The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #26: Canada

Today, I'm turning my attention to Canada.

Here, I have a Big Turk and and Eat More, both of which enjoy very functional packaging.  No cartoon characters.  No pictures of Turks or...  er... eating.  Just the name of the sweet in big letters.  Canada doesn't muck around, it seems.

Contrary to expectations, Big Turk was not in fact a large, hairy man from Turkey who wanted me sit in a steamy room clad only in a little white towel.

It was, in fact, chocolate flavoured Turkish delight.  You can't get much better than that.  I mean you can get better.  Just not much better.

I was very pleased.  It was delicious.  So delicious, that I only saved Dr K a very tiny bit at the end!  Yum.

Eat More looks quite a lot like sawdusty turd, but it's actually pretty tasty.  It a sort of gooey brown...  er...  goo with nuts in it.

I liked it, although not as much as Big Turk.  And I'll take a Snickers over it any day.

I have to admit that I was a little put off by the packaging on this one.  It felt a little too bossy for my tastes and, indeed after I'd sampled it, I decided to rebel and not eat any more at all. Dr K polished it off though, which just goes to show that you can polish off a turd.

Canada did well, scoring 4.5 out of 5 and getting itself a nice solid GREEN!  Big Turk For The Win!

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #25: Finland Redux

I haven't had much luck with sweets from the Finnish corner of the world. Apparently they think that liquorice and salt make a good combination.

Fortunately, I know better and have been able to put them in their place.

Now, I have a bag of chocolatey treats from Finland. I've been quite looking forward to these. They look like they're going to be chocolate covered crisps...

Which sounds AWESOME!

Look.  They even look delicious out of the bag:

Well...  except for that oddly crippled looking one at the bottom.  But mostly they look delicious.

Oh dear.  Finland, you've done it again.  Yuck.  Chocolate covered crisps are not good.  And inexplicably chilli flavoured wheel shaped chocolate covered crisps are even worse.

RED, damn you.  RED!  And never darken my door with your horrible foreign sweets again!

There is an upside to the horribleness of Finland's horrible foreign sweets. I've coined the verb 'to Finland'.  Which means 'to throw something in the bin with extreme prejudice'.

So...  I Finlanded Finland's horrible foreign sweets.

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #24: Japan Redux

It's been a while since I reviewed some horrible foreign sweets, hasn't it?

Well, this week I have loads to review, so you're getting a review a day until they're all gone.  This will be a very intense burst of horrible sweetness.  This much horrible sweetness in such a short period is potentially harmful.  I do a dangerous job.  You should be grateful that I have taken on the responsibility so you don;t have to.  Grateful, I say.

Anyway...  today I will be sampling some more of Japan's offerings.

You may recall that Japan previously got an Amber rating due to the mediocrity of the sweets that I sampled.  I wonder if they'll be able to nudge it up into the Green?

Well, I have two sweets here, so they have two chances to get promoted.  Lets hope they don't screw it up by say, making one of them tomato flavoured.

Oh no!

It was, quite honestly one of the most horrible things I've ever put in my mouth.  And I've put some pretty horrible things in my mouth - fish and licorice to name a couple.  This was definitely up there with those.

The yellow sweet was pineapple flavoured and not offensive at all. But the damage has been done, Japan.  You are being relegated to RED until such time as you can redeem yourself with something so awesomely delicious that I simply can't deny you a green!

Who's going to be next?

Tune in tomorrow to find out!

A Message From Optimus Prime

Here's a little bonus extra post for you, courtesy of everyone's favourite Autobot leader:

And you know, if Optimus Prime is saying 'Up Yours' then you really don't got The Touch!

Irkings - Part Eight - Marcockmite (this post contains extreme grossness)

I may have mentioned before that I really dislike Marmite.

It's horrible stuff.  It looks horrible.  It smells horrible.  It tastes horrible.  there's really nothing about it that isn't horrible.

I'm going to tell you a little secret about Marmite.  It's pretty gross, so stop reading if you have a weak constitution.  This is 100% true!*

Still here?  Okay then.

Marmite is what you get when a skanky ho wipes from back to front.

Still want to put it on your toast?

Well that was an awesome way to finish my week of daily blog posts.

You got what you wanted.  Now leave me alone for a week!

( *by which I mean 100% made up! )

Irking - Part Seven: Sponsored Cocks

I love Lego.  It's brilliant.  Especially Star Wars Lego.  I have a Lego Millennium Falcon sitting in the cupboard waiting for me to build it!  Would you like to sponsor me to build it?  No?

I also love tea.  I have a cup right here waiting for me to drink it.  How would you feel about sponsoring me to drink it?  No?

