by Ross Sharp

This post also appears at Groupthink …

I got home from work in a filthy mood, a filthy mood totally unrelated to work (although there was one email I could’ve done without from some cheese-faced CUNT whose head I’d like to slam into a brick wall, split its eyelids with a toe-clipper and tear strips of flesh from its witheringly dusty, scabby skinned fucking body with a serrated vegetable peeler …)

I told you I was in a filthy mood.

So I get home in a filthy mood and I turn on the FUCKING TELEVISION SET!!!

There’s this Jamie Oliver show on.

Something about cooking in 30 minutes, and I thought to myself, I thought, “I can do that. You put some rice in the cooker and heat up a curry, what’s so special about that, EH?”, I thought.

“You gammy CUNT”, I thought, “I’ll fucking have you your 30 fucking minutes, I can whip up a FUCKING CARBO-FUCKING-NARA IN FUCKING FIFTEEN, you can beat that I’d like to fucking see”, I thought to my myself, I fucking thought, I fucking DID.

And then I went for a piss and came back and he was “drizzling some olive oil” on a fucking thing.

What the FUCK is a “drizzle of olive oil” ‘cause every time I see some spatula and tonged-up CUNT ON A FUCKING COOKING SHOW “drizzle some olive oil” on a fucking thing, it always looks to me like they’re throwing about three fucking cups of the stuff over whatever the fuck it is which is usually just about every fucking thing, ain’t it, EH?



I thought to myself.

A drizzle is a light, spotty precipitation which can be rather pleasant and refreshing, if we’re speaking weatherwise that is.

A fucking downpour is something altogether fucking different now, isn’t it?

It’s not “The Perfect Storm” for fucking food, eh?


Now I’m looking at the television set again and he’s doing a thing with some tiny potatoes and some unpeeled garlic cloves in a pan and he’s pressing down on the spuds and all with a kitchen implement of some fucking sort.

And he pulls two cloves of garlic from the pan and takes them over to the chopping board, eh?

“Look at that”, he said, as he mashed some fucking garlic with a fork, “Isn’t that GORGEOUS?”, he said.

And I said, I said to the FUCKING TELEVISION SET I said, I said aloud, I fucking did, I said, “No, it FUCKING isn’t!! It’s just some MASHED UP FUCKING GARLIC, you STUPID, STUPID, FUCKING CUNT!!!”

And then I went for a piss after that and came back and put a curry on.

Nice it was.

Lamb fucking KOOOOORrrrma.