More of a fucking imbecile actually,
I'm doing that 500 calories twice a week diet thing, it's worked really well for me. Aaaaaanyway, yesterday was a diet day and I got up early and chopped a load of veg for a spiced veg soup later. Got home from work, chucked it all on to simmer and took the mutt out for a stroll.
At this point I must point out that my wife was out giving blood, otherwise such utter fuckwittery would not have happened, she would have spotted my twatishness and firmly reigned it in.
Back from my walk, everything looks tidy and the kitchen is full of the scent of carrots, cumin, turmeric and all sorts. I got out the blender, but couldn't find the lid anywhere. No bother, thinks I, I'll stick the chopping block on top , that'll sort it.
This is where it all goes a bit pear shaped, plus being a bit hungry after only having had a bit of salad and a few prunes earlier, I was in a bit of a rush and went straight to max power. I'd overfilled the blender, and near boiling soup flew up at some speed, hit the underside of the not really fitting block, shot out at all angles at high trajectory and hit me smack in the chest. Not really grasping the situation, I stood there gibbering like a loon as spiced veg soup hit me like a nicely scented, hot hailstorm.
Finally, I turned off the blender, and realised that my upper regions were starting to get a bit tingly. When it went from being a bit tingly to actually quite painful, I quickly whipped off my clothes. My nipples, and all the area around had gone bright pink. I grabbed my clobber, legged it upstairs, and threw the sodden clothes in the bath.
Then, I needed to get cold water onto my chest, sharpish. Did I, A, get in the shower and turn it to cold? B, soak some flannels in cold water and apply them to my chest? Or C, fill the sink up and try and put my chest in it? As this is a tale of complete cocksocketery, no prizes for guessing, but take it from me, it's not easy trying to get your torso into a bathroom sink.
When my nipples became less nuclear, I ventured back to the kitchen, which has cream units and white walls. I like clean lines. In my absence, it appeared that someone had projectile vomited all over the fucking place. There were bits of carrot on the floor, the ceiling, the dog, everywhere. It needed cleaning before my wife got back and discovered that her beloved husband was in fact, a feckless fucking chimp.
Take this as a warning. Dieting is not for the unprepared or faint hearted.
The soup was over-spiced and made my eyes water. Even the dog turned her nose up at it.
__________________I'm doing that 500 calories twice a week diet thing, it's worked really well for me. Aaaaaanyway, yesterday was a diet day and I got up early and chopped a load of veg for a spiced veg soup later. Got home from work, chucked it all on to simmer and took the mutt out for a stroll.
At this point I must point out that my wife was out giving blood, otherwise such utter fuckwittery would not have happened, she would have spotted my twatishness and firmly reigned it in.
Back from my walk, everything looks tidy and the kitchen is full of the scent of carrots, cumin, turmeric and all sorts. I got out the blender, but couldn't find the lid anywhere. No bother, thinks I, I'll stick the chopping block on top , that'll sort it.
This is where it all goes a bit pear shaped, plus being a bit hungry after only having had a bit of salad and a few prunes earlier, I was in a bit of a rush and went straight to max power. I'd overfilled the blender, and near boiling soup flew up at some speed, hit the underside of the not really fitting block, shot out at all angles at high trajectory and hit me smack in the chest. Not really grasping the situation, I stood there gibbering like a loon as spiced veg soup hit me like a nicely scented, hot hailstorm.
Finally, I turned off the blender, and realised that my upper regions were starting to get a bit tingly. When it went from being a bit tingly to actually quite painful, I quickly whipped off my clothes. My nipples, and all the area around had gone bright pink. I grabbed my clobber, legged it upstairs, and threw the sodden clothes in the bath.
Then, I needed to get cold water onto my chest, sharpish. Did I, A, get in the shower and turn it to cold? B, soak some flannels in cold water and apply them to my chest? Or C, fill the sink up and try and put my chest in it? As this is a tale of complete cocksocketery, no prizes for guessing, but take it from me, it's not easy trying to get your torso into a bathroom sink.
When my nipples became less nuclear, I ventured back to the kitchen, which has cream units and white walls. I like clean lines. In my absence, it appeared that someone had projectile vomited all over the fucking place. There were bits of carrot on the floor, the ceiling, the dog, everywhere. It needed cleaning before my wife got back and discovered that her beloved husband was in fact, a feckless fucking chimp.
Take this as a warning. Dieting is not for the unprepared or faint hearted.
The soup was over-spiced and made my eyes water. Even the dog turned her nose up at it.
2 comments:
I can't believe there are 'no comments'. Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. This and the puking/upchucking furballs. Many thanks for brightening up a mundane Monday
Thank you Sue. It is indeed true, I am an undiscovered comedy genius.
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