A crisis hits the bachelor pad kitchen as your humble author attempts a red-hot chili con carne, but runs - figuratively - into a brick wall."GAAAAAH!"
I have, it appears, forgotten to buy the tinned tomatoes. Indeed, the only tomato-based product I have is a gallon drum of Iceland own-brand ketchup, which may or may not have been wafted within six feet of a tomato plant on its way from factory to shop.
"Why not," says my EXCELLENT flatmate, pointing out a half empty jar in the fridge, "use that? It's just tomatoes, after all."
It is a jar of Dolmio.
"Are you MAD?!" I fume, "This can only end in one thing: BLASPHEMY."
And in goes the BLASPHEMY SAUCE, and I have invented CHILI CON DOLMIO.
And hours later, as my room is filled with an explosive mixture of gasses, I mull: Is it wrong to fancy the freakishly thicked-lipped but oh-so-curvy Sophia from the Dolmio adverts?
Answer: Yes. Yes it is.
5 comments:
She's a MILF (Muppet I'd Like...)
May I also direct your attention to this.
Proper chilli sauce
She does look rather ... inflatable.
It has without question been too long if you are starting to eyeball cartoons with lust, Sir.
Dolmio is owned by Mars. Why not try pasta with a deep-fried Mars Bar?
Sorry, can't take those muppets seriously since I saw the versions on you tube dubbed in Glassegian.
Much better than the real adverts.
By the way, Deep fried Mars Bars started off as a Piss Take so more fool the muppets who believe they are part of the cuisine up here.
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