God knows, though. And I'll have to answer for it.
The liquid smoke, a substance apparently made from the runoff from an extinguished house fire, wafted into my eyes, burning them to tears. And just like in the TV show, the mass started oozing out of the sides. The caramels, in fact, started leaking into the mechanical components of the waffle iron, and I wondered for a minute if this was going to be my last time using that machine. Then the caramels started falling out of the waffle iron, jizzing all over my counter.
Food porn. Literally.
Right as the burning smell really permeated my kitchen, the waffle iron's green light came on. I knew this had to cool for a while -- those melted caramels looked like little globs of lava that would burn right through my tongue. I let it hang out while I scraped caramel emission off the counter and charred residue out of the maker with a skewer.
Finally, I wrapped that beast around a stick of butter and prepared for my first bite.
Like if hot dogs were made of diabetes instead of animal anuses.
Here is our first important life lesson: Food works differently in cartoons, as anyone who has tried to eat a pizza in a sewer can attest. A raw stick of butter may look like the ultimate expression of gluttony in Homer's hands, but here in the real world butter is only pleasant when it melts. The first bite of moon waffle was nauseating, all because of that cold, very chewy hunk of butter.