants upwards; a subtle, phallic salute to the strange vibrations oozing from the man in front of him. “I’m sorry D.K but you will never be able to speak again”. Doctor Yoko explained. This news was met with another ear bleeding bass note. Cook was furious and shook all over. His skull could not handle the vibrations any longer and the loose skull fragments clanked together: a snare.

Food was Jordan A. Gillis’, (@thespoonman_) escape from the unforgiving banality of Peterborough, Ontario. He then lost himself, falling deep down into the underground bare knuckle boxing rings of Halifax Nova Scotia. Now Jordan has re-connected with his culinary roots. He is one of Canada’s most renowned sandwich artists. 

Jordan Recommends:

Getting off your high horse
Tim Horton’s Farmer’s Wrap
Rosemary
Drunk Ink