It's time to eat.

By: Peemil.

While I sit here and type, my dinner is supposed to be just about cooked, but some stupid cunt, mainly I, completely and utterly forgot to turn the fucking oven on after putting in tonight's dinner- Macaroni and cheese with bacon and Italian tomatoes, all mixed up all good and proper.

But you have to cook it in the oven really slowly and serve it with a nice big strip of crispy bacon on the top. And therefore, as I am a stupid pillock, I will be up waiting a few more hours for it to cook yet.

You ought to chuck some cheese in there with the mix. Good stuff, not shitty stuff.

And some butter.

Fuck it. Oregano is a nice way to do things. Just a little bit, cause no one wants to gag. Salt, pepper and a touch of chilli.

Got any sundried tomatoes? Take those bastards out and make a salad real quick. Just those and some onion, a bit of lettuce, some chunks of brie and a little olive oil.

Fuck I'm hungry. Going in and out of the kitchen and writing this shit is just extending my appetite.

Appetite for Destruction was a half decent album wasn't it? I like "My Michelle" and "Rocket Queen."

I oughta have another drink. Tally ho!

Too much beer.

And have some bread and butter. Real butter too. Not that half arsed shit. Proper fucking butter. What type of people eat anything low fat? Work your guts out all day and you don't need to fucking worry about low fat shit.

Pick something up. Think like a donkey.

I told someone recently that I'm coming back as a donkey in the next life.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I like carrying stuff, am a stubborn bastard, and want to kick people when they get too close."

"Like fuck," she replied. "I am the ant mother and will conquer you puny humans with my galactic army. You shall never be resurrected as a donkey!"

"That was an unexpected reply," I thought.

I have no idea what she was talking about. That really was a strange day.

Update: I not only have problems turning the oven on, but turning it off too.

I rose this morning to find the kitchen a trite warm.

It was a nice dinner though. And that crazy ant mother didn't get a bite of it.

Serves her right. Crazy bitch.

It's my right to come back as a donkey.

Surely there's an organization that will take up my cause?


Above: Hide the picnic. They're coming for us.