Friday, November 18, 2005
This small, chocolate-covered biscuit is truly a work of inspired genius. It is, to use Scary's phrase, this: fucking aces.
Some may point out the similarities between a TimTam and the UK's Penguin biscuit, but they clearly have never tasted a TimTam. It takes the penguin round the back and gives it a bloody good hiding.
The chocolatey goodness of the TimTam is fantastic straight out of the packet, but I can hear some of you saying "So what? I can get chocolate biscuits anywhere, anytime. I want something different, something new, something... filthy."
Well, my little perverts, get yourselves a nice hot cup of tea. Bite two, diagonally opposite, corners of your TimTam. Dunk one bitten corner in your tea, and use it as a straw to suck up your tea. When you feel the tea come out of the end, quickly shove the whole thing in your mouth in one go. Now go and change your soiled underwear, because that was the closest thing to sex you are going to get. Especially with the amount of biscuits you eat.
I have heard rumours that it tastes even better if you use Port. One for Christmas, I think.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
DVDs are much cheaper over here in the colonies. The Muppets cost us $35, which is about £16, and they're selling it for £25 on Amazon (which is usually one of the cheapest places to get DVDs in the UK). Bravo, our Australian cousins.
Monday, November 14, 2005
- Write great story (possibly to include zombies/aliens/cats).
- Get it published on scifiction
- Collect awards
- Put feet up as money comes rolling in by the truckload
I'm currently stuck on the first part.
Friday, November 11, 2005
You'd think that being unemployed would mean I'd be updating this blog
every half hour, what with all that time on my hands. Unfortunately,
being unemployed means that the only people I meet are my family, and
the only things I do are apply for jobs, buy groceries and stare
vacantly out through the window. Not exactly exciting blog fodder.
This morning, however, I'm awake at 6:30 while the rest of the house
snores. My back decided to wake me up about two hours ago, by being
just painful enough to stop me from sleeping, but not
ohmygodsomeonehasreplacedmyspinewithfire painful - you know, the
glamorous kind of pain that leaves you looking pale and drawn in a
hospital bed while pretty young nurses mop your brow, perhaps
occasionally giving you a bed-bath. Or therapeutic oral sex.
I've watched enough House to know that I've probably contracted Von
Trapp's Disease, and only have 24 hours before all my organs liquefy
and dribble out of my ears. First, they'll treat me for a completely
different disease, though, that has some of the same symptoms, but
unfortunately the cure for that one will just make me worse and quite
possibly roll my eyes up into my head and jerk around on the bed like a
landed fish. House will storm in, scaring off the oral sex nurse,
declare that I lied about never having licked a sweaty Shetland pony's
back in 1983 (the only known cause of Von Trapp's) and if I don't sign
this consent form for the experimental moles-on-crack treatment I will
die and so will everyone else I know. Then he'll limp back to his
office, and sit moodily twirling his cane to an appropriate soundtrack
thinking up new reasons not to have sex with that nice Dr Cameron.
That's how hospitals work, I know. I've seen it on TV. The lovely Mrs
No-Middle-Name, who is a nurse, denies this. But why would TV lie to
Anyway, back to my back. So, I'm sat here on the sofa, after
discovering (through a process that had me performing the Kama Sutra
with an invisible partner) that there is no position in bed which
doesn't hurt. I'm waiting for the painkillers to kick in, and I don't
even get to look forward to a day off work. Unemployment has taken all
the joy out of skiving. It's no fun when no-one is paying you to watch
daytime TV in your pajamas.