Category: Pure Evil

Avatar Mrs Miggins is up to no good

Back in April, we learned that Mrs Miggins was redeveloping the heart of her enormous property empire. 75 Farringdon Road, the fine property where either Ian or I fell head over heels in love with the lucrative old crone, had the builders in.

I’ve been back to see what she’s done with the place, and I have to say I’m shocked. Take a look for yourself.

A respectable office building, you think to yourself. A fine example of the tasteful architecture and prime locations that have made Mrs Miggins the property magnate she is today.

I thought so too. But then I noticed something. Have you seen it? Look closer.

There it is. Miggins has handed her shiny new building over to Richard Sisskind of the Crossland Otter Hunt – the only UK hunt that chases otters across land and, presumably, then kills them in horrible ways.

Otters don’t deserve this. Otters are lovely. And I demand to know why Mrs Miggins – once the love of my, or maybe Ian’s, life – has taken on this brutal new pastime.

One thing is for sure. We will not be moving the Pouring Beans office to 75 Farringdon Road. No need to send me those fivers.

Avatar Grapes – The Right Time

Put them down right now.

Take your lump of grapes and put them back in the fridge. Stop enjoying them. Do you realise you could be putting your life at risk by eating them at the wrong time?

I know that grapes may look very harmless but that’s what they want you to think. Vicious killers they are. Well, maybe not killers; vicious little things they are. If you start pushing them down your face hole then all manner of things could go wrong. Let me ease you into the potential minefield of grape eating by telling you what you need to know. Here’s a helpful guide:

  1. Make sure you run them under some rubbing alcohol, or possibly some chlorine, before putting them in your mouth.
  2. Only eat even numbers of grapes.
  3. Do not eat them after 8:30pm. The optimum grape eating time is between 7:30 and 8:00pm, with a tiny window of opportunity available shortly thereafter. If you try to eat grapes after this then no matter how much you chew them they will reform in your stomach and come out whole, like sweetcorn but bigger. Unless you want to start pooing out little green nuggets you check the time first, young ‘un.
  4. Do not eat grapes in the morning. You will look weird and wrong.
  5. When you are done eating the grapes put the stalk in the microwave for thirty seconds then throw it out the nearest window. This will appease the Grape Apes and they will not lay siege to your house.

Please listen to my advice as I have been studying grapes for years now, almost decades, and I know what I’m talking about. I am currently a ‘Food Botherer’ however it has come to my attention that certain people may be doing it wrong and I take great care in handing out useful information when I can.

Avatar The most infuriating fruit

The survey results are in. The winner’s name is being carved onto the award. Pomegranate is the most infuriating fruit. It’s a fact. You know it’s true.

  1. Its name is clearly pronounced “pom-e-gran-it” but for some reason it’s spelled with the letters “ate” at the end. Ridiculous.
  2. The outer skin is designed to only come off in a thousand leathery flakes.
  3. The edible bits are approximately one million tiny bloblets of fruit. Before you can eat them you have to excavate them all in a sort of miniature mining project. This takes absolutely forever.
  4. When you eat the edible bits you find that the nice juicy tasty bit takes up only about half of it and the rest is a woody seed that gets stuck in your teeth.
  5. The edible bits are actually called “arils” which is just pretentious. Gaaaaah. I hate it.

On the other hand they do taste nice.

Avatar Lumpy Milkshake

Most of my posts for the last couple of weeks have been about food, so I thought I’d try something different and tell you all a wee story about a milkshake:

Once upon a time there was a handsome, kind, gentle person called, erm, let’s say Kieran. He decided that because he’s such a nice person he would buy his friend a drink at lunchtime and took a stroll to Asda to peruse the choices for sale.

As it happens, it is funnier to buy a weird drink than a normal one. It was a crying shame that the awful mango and passionfruit Frijj drink was sold out so, as a second choice, it seemed a good idea to pick the cherry bakewell milkshake. At sixty pence how could he say no?

His work friend was “delighted” to receive such a “generous” and “tasty” gift. He was so “delighted” that he only took two sips and decided it was too nice to drink, and left it on the side of his desk over the weekend.

How surprised the two colleagues were then to return on Monday to find that the milkshake had turned not only into a solid but some kind of funky, disgusting, yellow scouring pad solid.

As a testament to the power of science, I have included two of the same picture up so it looks as though you’re looking at them through a pair of binoculars. Because that’s cool.

One day I’ll write about other things.

Avatar Sexatronic eviction

Gentlemen, we have a crisis. Sexatronic – my oddly named neighbour and subject of a hit single by The Papples – is about to be evicted from her ground floor hovel overlooking Church Road.

I suggest you do as I have done and write to your MP (remembering to CC the Queen) demanding that the Government steps in to prevent this impending tragedy.

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Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – France (Part 4)

Having discovered a secret tunnel under the sea, I passed quietly across the border into France undetected, arriving in their capital city, “Paris”, in the early afternoon. I took an apartment in the 16th arrondissement and started my new life cycling around parks and examining museums for clues. Nothing. Then one day, in the lift, someone else rode all the way up to the 8th floor with me. An enemy agent? One of their informers? I couldn’t be sure.

I packed my bags and left early the next morning, covering my trail with stories of a poorly relative in Geneva. It was a bittersweet departure; my apartment had the finest coffee machine I’ve experienced in recent years and I couldn’t fit it into my suitcase. I will remember it always.

I took a train somewhere, anywhere, ending up in the far west of the country where I spent the last two weeks hiding in a barn before negotiating my return to Plymouth on a fishing smack, hidden under a pile of nets and fish.

I’m never leaving England again. I am a scarred man. I still smell a bit like fish. So much for France.