Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Why is it so Hard to get a Goddamn 50g Bag of Adequately Flavoured Dry Roasted Peanuts in this Town?

Everything's gone to hell.

You do most of your shopping at the supermarket - of course you do

You're a slave to convenience.

But you can't find a small bag of dry roasted peanuts there.

No.

I suppose that makes sense at least. People don't go to a grocers the size of an aircraft hanger because they want a little, bitty bag of nuts - they go to stock up for the nuclear mutant winter, so they don't have to leave their ground fortresses every 18.5 days to forage for legumes and dry roast seasoning.

The supermarket has got an own brand bag for the same price as a decent packet though - 200g for the price that you'd normally pay for 50g of KP.

So you get it, thinking:

"What could possibly go wrong?" 

Then they make your face do this.



That was from Asda though - the Walmart owned and worst UK supermarket there is - so you go and try the own brand dry roasteds from Tesco, thinking:

"What could possibly go... wrong?" 





...







They make your face do this:



You can't believe that anything which should taste so good could possibly taste so bad, so you go to the classy supermarket - the one where you hardly never see people spitting on the floor or pissing in the shallots - the hypergrocers known as Sainsburys, but god-fucking-damnit if their nuts don't just make your visage go flippety-jibbedy like this:



And now you're desperate - alone and scared - so you get what's left of all three bags and down them in one, hoping that between them there is enough flavour to wake up your taste buds, but no!





There is not.






They just phase-shift your features with toxic afterglow and no joy + hurt feelings, a la this pic: 




You're tired.

You're mad as hell.

You might have had an accident in your pants, although probably it's just the fit.

Overhead, shitehawks circle you like vultures, smelling the weakness and fear on you.

And, perhaps, the poo.

But all is not lost.

There are still all the smaller establishments left to hit.

The corner shops -  the cash and carrys - the petrol garages.

Surely they'll have the smaller bags, right?

Surely people aren't going to these shops to buy peanuts by the tonne, right?

Wrong. The options available at these places?


  1. No name bullshitnuts that make the supermarket own brands seem more flavoursome than giving the galactic space empress head with a mouthful of sherbet, tequila, and chilli peppers,
  2. Weirdly massive bags of quality nuts, and
  3. 50g nuts of simply salted, i.e. right size wrong fucking flavour.




By this point you're desperate.

You're terrified.

Also, you've got an erection, although that's probably just down to the fit of your trousers.

There's one place left you can try though - the Tesco Metro. Sure, it's part of the same evil conglomeration as its supermarket older brother, but it's a smaller store, so it should have smaller packets of nuts, right?

RIGHT!?

You send the maths to NASA, have them run it through their super spaceship computer.

The results come back in:


SMALLER STORE = 80% LIKELIHOOD OF SMALLER AND/OR WORSE NUTS

If those space computers were good enough for all those dead monkeys that we sent into orbit to suffocate to death, then they're good enough for you.

You hit the store.

"Hey, man," you ask the store assistant. "You got any dry roasted KPs? You got any Mr. Peanuts?"

The words don't come out right though - the lack of peanut dust up in your blood and brain tentacles has made your body react gruesomely - your lips blown up like rocket fried sausages - your fingers extended lingerers - your eyes slitty, green frog nonsense.

You've never looked more beautiful.




The store assistant knows exactly what you're saying though, and he takes you to the peanuts, and when you see the wall-to-wall 10kg bags of peanuts he begins to shriek with girlish laughter.

"Why don't you just take one of the larger bags?" he asks.

"Because I'll just eat them all in one go," you say, as you collapse to the ground, beginning to weep uncontrollably. "And that's much more than the nutritional guidelines recommend that you should eat in one serving."

His laughter reaches a pitch so high that the frozen beef clumps shatter.

"Don't you see how the world is now?" he asks. "This is a rich man's world, you rusted streak of manwhore-grease. You think the Queen would be satisfied with a 50g bag of KPs? You think Richard Branson would be? You either cough up the extra 28p for a bigger bag and get on board with the big boys, or you get the fuck out of flavour country and make do with some no-name, tasteless nut filth."

And you can't hold out anymore, so you give him £1:78 and he pours the nuts into a bowl so that you can lap them up like a large, demented cat.




And it's heaven.





It's unadulterated, fucking heaven.




But unfortunately, you consume slightly more than the recommended daily amount, and so you die of stomach explosion. 



RECENT MISTAKES

  • Desiring less
  • Accepting more
  • Stomach explosion

ANALYSIS

After resurrection, consume no more peanuts.

"But they are so rich in fibre and protein."

I know, buddy. I know.

But the world moved on, and guys like you and me with our little nuts got left behind.

"Little BAGS of nuts, you mean?"

Yeah.

That too.

That too...


Friday, 1 May 2015

Hit and Pun

Sometimes people find this blog quite by accident - the following is a list of recent search terms that have resulted in such an occurrence: 


Something mean about Belgium


I don't recall ever saying anything mean about Belgium. But, I'd hate to disappoint my accidental fans.


Belgium is less good than other European countries, although still probably in the top ten

"Wow. You really stuck it to the Belgians."

It only said 'something mean,' it didn't say 'really mean' or 'mean as fuck.' Plus, no one knows enough about Belgium to adequately insult it. I think that they have something to do with chocolate or sausages, but what European country can't you say that about? In my mind they're essentially just the continental Wales.

"Okay, now that's pretty mean."
 


Goat cakes 


Are these people looking for:


  1. cakes made of goat,
  2. cakes shapes like goats, or
  3. cakes made by goats.
Either way I'm more of a savoury person to be honest, so if you're here for desserts you should fuck off back to 'Recent Trifles' or some other such shit.



Single parents are like superman



Yeah, but are they? Do they use their laser eyes to re-heat sausage meat? Do they use their X-ray vision to work out who is carrying sausage meat and then befriend them using their super-pheremones? Do they eat sausage meat with their super-mouths and then fly round the world to reverse time, so that they can go back to before they ate the sausage meat and be able to eat the sausage meat once more?

"Why do you think that Superman is obsessed with sausage meat?"

Oh, so you like that aspect? I'm pitching a more gritty and urban version of the character to DC in which Superman's achiles heal is an addiction to sausage meat instead of kryptonite.



"It seems like Mayor McCheese would have hamburger meat - not sausage meat."

Yeah, Superman is not going to be happy when he finds that out. He just spends the rest of the issue crying in fact.

"Sounds like my kind of superhero story."

Yeah, DC really went to touchy-feely with the Dark Knight and Man of Steel; it's time to get back to what made comics great in the golden age of the 1980s - relentless grimness.  
 

I'm single and I like it


I'm not single and I never liked it.

 

Mistakes


Yes, this is the place to come to for mistakes. Recent ones mainly.

 

Syria funny pictures


I should probably - definitely - start this by stating unconditionally that:


I HAVE NEVER BLOGGED FUNNY PICTURES OF SYRIA

The thing of interest here is that people are searching for this.

I mean...

...what the fuck?

Obviously I can't draw a funny picture of Syria, but....

"You can link to some funny ones of Belgium?"

Bingo:








You're probably thinking that this is some sort of Belgian folk tradition, called the Gilles of Binche or something, whereas in fact this is just HOW EVERY SINGLE BELGIAN PERSON DRESSES.





For more search queries, check out my previous post: