Shreddies

I now realise how they came to name these tiny, diuretic, septuagenarianly woven, square, malty blankets. I've only had a breakfast bowl weeks worth of the carpet like fibre parcels and it's been making me shit like a broken tuba.

I sit here in fear of squeaking out a dirty air biscuit at work in the knowledge that it might make me smell like that kid that everybody had at their primary school who constantly stank of poo.

Maybe all that poor boy had done was haplessly force down his morning bowl of brown midget coasters, under the misguided belief of his parents that a healthy child was a happy one, whilst unbeknownst to them, it was actually going to cost him years of therapy in later life to get over the stigma of repressed childhood verbal battery.

Can these things really be that good for you if all they do is alienate work colleges and clear the close vicinity of seats on the bus home like a taped off murder scene?

I'm not sure I'm reaping the benefits of its health improving claims, in not being sure of whether I'm going to fill my shorts every time i hear the low rumble of disobedience from my troubled lower intestine. All i can say, is I feel extremely bad for the poor janitor who has to clean the work toilets, who will no doubt be both disgusted and astonished by the turgid scene in the recently soiled cubical where lies in the crisp, once white porcelain bowl, what looks like one of Monet's lost masterpieces of pointillism.

1st Chilean Big Brother Is Roaring Success

As most have you have probably been made aware from all the press coverage the first series of the Chilean version of Big Brother finished yesterday, with the final winner being released to rapturous applause.

Whilst the South American version had it's budget restrictions, compared to it's glitzier and well polished international cousins, the excitement of the country surpassed any expectations from Chilean TV production company Channel 9 and the series seems to have captured hearts all over the world.

It seems like a lifetime ago, not a mere 10 weeks, that 33 unknown Chileans went into the specially dug out studio compound 600 meters underground to escape the tireless hounding of the ferocious Chilean media. The meagre budget allowed for only one camera which was introduced after the 3rd day when the high viewing figures had justified the expense of buying a camera.

The first 3 weeks tasks were not completed, so the housemates had no electricity and had to survive on 1 teaspoon of Tuna a day until week 4 when they won the "Don't Eat One Of Your Housemates!" challenge and food began to be delivered along with messages from the outside world.

The unexpected twist in the Chilean version of BB turned out to be that there were to be no evictions, and that meant with the extremely bad female turnouts of the auditions, that the 33 men were left with no women for the entire 10 weeks. This led to some interesting pairing up and bed hopping just like in the UK version but that all stopped with Pedro's gang rape in week 7.

The final was a tense affair with all 33 vying for their place to be the last man out and even the President was on hand to shake the hand of the 1st South American to win the landmark first series finale. After 32 men came out to their families, and fevered screams of fans and families and chats with Esperanza McCallio the shows brash presenter it was finally time for the last man out.

Luis Urzua was the victor, and was received by the crowd like he was the first man to shit on the moon. He wins the grand prize fund of $57 and a exclusive photo shoot spread in H'OK, the country's number one gossip magazine.

The show was an overall success, with not much mention of the group buggery in the international press and no coverage at all of the "Nasty Nicos" moment where one of the contestants was hauled out after cheating allegations and poked at long spear point for several hours of interrogation, before being told that it was just a joke for that weeks task, which won them an hour each with a pocket vagina in week 6.

Endemol and Channel 4, who have recently seen the popularity of the original UK series stoop to an all time low with viewing figures falling so low on the last series that they actually had to install Televisions in the Big Brother House and make it the task of the week to watch themselves doing nothing but watch themselves in order to make the weeks shopping budget.

They consoled themselves that it was not as bad as the french version where after the viewing numbers dropped to zero on day 33 of series 9 the crew and cameramen simply stopped filming and went home, leaving the housemates to do whatever they fucking liked 'cause no-one cared anymore.

It was 8 days before the contestants noticed and i believe they are still there now, wondering round aimlessly looking at them selves in mirrors and complaining about being bored like retarded goldfish.

Channel 4 are now looking at taking on the Chilean format to revamp the show's popularity here in the UK and an Underground Celebrity Big Brother project is underway once the nation have decided in an online poll who the lucky sub-terrainian 33 will be.

The front runners so far are Gordon Ramsey, Gok Wan, The bloke from the Go Compare advert, David Cameron, The 2 blokes from the 118 118 commercials and Jade Goody's coffin.

 

I wait with unheld breath.

Biscuits: Relic Of The Gastronomic World of Yesteryear

Now don't get me wrong, only a man crazy enough to take a shit in his
sleeping wife's handbag doesn't like biscuits. I'm not suggesting in
anyway that I have a problem with the beautiful diabeties inducing,
artery clogging, little cakey death bombs but my overall grudge is with
the makers.

