The Office Children™ are wary of eating anything that includes traces of vegetables, fruit, meat or fish and insist on buying their lunches from the chemical waste department of Smallville's dodgy supermarket.
This cess-pit of salmonella and out of date, plastic-wrapped horror is situated next door to an organic food store and right opposite a lovely local bakery but The Children have never dared venture inside either emporium through fear of not knowing what actual food looks like and so accidentally buying a lunch of squid-ink pasta, unbleached flour, rollmop herrings and molasses.
As a result of their unwise purchasing decisions (usually of out of date stuff to save a few pennies) they regularly spend afternoons moaning in pain and running back and forth to the bathroom for sessions of arse-gravy mayhem. This happened to poor Jason yesterday after he ate what the plastic wrapper claimed to be a 'chicken tikka' baguette, and prompted a theory from Mike that rather appealed to me.
The theory posits that the supermarket starts the week with a display of 'chicken and mayonnaise' baguettes, any unsold examples being re-labelled 'chicken tikka' by Wednesday when they've become suitably aromatic, and by Friday the remainder are sold as 'mixed cheese'.
On a slightly more palatable note, Jase brought in a cafetiere last week (a French Press to you Colonials) as he was rightly sick of the powdered 'coffee' the office provides and had been driven crazy by the aroma from my own yummy coffee each morning. He brought in a nice organic fairtrade coffee ('I didn't know what to buy so I asked the lady in the shop, who sold me the most expensive stuff') and followed my directions as to how much to use, then he put the kettle on. Holding up the cafetiere he asked 'Do I put the milk in now?'
After I'd finished laughing I felt quite touched at the innocence of today's 'yoof.' Raised on pre-packaged microwave meals and junk food they panic when confronted with a vegetable, a cut of meat or (God forbid) a fish. In Jason's case, he had only ever known powdered 'instant coffee' and was left helplessly confused by his cafetiere.
Having made his first cup, however, he went coffee crazy, with the result that he spent most of the day running to the bathroom to enjoy the inevitable emetic effect of real coffee on a digestive system that had never encountered it before.
I have decided that the only way I will survive life with The Office Children™ is to regard the experience as anthropological research. I feel not unlike Jane Goodall with her chimps.
The experiment continues.
Showing posts with label Arse-Gravy Mayhem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arse-Gravy Mayhem. Show all posts
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
More Trousers
Sam's dyed his hair pink.
He also opened the door of his ludicrously pimped, mirror-windowed, über-macho "custom car" to reveal a cute Hello Kitty air freshener.
Gandy's resprayed his entire car in the flag of the Imperial Japanese Navy.
And Groover's been seen in a dress.
It's been one of those weeks that reaffirms my faith in the power of Fun as an elemental force for good.
Another quick V…… story as we're on the subject of fun:
Lunchtime.
V……, Bruce and Dive again, wandering through the crowded streets.
V…… and Bruce decide to follow Dive doing that silly "walking as close as possible and keeping in step" walk.
Dive sees a huge, sloppy dog turd in his path and jumps over it.
V…… looks up at Dive, slips on the turd and lands on his arse.
Sloppy turd is thickly smeared all the way up the back of his trousers.
Much hilarity ensues.
V…… stands outside nearby department store while Dive and Bruce take his money and buy him a new pair of trousers.
We buy a horrid brown pair, waaay too short in the leg.
We drop the receipt down a road gully so he cannot change them.
He has to put them on in the street.
Much hilarity ensues.
I'm feeling frisky today so don't come too close to me.
He also opened the door of his ludicrously pimped, mirror-windowed, über-macho "custom car" to reveal a cute Hello Kitty air freshener.
Gandy's resprayed his entire car in the flag of the Imperial Japanese Navy.
And Groover's been seen in a dress.
It's been one of those weeks that reaffirms my faith in the power of Fun as an elemental force for good.
Another quick V…… story as we're on the subject of fun:
Lunchtime.
V……, Bruce and Dive again, wandering through the crowded streets.
V…… and Bruce decide to follow Dive doing that silly "walking as close as possible and keeping in step" walk.
Dive sees a huge, sloppy dog turd in his path and jumps over it.
V…… looks up at Dive, slips on the turd and lands on his arse.
Sloppy turd is thickly smeared all the way up the back of his trousers.
Much hilarity ensues.
V…… stands outside nearby department store while Dive and Bruce take his money and buy him a new pair of trousers.
We buy a horrid brown pair, waaay too short in the leg.
We drop the receipt down a road gully so he cannot change them.
He has to put them on in the street.
Much hilarity ensues.
I'm feeling frisky today so don't come too close to me.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Students, Drugs And Arse-Gravy
Hokay.
It seems you lot are fixated on laxatives today (see the comments to the last post and Robyn's reply), so I'll take this opportunity to add my own (true) tale of arse-gravy mayhem.
This one involves V……, now a prominent local Architect who will never forgive me if he finds me relating this sorry tale on the interweb, but hey ho.
Way back in the mists of time, in celebration of completing our final Architecture exam, V……, Bruce and myself found ourselves in the shabby gloryhole that was Norwich's Golden Star pub (their proud boast: "Not so much a pub, more of a bucket"). It has since been cleaned up and "theme-pubbed" but back then was the real 'spit and sawdust' experience … except without the sawdust.
