A very few prize recipes

Prize Recipes of Bowersville (undated, but I'm guessing it's from the '70s) is not quite as boastful as the title may seem.

The United Methodist Youth Fellowship of Bowersville, Ohio, could only find 40 pages worth of recipes to fill out this little book. To be honest, 40 is stretching it because plenty of those 40 pages are partially or entirely blank with a little "Write extra recipes here:" line above the blank space. It seems that Bowersville seriously overestimated the number of prize recipes they had.

The 40 pages of recipes look even sadder when you read through and realize that everybody in town apparently had very similar tastes, and nobody had the guts to pick between Mrs. Gleason Bloom's or Diane Earley's Chocolate Date Cake, so both got included.

In fact, of the four bread recipes in this booklet, three are for pumpkin bread. (The fourth is for cranberry nut bread.) The most interesting of the trio may be this one:

Yes, along with the usual sugar, flour, spices, pumpkin, and oil, this takes a box of dry Jell-O brand coconut pie filling. I guess this is the preferred recipe for people who like to pretend they have suntan oil in their pumpkin bread. Keep a ray of summer sun in the fall favorites.

The salad recipes have a little more variety. Only six of the 16 total salad recipes consist of some combination of pineapple, marshmallows, and a creamy accompaniment. Several of them actually sound pretty tasty, but this one fills me with despair:

Fluff Salad is meant to satisfy when only a mixture of whipped cream, mayonnaise, and marshmallows rolled in cabbage and pineapple (How would that even work?) will do. I'm not sure what bizarre turn of events would make such a craving likely, but I hope never to experience it. *Shiver*

I won't say that Bowersville's very loose interpretation of the word "salad" is all bad, though. This recipe is clearly very healthy and deserving of its place in the salad chapter rather than alongside the other desserts:

See? Oreo Salad has bananas right there as the second ingredient. And it's got nuts, too. Clearly a health food. Don't let the Oreos and Cool Whip distract you.

As small as the book is, I think the next recipe title slipped past the proofreader. (I'm assuming no one in Bowersville realized that "Oreo's" should not be possessive and letting that mistake from the previous recipe slip by.) (Well, except I'm clearly not.)

Good old Licopis A!rocpt Bars! I'm stumped by this title. I'm assuming "A!rocpt" is supposed, somehow, to be apricot, but I have no clue about "Licopis." I tried searching it on Google and got Licopid (a drug for immunotherapy), Lykopis (an archery range in British Columbia), or Lycopus (a genus of herbaceous plants that tend to live in wetlands). Pretty sure none of these have any connection to the recipe. I thought of licorice, too, but there's nothing licorice-flavored in these things, so that seems like a dead end too.

That means I get to make up my own interpretation. "Licopis" means "werewolf piss" ("lico" being a bastardized version of the first two syllables of "lycanthrope" and "pis" being, well, piss). That means the real title of these cookies translates to something like "Apricot Bars that Taste like Werewolf Piss."

What do you think? Feel free to come up with your own interpretations if you like. I'm off to create a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Salad.