They have got plain fucking lazy.

If you think back to your hazy gay days of youth, cycling feverishly
back like a speed demon on your Raleigh Chopper in time for your Nan's
visit, knowing full well that old people always travel with a constant
endless supply of biscuits to entice children to put up with their TCP and piss
stenched, false teeth manoeuvring monologues about the war.

You'd often burst into the room like a vaudeville performer with grubby nails and grass stained
knees and tuck into the mound of confectionary delight offered on your
Mums finest China plate, only to be slapped all the way to the kitchen
sink and ordered to wash your filthy digits in honour of the delectable
delicacies.

But if you grab down the fluffy clouds of reminiscence from the edges
of that mental picture, you will recall with clarity, the sweet
butter cream filled joy that seductively glanced up from the plate is
still the same array of biscuitty badness we know and love today!

Biscuits have had what must be the most laziest marketing, the most devolutionist design arc, the most bland re-branding and slumber-some sales campaigns in the history of commerce.

Nearly all of your Nan's beloved treats were most probably the same
biscuits that adorned her mother's best china back in the late 19th
century.

You'd only have to take a look a look at some of the names to work out
how old some of them are as they're named after old revolutionaries and
ancient relics.

The 'Garibaldi', a failed Italian revolutionary and the 'Bourbon' from the
French and Spanish aristocratic family are the elder statesmen of the
biscuit world. The former has been on the side of cuppa for 150 years
and the latter a mere baby at 100 years or so. The other contenders for
the Great Grand-Daddy of the biscuit empire are the 'Nice' biscuit
first introduced around 1895, The 'Custard Cream' and
'Digestive' around 1876, 'Ginger Nuts' dating back to
Colonial times but the winner by a mile is the 'Rich Tea' which
dates back to the mid 17th century would you Adam and Eve it.

So, all have been dunked into the steaming hot brew of a billion men and
women over 260 years of wars, depressions, victories and disasters
without the merest hint of change in recipe or form.

“But you can't change the classics!!” I hear you cry and I quite
agree but what really pisses up my chugger is the fact that these giants
of the snacking industry have not offered us up anything of equal awesomeness since?

In the 60s and 70s there came 'Jammy Dodgers' and 'Party Rings', fine
additions, then came the luxury bars like 'Penguins', 'Wagon wheels' and the
like but they couldn't really be called biscuits as I feel they ventured
into the technical territory of Chocolate Bars.

The 80s brought some derivatives of the 'Digestive' and the 'Hob Nob'
assortment that remain firm family favourites but that's still 20-30 years
ago.

These companies must have thousands of employees, which must lead one to
believe that there are all sorts of executives, sales, design and
marketing people all employed at great cost, but what could they
possibly have to do all fucking day long?

The meetings must simply involve 10 besuited and bewhildered brainstormers, sitting round a
conference table, looking down sheepishly, whist dunking their very own product
into their cups of tea, nervously waiting for someone to shout
“Eureka!” and then excitedly pipe up with the new ground
breaking, global market conquering, pant shittingly awesome biscuit ever known
to man ....but the problem is, no-one has for 30 years.

Why has none of these companies or any other for that matter given us
this century's 'Bourbon' or 'Custard Cream'. The ideas seem endless but i
guess with everybody buying the same old same old and not standing up
for their evolutionary biscuit rights, we have lost our way somewhere but
hopefully with the new technologically savvy youth of today, surely
someday we are destined to find our way back.

A 21st Century taste revolution that starts with only one bite awaits
the plucky contender that sends us racing proudly into the future, to a
brand new world, with brand new possibilities, with a brand new biscuit worthy of the crown to this heavenly kingdom of bakery.

The Gauntlet, my snacking friends of be-crumbed chin, is thrown down to you.

Now onwards in my quest .....”Dear Mr McVities,.....

Toilet Cubicle Doors

Why do they always open inwards? I went into one the other day in an ironically spacious bar only to find that i had to get in tune with my inner Spiderman-like abilities and clamber like a professional mountain climber tackling a particularly tricky crevasse (Watch it!) with my hands and legs, A framed like an extra from a Village People video just to finally close the door and be left in peace to make a clay chair leg or two.

How fat people get in or out is anyone's guess but i bet it would make for a pretty fucking funny section on You've been Framed if shown to the masses.

At work i use the disabled toilet. Frown all you like but it opens out and I can walk in with dignity and leave with dignity albeit a little lighter.

A Man's toilet is his castle, so don't make me have to attepmt several tantric yoga positions just to take a dump.

Toilet cubicle makers...sort your shit (ters) out.