You know what else I love?  Listening to The Offspring.  I'd quite like you to sponsor me to listen to the Offspring.  No?

Hmm...

I don't get it.  Why wouldn't you want to give me money to do my hobbies or things that I claim to enjoy?  I'd sponsor you, if you asked me to.  Probably.

I've been asked by a number of people to sponsor them to do their hobbies, and I've been happy to do so.  It just so happens that their hobbies appear to be running, or cycling, or some other activity that more often than not involves lycra.

Why's that more sponsor-worthy than building Lego space ships?  

The only conclusion I can draw is that the more lycra I wear, the more likely I am to be sponsored to do stuff.

Would it help if I wore lycra to build the Millennium Falcon?

Irking - Part Six: Indicockters

Picture the scene:

It is a beautiful, sunny day and I'm driving merrily down the motorway on my way home from work, looking forward to a delightful bank holiday weekend with the lovely Dr K.

A car shoots past me on the outside lane and, because the driver wants to take the exit just a hundred yards ahead and absolutely has to do it in front of me, he cuts me up. And half-way through his heroically stupid manoeuvre, he indicates.


Not before his heroically stupid manoeuvre, thereby giving me a chance to anticipate his idiocy. Half way through it.

I already know you're cutting me up, you berk.

Indicating at this late stage is fricking pointless as I'm far more concerned with slamming my brakes on so I don't die horribly in the accident that you seem desperate to cause.

The lesson for today... indicators do not make you invincible. Nor do they make your heroically stupid manoeuvres okay.

Irking - Part Five: Your Cock Is Not So Hot

From Flaming Hot Monster Munch and Bombay Badboys to Pepperami Firesticks and supermarket Vindaloos, many products claim to be hot and spicy.

But they're not. Not really. They're kinda vaguely peppery or leave a bit of a tingle on the end of my tongue. But they're not really 'hot' and 'spicy'.

I suppose, if I were a little girl in a pretty gingham dress, clutching my favourite dolly and a bunch of flowers, I might find these foods 'hot and spicy'.

But I'm not. I'm a big, fat, hairy bloke with an enormous beard and a craving for hot and spicy food that is actually hot and spicy and reminds me of this fact the following morning!

Even the curry houses around here seem to have tamed their curries down to a more 'mainstream' level.

Food manufacturers: please stop calling your bland shit 'hot and spicy'. Also, please make me some hot and spicy food.

Irking - Part Four: Murderous Cocks

People keep threatening to murder me!

Either that or they're just threatening me with grievous bodily harm and/or property damage.

What else can it mean when I'm crossing the road, apparently a bit too slowly for the tastes of the driver of an oncoming car, who then accelerates toward me. How else should I interpret this act?

As far as I can tell, it's pretty much the same as leaning out of their car and yelling:


And how else should I interpret the actions of a driver who, presumably in an effort to hurry me up, speeds up to the tailpipe of my car and hangs there, practically in my boot.

As far as I can tell, he's basically saying:


Last I heard, threatening to kill or injure someone or to damage their property was a criminal offence.

And if you threaten me, don't expect me to afford you any courtesies like, say, getting the fuck out of your way!

Irking - Part Three: The Toilet Cocks

I've written a number of times about how rubbish the people in my office are at using the toilet properly. (See here, Here and here.)

I thought that my recent office move would take me away from those gross idiots, but it seems that I've gone from a building with 250 toilet twits to a building with 2500 toilet twits.

Today, I'd like to take issue with two habits that are particularly irking me.

The first is bogeys.

As you'd expect, we have standard toilet stalls in our office. the walls of these stalls are made of laminated wood. And on those walls, there are bogeys.

I can understand the need to pick one's nose. And I appreciate the consideration that these people have made toward picking their nose in private rather than, say at their desk.

What I can't work out is why there are bogeys on the walls. There just aren't any reasonable circumstances that I can think of to explain them.

Perhaps the walls act as bogey magnets, ripping the snot right out of people's noses and onto the wall. Could it be that the nose picker had some sort of fit right after picking his nose, accidentally distributing the bogeys liberally over the walls. Maybe they're not bogeys at all, but some sort of sap, oozing from the chipboard walls.

What it definitely can't be, is people picking their noses and wiping their ill-gotten bogeys on the wall. Because that would be gross. Especially as there's toilet paper right there!



The other thing that's been irking me about the toilets is the little puddle of piss just in front of the toilet in each stall.

The biology of the average man, combined with a little thing I like to call 'physics' means that urine is expelled from the body from a point slightly in front of the person with a forward arcing trajectory that make that little puddle impossible, unless the urinator is standing about a foot away from the toilet.




And no-one would do that, right? Because it's gross and bit stupid.