stop googling for lions fucking women! It does NOT HAPPEN!
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Monday, 9 March 2009
Sunday, 8 March 2009
oh man, food reviews - part tew
Sunday night - For some, it is the end of the week. Correct: listen to my wry applause for a few moments, but in less than an hour, it will be tomorrow. . . .
I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm afraid I start philosophising when I'm thinking about food, and this weekend has been totally rammed with explosive dining experiences. I made a short (long, hot, disgusting) trip to Leamington spa to visit Cotty.
Take my hand, board the trawler;
Appetiser, 6/3/09 - 17:32 -
Pitchers - The shot glass of the giant. Super cheap red bull, orange juice, all the spirits + a pint of lambrini. Cotty told me this was a great drink, that all the great guys bought all the time, and i can definitely not see why the hell they would do that. This drink is the opposite of really delicious - orange juice filtered through some guys sock with a lingering aftertaste of...you know when you throw up, and then brush your teeth, and you can still make out the vomit - like that - the idea of vomit. Consistency thick, yet fizzy, like sparkling water mixed with milk and cornflour. OK, fine, soda streamed semen. I give it a 2/10 - It did get my drunk on, after all.
Dinner, 6/3/09 - 19:32 -
Curry, the food from India, changed in Britain, now spicy and wet. The millennium balti - We're entering a new kind of India, from the future. I was hoping the staff would be dressed in aluminium costumes. Hoping, right. No chance, suits and surly face.
The beer is a pound a pint, and the food...oh yeah, the food sucks.
Garlic naan allegedly - I dispute this - It was covered in bright yellow pieces of 'thing,' that i think was supposed to fill in for the the garlic, but garlic is not yellow, OK? The only way I can imagine this might have happened. The chef did a massive line of lemon rind, and sneezed all over some guys Frisbee. It was a free gift, not naan.
Lamb madras - Five pieces of lamb. Count them all. Those bastards saw me coming, twenty years ago, in a crystal ball made of crystal. Totally on the money too, those cheeky twats, cause i only realised how freaking measly the portion was five hours later. Millennium balti, i admire your entrepreneurial spirit in these cash strapped times, but I'm going to burn your fucking restaurant down, you bunch of terrible cunts. The sauce was alright - I've had better, but next time I want to drink my dinner, I'll go the balti juice bar, ALRIGHT? I give it a 3/10. The sauce that is - Millennium balti, you get the first ever 0/10. Suck it.
More to follow...MORE....
(Knowledge factory moment of the day - Frisbee has to be capitalised. Why?)
I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm afraid I start philosophising when I'm thinking about food, and this weekend has been totally rammed with explosive dining experiences. I made a short (long, hot, disgusting) trip to Leamington spa to visit Cotty.
Take my hand, board the trawler;
Appetiser, 6/3/09 - 17:32 -
Pitchers - The shot glass of the giant. Super cheap red bull, orange juice, all the spirits + a pint of lambrini. Cotty told me this was a great drink, that all the great guys bought all the time, and i can definitely not see why the hell they would do that. This drink is the opposite of really delicious - orange juice filtered through some guys sock with a lingering aftertaste of...you know when you throw up, and then brush your teeth, and you can still make out the vomit - like that - the idea of vomit. Consistency thick, yet fizzy, like sparkling water mixed with milk and cornflour. OK, fine, soda streamed semen. I give it a 2/10 - It did get my drunk on, after all.
Dinner, 6/3/09 - 19:32 -
Curry, the food from India, changed in Britain, now spicy and wet. The millennium balti - We're entering a new kind of India, from the future. I was hoping the staff would be dressed in aluminium costumes. Hoping, right. No chance, suits and surly face.
The beer is a pound a pint, and the food...oh yeah, the food sucks.
Garlic naan allegedly - I dispute this - It was covered in bright yellow pieces of 'thing,' that i think was supposed to fill in for the the garlic, but garlic is not yellow, OK? The only way I can imagine this might have happened. The chef did a massive line of lemon rind, and sneezed all over some guys Frisbee. It was a free gift, not naan.
Lamb madras - Five pieces of lamb. Count them all. Those bastards saw me coming, twenty years ago, in a crystal ball made of crystal. Totally on the money too, those cheeky twats, cause i only realised how freaking measly the portion was five hours later. Millennium balti, i admire your entrepreneurial spirit in these cash strapped times, but I'm going to burn your fucking restaurant down, you bunch of terrible cunts. The sauce was alright - I've had better, but next time I want to drink my dinner, I'll go the balti juice bar, ALRIGHT? I give it a 3/10. The sauce that is - Millennium balti, you get the first ever 0/10. Suck it.
More to follow...MORE....
(Knowledge factory moment of the day - Frisbee has to be capitalised. Why?)
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Oh man, food reviews
THE KFC BOXMASTER:
I ate this recently. I couldn't tell you what it is. It's not a wrap, like the picture suggests, nor is it a burrito. It's firm, like a toy brick (r they even real?), and highly unstable, like a work experience kids first big mac. The bbq sauce is really tart, like an old plum, and the outer blanket far too leathery. The overall effect is like pouring the insides of a burger into a boiled shoe, and taking some bites. I give it a 5/10.
Oh, and the really creepy thing is that it is the spitting image of GRANDMA FROM THE DINOSAURS!
I ate this recently. I couldn't tell you what it is. It's not a wrap, like the picture suggests, nor is it a burrito. It's firm, like a toy brick (r they even real?), and highly unstable, like a work experience kids first big mac. The bbq sauce is really tart, like an old plum, and the outer blanket far too leathery. The overall effect is like pouring the insides of a burger into a boiled shoe, and taking some bites. I give it a 5/10.
Oh, and the really creepy thing is that it is the spitting image of GRANDMA FROM THE DINOSAURS!
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Santa for Students
"I'm a student - I bought a festive tree, some tinsel, and some tesco value bang crackers, cause I'm a maverick, ironikal jester, sending out confruntaeshionul, poshwhiteboyrappingtodrdre, 'LOL' vibes straight into the face of the spirit of Christmas, while secretly praying for a flabby wodge of wonga from granny. I'm completely independent now, ok, and totally not going home when term is over to sponge off mumz and dad for a month on a holiday that I totally don't deserve, seeing that I've spent my time mastering the art of auto fellatio, ghazzlahn pound beers and trying to explore alternative realities by smoking ganjar and staring inside my flatmates hairy arsehole...Instead of lyk, reading and wutnut"
Sunday, 23 November 2008
Saturday, 22 November 2008
"Where will YOU be when stuff blows up?"
I've just seen the new BBC news advert, and it has forced me to open up my brain again, remember my blog password, and spank out a wordy vent, in an attempt to pacify my churned up stomach, twisted into a pointy hate knife, due to this horrible piece of marketing.
The advert mixes shots of peaceful domesticity, with coverage of big media events; a smiling housewife places an empty oven dish by the sink, as she is confronted by the cheery sight of the tsunami, her chirpy smirk replaced with one of abject horror. Thanks BBC, you ruined my dinner party!
I suppose the BBC is attempting to express the power and authority of their news coverage, but all the advert does is sum up both the exaggerated theatre of rolling news, and the disproportionate fear that this kind of reportage engenders. The whole enterprise turns shocking events such as the tsunami, also featured in the advert, into a bombastic melodrama, played out incessantly and pointlessly.
Congratulations to the BBC news marketing team, for celebrating aimless, pervading, 24/7 news coverage. The final shot of the advert is of a man in a forest, IN THE FUTURE, staring in gob smacked awe at some horror that lurks in wait, possibly the long awaited sequel to 9/11. Anyway, all we need to know, is that the BBC are down with this tech shit, and with us all the way, and the advert asks, "Where will you be?" Unfortunately, this statement doesn't manage to posit the BBC as some sort of unifying, pivotal force, as the ad makers intended, but tells us two things. It hammers home the absurdity of constant news access, (couldn't forest man have found out the news when he got home from his walk?), but also, boldly confesses that the success and strength of BBC news hinges on it's coverage of the next load of humans to explode or get stabbed. Although, as we have recently learnt, if lacking in any decent terrorism, or dead, innocent, British, white holiday-maker related stories, a bawdy phone call will keep this great institution's head above water.
Long live BBC news.
The advert mixes shots of peaceful domesticity, with coverage of big media events; a smiling housewife places an empty oven dish by the sink, as she is confronted by the cheery sight of the tsunami, her chirpy smirk replaced with one of abject horror. Thanks BBC, you ruined my dinner party!
I suppose the BBC is attempting to express the power and authority of their news coverage, but all the advert does is sum up both the exaggerated theatre of rolling news, and the disproportionate fear that this kind of reportage engenders. The whole enterprise turns shocking events such as the tsunami, also featured in the advert, into a bombastic melodrama, played out incessantly and pointlessly.
Congratulations to the BBC news marketing team, for celebrating aimless, pervading, 24/7 news coverage. The final shot of the advert is of a man in a forest, IN THE FUTURE, staring in gob smacked awe at some horror that lurks in wait, possibly the long awaited sequel to 9/11. Anyway, all we need to know, is that the BBC are down with this tech shit, and with us all the way, and the advert asks, "Where will you be?" Unfortunately, this statement doesn't manage to posit the BBC as some sort of unifying, pivotal force, as the ad makers intended, but tells us two things. It hammers home the absurdity of constant news access, (couldn't forest man have found out the news when he got home from his walk?), but also, boldly confesses that the success and strength of BBC news hinges on it's coverage of the next load of humans to explode or get stabbed. Although, as we have recently learnt, if lacking in any decent terrorism, or dead, innocent, British, white holiday-maker related stories, a bawdy phone call will keep this great institution's head above water.
Long live BBC news.
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