Thursday, January 12, 2006

Creme Egg Mystery

The Battle of Misty's Dog

Misty is convinced that her dog is cuter than mine. "Feh, woman," I say. "Feh!"

Battle is joined, and I'm afraid to say the stats do not lie.

Lucy Minogue = TEH CUTEST.

Pudsey = Evil duck killer.

Case rested.

Crème Egg Mystery

The time: 1300 hours, Tuesday 9 January 2006

The place: Tesco, Dorchester

The event: First sighting of 2006 Easter Eggs, some four months before the event. They didn't even have the decency to see off Valentine's Day.

I am certain that Creme Eggs are smaller than last year. When I was a kid, they were the size of ostrich eggs, now they are as very, very small peas.

Does anybody happen to have a collection of antique Creme Egg wrappers to back me up? The 2006 model is 39 grams. I bet they weight half a fucking ton back in the dawn of time, and if you wanted a Creme Egg and a Waggon Wheel, you had to take a fork lift truck to the sweet shop.

Thursday vo-toe

And following last week's fiasco, I'm only going to ask you to choose-o from stories that I've actually written. quote-os, as usual don't necessarily match up with the story. Hint: The value of puffins may go down as well as up. Don't put all your money in puffins!

* The Operator: Waking up from a drink-induced slumber he saw what could only be Jeremy Paxman frotting up against several members of the Shadow Cabinet. "Bloody biased BBC" he shouted at the screen, collapsing into unconsciousness yet again.

* Potman: "And I'd like you introduce you to your new cell-mate. Hey Bubba - some fresh meat for ya!" Poor, poor Lord Archer, he'd never be able to sit on a bar stool again.

* Driving Test: "No you fools!" Albert Einstein raged at the Nobel Committee. "That's no equation - it's my street name. MC Squared. Bo selecta!"

* Now, that's Magic!: So I joined the Salvation Army. I lasted ten minutes, right up to the moment I said "What d'you mean I don't get a fucking gun?" Humourless bastards.

* Dibs: "You insensitive bastard!" she screamed as he served the first course, "My mother died with a watermelon stuffed up her arse!" Dinner that night, he realised, would be a tense affair. He suddenly dreaded the cheeseboard.

* Pickle: "Women! Can't live with 'em, can't bludgeon 'em to death with a claw hammer and bury 'em under the patio." In retrospect, Prime Minister's Questions could have gone better that day.

* Party III: "So, it's decided then," said Mother Teresa O'Hara, her mouth a slit as the words hissed out to the packed yet silent room deep in the Vatican, "Julie Andrews is fucking dead meat."


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