Following a recent post regarding my experience of ‘fine dining’ at a 2 star Michelin restaurant, the other night I had the opportunity to work in the kitchen belonging to not the fourth voted ‘best restaurant’ in the world, not the third best, not even the second best, but the 18,746th best restaurant in the entire f**king world. Frankly, it was an honour! Everyone in the kitchen suffered from TB, and this was reflected in the dishes that eventually went out. It wasn’t so much ‘fine dining’, as ‘rancid’ dining! However, the sauces were to die for, and I suspect over the next week or so, many of the diners will indeed meet their maker! Personally, I find chef sweat dripping into saucepans only enhances flavours. ‘Chez Shits’ even made its own butter, churned with loving care by Archie, the trained kitchen rat. I loved working there but I wouldn’t necessarily want to dine there, but you may, so hurry up down to Chez Shits before the adverse publicity forces it to close. Now eat…eat, it’s good for you!
Most of us have heard of FARC… Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia). Well I’m going to start my own revolutionary movement, but in order to utilise the name I have in mind, I must relocate to a little known Spanish-speaking region of Turkestan. Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Turkestan...or FART is what we’re going to be known as, and with a name like that I’m sure we’ll attract celebrity endorsements by the shed loads. We’re even going to have our own website, and if some other revolutionary one hasn’t already registered it, it’s going to be www.fart.com, or www.fart.biz. If you wish to make a donation, I don’t accept Bittycoin! Mark my words, the wind of change is a-coming!
Geoff, a friend of mine kept banging on about the merits of the Aldi supermarket, saying how wonderful it was compared to Tesco or Asda, so I thought I’d give it a try! Geoff was right you know…wonderful layout, selection, and the prices were excellent, but I’ll never go there again! Choosing to use an automated check-out, I got in a pickle over ‘quantities’ of fruit. And the next thing I heard was not “would you like to continue?” but …”Schnell sie englischer bastard…ich habe nicht allen fucking Tag erhalten!” This was followed by the sound of a Messerschmitt 109 strafing innocent civilians, of which I was one. I shit my pants! As I packed my goods the machine blurted ‘Deutschlandlied’, the German national anthem. Why I haven’t been so humiliated like that in ages! I will take my custom elsewhere. Still, I needed a good shit!
Apparently things are so bad in Spain that there is a growing trend to hack off one’s own body parts in order to make fraudulent insurance claims.
A man cut off his own hand, claimed he lost it in a car crash and tried to claim two million pounds. A second man living in Valencia used a chainsaw to cut off his arm above the elbow and put in an insurance claim for half a million pounds. A Catholic priest cut off his leg below the knee claiming he had lost it after falling down a well. Err? Surely ‘oh celibate one’ would have been far better off hacking away at a REDUNDANT body part?
Apparently only 2% of those born into a Christian family regularly attend Church in Britain. It is almost as if God had a fight with Barclaycard in 1966, and God lost, for since that period many of us spend our Sundays shopping on credit.
Prior to the introduction of the first credit card in Britain, individuals saved up for goods they wanted, either in full or in part. It is logical to assume an item purchased in this way was greatly valued. Today however many of us impulse shop, refer to credit cards as plastic fantastic whilst buying items we really don’t need or value. The result? burdensome personal debt, and all in the pursuit of what is jovially referred to as retail therapy! We have cupboards full of STUFF we never wear, never use…and can’t give away, except on eBay. Some of us have chosen to turn our backs on God and Faith to head down the not so Yellow Brick Road in pursuit of an illusionary happiness. Faith doesn’t necessarily have to be a religious-backed faith so long as it is something bigger than ourselves.
Some people shouldn’t be allowed to bake. Harsh, but true! Returning home from a hard day at the office, girlfriend Joanna presented me with what I thought was an oblong clay brick. I was so pleased she’d taken up pottery. ‘Darling,’ I said, ‘if you can make another…say 150, I’ll build you a hut in which you can place the garden tools.’ The sour expression that was just for me was the same one Joanna’s mother wore…at her own funeral!
‘David,’ Joanna said, ‘this is a cake that I baked in the microwave!‘
‘Really, so what went wrong?‘ I replied.
‘Who said anything went wrong!’
‘But Joanna, its as heavy as lead and as hard as steel.’
‘Aren’t you at least going to try it?’
‘No,’ I said, having just paid off my last dental bill, ‘but I tell you what I will do with it. I’ll pretend its a whetstone and use it to sharpen the garden tools.’
‘David,’ Joanna said, ‘are you telling me that I can’t cook?’
‘Certainly not my dear,’ I said. ‘What I am saying is that you can’t cook for me.‘
It’s official. Aliens have landed in Trafalgar Square! Traffic was at a standstill yesterday when Londoners experienced a very close encounter of the third kind. Disembarking from an inter‑galactic spacecraft holding a folded up copy of ‘UFO Monthly’, a seven‑foot tall hermaphrodite hailing from the planet Crion was heard to utter these immortal words; ‘ Clim Sut Ure? ‘, which translates as ‘Where DHSS?’ The first Earthling to greet the alien with both sex organs was a City of Westminster traffic warden, who duly slapped it’s craft with a one hundred pound parking ticket. ‘ Red routes are for buses only. ‘
A press conference was hastily cobbled together. A journalist from The Guardian wanted to know about the hermaphrodite’s home world. Asked and answered.
A representative from the Times newspaper sought knowledge of Crionite social customs. Asked and answered.
A journalist from The Daily Telegraph had questions pertaining to Crionite technological achievements. Asked and answered.
A representative from The Wall Street Journal asked for a breakdown of the Crionite economic structure. Asked and answered.
The man from The Sun wanted to know if the hermaphrodite practised safe sex, and the ‘journalist’ from The Sport wanted to know if it kept the toilet seat up, or down.