Waiting for stodge

I'm a firm believer in stodgy food, and that's why the first thing I did after getting in from work today was to slap some southern fried frikkin' chicken pieces and some curly fries in the oven (what is it about curly food that makes it taste so good?).

Anyway, you can stick your fromage frais and, er, your bloody, er, vertically-arranged spinich doo-dah - gimme something with more 'E' numbers than they can list on the packet! I want to see that Sainsbury's wheel of health glowing red, baby!!

I'm also a firm believer in medical science, and I'm sure they will have developed the technology to clone me some new arteries when I'm done with the ones I've already got.

Moving on, I've got to say that the oven I inherited from the previous occupier of Sparky Towers is a bit mental; I'm pretty certain it runs off plutonium. Me getting something out of the oven looks a little like this:


Although obviously I'm dressed as a pirate not as a Starfleet officer.

In related, and somewhat disturbing matters, some of my neighbours were telling me yesterday how they used to watch the previous occupier "bang her boyfriend" through the bathroom window. The idea of strangers banging away in what is now my house is profoundly disturbing; her fat arse could've damaged the tiling.

Must go - stodge awaits!