Packing My Stuff Up...

Steve

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #18: Nederlands Redux

You may remember that when I previously reviewed sweets from the Nederlands, I discovered that they were actually from England.

Now I've had the opportunity to check out some real Dutch sweets. Look:


I imagine that Schuimkabouters is Dutch for 'miniature severed gnome heads'.


And this is what they looked like in person. Severed gnome heads. Why the very thought of them made my mouth water.

Sadly, they were made of goddamn liquorice. LIQUORICE! Why do they hate me so much??? It was like chewy, sugar coated weasel leavings! Ugh.

I hate you, Nederlands. Here - have a 1 out of 5 and a big fat RED! You should never have come back for a second try!

New Glasses

I was recently advised by my optician that I needed to update the mild prescription in my reading glasses to a slightly less mild prescription.

I used this as an excuse to replace my cheap glasses for some slightly less cheap ones.

Here is what I was looking for in a pair of glasses:


Not unreasonable, i think you'll agree.

Unfortunately, it became clear pretty early on that glasses manufacturers are not exactly on the same page as me when it comes to eyewear design.

Here is what I was eventually forced to settle on:

How The Hell...? (Warning: this post contains poo!)

I would suggest that if you are in any way squeamish about matters of a fecal nature, you do not read today's post.

No, really - just move along, because there's gonna be a picture that you're not gonna like.

It's nasty.

Still with me?

Okay... Here it is. The nasty poo picture...

Any second now...

(Just making sure that the fecalphobes are really gone, cos this will really freak 'em out...)

Right. I consider anyone who's still reading to have given me consent to show them this picture:


This isn't a public loo, it's a work loo. In an office. Nasty, huh?

Now, it's not the presence of poo on the toilet that's upset me. I'm not condoning poo on the toilet or anything. It's disgusterous. Poo should either be in your bum or inside the toilet. If you're getting poo anywhere other than inside the toilet, then you're doing something horribly wrong.

But it's not the presence of poo on the toilet that is my primary concern this evening. It's the location of the poo on the toilet and how it could have got there. I mean, look at it. It's on the side of the toilet. In fact because the toilet bowl is curved, it's practically underneath the toilet.

Yuck.

Anyway. Here are my three main theories on how the poo ended up where it did:

1. Bouncy Poo

Perhaps the creator of this particular poo had swallowed a bouncy ball and, when it hit the bottom of the bowl, it bounced out between his legs, around the stall and eventually on the bottom of the loo.


Of course this theory would require the offender to have cleaned up the walls, floor and ceiling after himself, which seems unlikely.

2. Mutant Anus

Perhaps the offenders anus was in the back of his leg.



3. Vindapoo

Perhaps the poo was never on the outside. Perhaps the offender had enjoyed a vindaloo the night before and this poo had eaten it's way through the porcelain.



Please feel free to suggest any alternative possibilities.

If You're In The Car, You're In The Game!

The Eddie Stobart game, I mean.

It's really very simple. When you're in a car with me you are required to participate in the game.

By declaring 'I'm not playing your stupid game,' you are simply declaring that you are a loser and that you intend to go on losing. The only thing you'll achieve by not playing the game is that you won't win.

Similarly, if you snooze, you lose. You gotta pay attention and falling asleep ain't gonna help you win!

And just to clarify, we're playing the classic version of the game. One point per lorry.

None of those ridiculous variations where you have to declare the name of the lorry to get the point, or double points for a double trailer. If you think you're playing by those rules, then you're wrong and just contributing to your loser status. And you're probably a Communist.

Now go and practice, bitches!

Things I Have Put On My Head

The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #17: Cybertron

You know Cybertron, right?

It's a planet on the other side of the galaxy and is home to giant, warring, transforming robots.

Here's a picture of the planet:





Today, I am reviewing sweets from this delightful holiday spot, supplied by a friend who has, presumably, visited on a holiday. I wonder if there's a toll on the space bridge.





Anyway, the sweets came in a bag that was clearly marked as originating from Autobot territory.





Inside the outer wrapping were two enticing looking packets. One contained fizzy cola bottles and the other a curious looking green sweet.





On closer inspection, the curious looking green sweet turned out to be a dragon. It was hard, so I assume it to be a boiled sweet of some sort.





One of the more curious things about the curious looking green sweet was the fact that it transformed into a robot thing. A rubbish robot thing, but a robot thing, nonetheless!





Sadly, it tasted very plasticky and no matter how hard I sucked, it never got any smaller. In the end I gave up trying to eat it.

I think Cybertronian sweets are best suited to the Transformer palate and not to the casual space-traveller and so, I'm unable to recommend them.

Sorry, Cybertron. You get a 1 out of 5 and a lovely red hue.

Because Cybertron isn't on Earth and can only be accessed through space travel or over a space bridge, I had a little difficulty placing it on the sweet map. In the end, I settled for the highly scientific method of sticking it wherever it would fit!

The Speed Of Smell

I can't claim credit for this concept. Dr K came up with it last night when we were lying in bed discussing farts.

Yeah, I know, there are much better things we should be doing in bed than discussing farts. Drinking tea, for one. Sleeping is another. I can't really think of anything else right now.

Back to the farts.

Don't you think it's kinda weird how farts spread at different speeds? I mean, I've guffed in bed and the smell hasn't reached Dr K's nose for a few minutes. Other tines, I've guffed in the en suite and the smell beats me back to the bed.

I'm pretty sure if we can unlock the secrets of the speed of smell, we'll have solved one of the greatest mysteries known to man.

I shall work on this and get back to you. I'm calling it my General Bumified Theory of Really Farty.

Arm's Reach

With all the stuff going on in the world, like war, famine and fish curries; it's often easy to forget about the real problems.

Like this one:

When I settle into my pit for the evening, I like to make sure I have everything to hand.

So imagine how upsetting it is for me when Dr K comes along and starts moving things.

Often, she will pick up the remote control and put it out of reach. I regularly find myself having to lean forward or worse, shift in my seat in order to change the channel.

Oh, the humanity!

To make it all a bit simpler for everybody, I've put together this diagram to clear up, once and for all, where you can put stuff like my tea and my iPad and, contrarily, shouldn't put the damn remote!



(I imagine, once she's read this, Dr K is going to indulge her domestic abuse hobby on my face...)