Where I work, the canteen folk stick a little sign over so-called hot dishes, if they make a curry or suchlike. First time I saw these, I thought, better go easy. A few moúth-fulls later, I was searching the condiments trolley (it's that posh) looking for something that might give this poor excuse for a curry something close to a bit of pep.
Suffice to say, I found none. Another time, I order an Indian takeaway. By the time I got over the shock of the cost (c£25 for two dishes, and I mean two, with two measly portions of rice), again I had the same lame attempt at making me sweat (truth be told, the bill did that).
What a relief, then, that I found this maharajah
among websites
What bliss! I now made several of these and yet to be disappointed. And the lamb rogan josh tonight was a blinder.
They can't do spicy food in Denmark. They're scared of it.
Psychos in cyberspace (or something)
WITH REMARKABLE ease, did I not two hours ago connect to the online multiplayer world of Medal of Honor Heroes 2 on my blessed Wii.
Straight in, guns blazing, notching a kill inside just a few minutes. Notched up quite a few deaths'n'spawns of me own, but that's another story.
Anyways, the quality of minds you find in such places. Some sharpshooting wag called Colonel Kaos or something, an expert player equipped with every cheat known to man, no doubt, creeps up behind me and hoses my spine with 9mm rounds. Down I go. As I await re-spawning, the game gives me the pleasure of watching what Kaos does for the next ten-15 seconds before my resurrection. What does he do? Stand over my very dead corpse and empty his gun into it. Then he get his next gun and does the same. And with a third, just to be certain.
Kaos is probably a fat teenage boy living Knucksville, Tennessee. Let's hope he stays there, huh?![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_si5Mevlo6vm8sHYR7hi3-FW6KSnpfmLJAASSYOG8sCnZlbjvSCniIiWrYGtFw9qhiB1Jyo4DuzQG65vEyZWIAhsgO0mpG-JLm5mtOpHJgU2Lpzvt5PqmTzYLdbNF8POJIYF3vQhFbtnNds6OSfmgxZ=s0-d)
Straight in, guns blazing, notching a kill inside just a few minutes. Notched up quite a few deaths'n'spawns of me own, but that's another story.
Anyways, the quality of minds you find in such places. Some sharpshooting wag called Colonel Kaos or something, an expert player equipped with every cheat known to man, no doubt, creeps up behind me and hoses my spine with 9mm rounds. Down I go. As I await re-spawning, the game gives me the pleasure of watching what Kaos does for the next ten-15 seconds before my resurrection. What does he do? Stand over my very dead corpse and empty his gun into it. Then he get his next gun and does the same. And with a third, just to be certain.
Kaos is probably a fat teenage boy living Knucksville, Tennessee. Let's hope he stays there, huh?
Again with the blogging
How many times now? How often have I tried with this damned blog? Yet each time, I am thwarted, usually by a pesky lack of enthusiasm. It's really important to me, however, that one or two people out of the billions get to read what I am jacking on about.
So I try again.
Who sang, "Words, don't come easy to me?" Glad I can't remember.
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Now playing: Stereolab - Margerine Melodie
via FoxyTunes
So I try again.
Who sang, "Words, don't come easy to me?" Glad I can't remember.
----------------
Now playing: Stereolab - Margerine Melodie
via FoxyTunes
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