After a couple of pints of the finest effluent from their own backyard brewery (from memory it was called Royal Flush and had a cartoon of the Queen on the loo on the beer pump - classy), V…… was up for further celebrations.
Nigel - one of the local dealers - was in the house and V…… decided it was about time he discovered just why the rest of us liked the occasional spliff.
So … a quick chat with our Nige (my band played his wedding and the bride's father got out of his tree on hash cake but that's another story) and, suitably grassed up we sashayed down to the river to relax.
I'll get to the point eventually but let me set the scene a little first.
The riverside walk at Norwich is extremely pretty and as this was midsummer was crowded with holidaymakers. Alongside the river is a mediæval defensive tower called Cow Tower, a bloody great circular ruin. We lounged beside this and skinned up.
A few puffs later and Bruce and me lay happily on the grass watching the little fluffy white clouds. We passed the rest of the joint to V…… to try.
I have since discovered that it has this effect on a small number of people. But the first we knew of it, however, was when V…… leapt up, yelling at us that he needed to crap, REALLY urgently.
There are no toilets anywhere near there so I told him to go in the tower.
Panicking, he yelled "But what can I use for toilet paper?"
"Just grab a handful of leaves." I said.
So …
Roused somewhat from our reverie, we watched in mild amusement as V……, in a stoned panic, tore along the footpath to the nearest bush and yanked the whole thing out of the ground, roots and all before dashing into the tower, screaming at us not to look.
Well, what would you do?
We gave him a few seconds and wandered in … to find poor V…… squatting in an alcove, moaning loadly in the throes of a most impressive display of explosive diarrhoea.
Of course, we did what any true friend would do and grabbed his shrub and high-tailed it out of there.
We certainly learned a few new words and descriptive phrases from V…… as we rolled about on the grass in hysterics. Only to have to get up and run as V…… emerged from the tower, brandishing his trousers and informing the world - including a crowd of passing holidaymakers - that he had been forced to wipe his arse on his underpants.
Naked from the waist down he realised his predicament and dashed back inside the tower, followed (absolutely true) by the holidaying family's dog which was in turn followed by their little girl, who was inevitably followed by the bellowing father. V…… caught up with us as we ran, which was a difficult thing to do when you're laughing so hard you can't breathe and one of you is trying to put on his trousers.
Ah, shadenfreude.
Bloody students, eh?
Let that be a lesson to you.
It seems you lot are fixated on laxatives today (see the comments to the last post and Robyn's reply), so I'll take this opportunity to add my own (true) tale of arse-gravy mayhem.
This one involves V……, now a prominent local Architect who will never forgive me if he finds me relating this sorry tale on the interweb, but hey ho.
Way back in the mists of time, in celebration of completing our final Architecture exam, V……, Bruce and myself found ourselves in the shabby gloryhole that was Norwich's Golden Star pub (their proud boast: "Not so much a pub, more of a bucket"). It has since been cleaned up and "theme-pubbed" but back then was the real 'spit and sawdust' experience … except without the sawdust.
After a couple of pints of the finest effluent from their own backyard brewery (from memory it was called Royal Flush and had a cartoon of the Queen on the loo on the beer pump - classy), V…… was up for further celebrations.
Nigel - one of the local dealers - was in the house and V…… decided it was about time he discovered just why the rest of us liked the occasional spliff.
So … a quick chat with our Nige (my band played his wedding and the bride's father got out of his tree on hash cake but that's another story) and, suitably grassed up we sashayed down to the river to relax.
I'll get to the point eventually but let me set the scene a little first.
The riverside walk at Norwich is extremely pretty and as this was midsummer was crowded with holidaymakers. Alongside the river is a mediæval defensive tower called Cow Tower, a bloody great circular ruin. We lounged beside this and skinned up.
A few puffs later and Bruce and me lay happily on the grass watching the little fluffy white clouds. We passed the rest of the joint to V…… to try.
I have since discovered that it has this effect on a small number of people. But the first we knew of it, however, was when V…… leapt up, yelling at us that he needed to crap, REALLY urgently.
There are no toilets anywhere near there so I told him to go in the tower.
Panicking, he yelled "But what can I use for toilet paper?"
"Just grab a handful of leaves." I said.
So …
Roused somewhat from our reverie, we watched in mild amusement as V……, in a stoned panic, tore along the footpath to the nearest bush and yanked the whole thing out of the ground, roots and all before dashing into the tower, screaming at us not to look.
Well, what would you do?
We gave him a few seconds and wandered in … to find poor V…… squatting in an alcove, moaning loadly in the throes of a most impressive display of explosive diarrhoea.
Of course, we did what any true friend would do and grabbed his shrub and high-tailed it out of there.
We certainly learned a few new words and descriptive phrases from V…… as we rolled about on the grass in hysterics. Only to have to get up and run as V…… emerged from the tower, brandishing his trousers and informing the world - including a crowd of passing holidaymakers - that he had been forced to wipe his arse on his underpants.
Naked from the waist down he realised his predicament and dashed back inside the tower, followed (absolutely true) by the holidaying family's dog which was in turn followed by their little girl, who was inevitably followed by the bellowing father. V…… caught up with us as we ran, which was a difficult thing to do when you're laughing so hard you can't breathe and one of you is trying to put on his trousers.
Ah, shadenfreude.
Bloody students, eh?
Let that be a lesson to you.
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