Right, I’m back. What do you mean you never noticed that I was gone?? Well. Thanks for that, you heartless bastards. But seriously, I’ve not posted for, what, six weeks?? Yeah, there’s been a whole mess’o’stuff going on with me recently and I’ll touch on that elsewhere, but for now let’s just assume that you all missed me wildly and have been camped by your PC’s refreshing the page of this blog every five minutes waiting for me to post again. I believe I was half way through a two-part post about some of the types of people who make me want to emulate Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down. Well you lucky people, because the Idiots are legion, and I’m very much in the mood for telling it just like it is……
T.V. Chefs – with a few notable exceptions, by and large this is a ghastly coven of slack-jawed corporate-cocksucking fakes and wannabes who would survive approximately 0.765473 seconds in a REAL kitchen before someone shut them in the dishwasher and left it on boil cycle. They expect you to praise them as they reproduce a dish your mother could cook aged 9, then shave some parmesan over it and throw pine nuts at it like they’re pebble-dashing a shithouse wall. They describe food like a script from a bad 70’s porno movie, drooling over and fondling the ingredients like Gollum and the One Ring, all the while using over-complicated and obscure descriptions to make a simple job sound like they study astrophysics in their spare time. Often, their narrative style resembles an adult talking to a mentally challenged toddler, as though you the viewer find esoteric concepts such as boiling water intimidating and confusing, or takes the opposite stance of assuming you are a feckless cretin if you don’t already know how to cook bouillabaisse and do so on a regular basis. Instead of educating and encouraging these culinary cockerels preen and strut, turning a hard-working and hugely talented industry into a circus sideshow of narcissistic self-love. These TV chefs should for the most part be rounded up and treated like a great potato chip – roughed up round the edges, rolled in salt then fried 3 times at increasingly higher temperatures.
[Disclaimer: Any mention of TV chefs shall, now and always, exclude from its definition the living God that is Gordon Ramsey. Quite literally King in a land of Fools, whether you like his abrasive and often downright insulting personal manner (on-screen – he’s a pussy cat in real life!!) or not, the man has more drive and culinary passion in his pinkie than a hundred so-called ‘chefs’ on television. Do not let the fact that he is smart enough to be cashing in and making a mint from his TV series fool you, that man is the real deal in every sense of the word. As a professional chef myself, I never believe the hype – I know other chefs who work for him, and have followed his career since he was 22, and he lives and breathes what he does – so be warned, don’t go there. I have a big man-love for Gordon. ]
Anti-Abortion Campaigners – Yeah, the gloves are coming off today. I’m probably going to upset a few apple-carts with this one, but this is MY blog, and these bitter fucktards really yank my chain. So let me define my protest clearly. I am not pro-abortion, but I AM pro-choice. I believe that there are a multitude of reasons why someone may consider abortion, some right and some wrong, and I believe that as much as they have their right to choose abortion, you have a right to disagree with me and even argue with me should the occasion arise. But do I agree that you have a right to stand outside a clinic screaming ‘Murderer!!’ at women walking in as a form of protest?? Hell fucking No. It is one thing to disagree with something and feel the need to protest about it, and quite another to launch a bitter and hate-filled attack on another human being for refusing to agree with your viewpoint. There are appropriate channels for debate and protest that do not involve arbitrary judgement and condemnation of strangers by someone too narrow-minded and prejudiced to consider things from any point of view other than their own. I’d like to stand toe-to-toe with these people, carrying a baseball bat with the words ‘MY OPINION’ written on it, and conduct a field exercise in the definition of oppression. You’re a nasty spineless bunch of haters and I wish you all an early death from something sexually transmitted.
Ex-smokers who complain about Smoking – are a bunch of hypocritical idiots who should be trussed up with barbed wire and tossed into the path of a combine harvester. Yes, yes, ok, smoking is bad for you. I’m a smoker, and even I can tell you that. The negative health effects are not in question here, and all your comments about the smell, the taste, the lack of consideration to others in public – I agree with them all. Were niccotine not the only thing keeping me from ripping off the faces of some people and spitting in the gooey bits, I’d make a serious go at giving up today. But if you used to smoke yourself, stop sermonising to those of us who still do like you found Jesus or something. You of all people know how hard it can be to quit – well done, you managed it, have a freaking gold star on your report card, but don’t have the nerve to lecture me because I haven’t followed suit. Do you encourage your children to mock those who lag behind them at school?? Do you laugh at people caught in Tsunami’s because they didn’t swim fast enough?? No. So stop thinking you have some kind of right to nag on at me for doing something you used to do yourself. The next one of you who makes some pithy comment when I light up as I leave work will be spared the troubles of the temptation of nicotine by being left eating through a straw for the rest of your life.
People who waste time in queues – you know these bile-inducing cretins on sight; the old woman paying for twenty quid’s worth of shopping in 10p coins, or the asshat who pays for a packet of cigarettes with a ten minute credit card transaction. No-one (with the exception of the British, but we’re messed up like that) enjoys being in a queue for anything, so why prolong the effort and suffering for the others by time-wasting and acting like a twat?? Who goes into a shop to buy something and doesn’t have ANY cash on them?? Have aliens kidnapped all the cash machines in your area?? Is a hessian sack full of small change the standard method of payment for things in your locale?? No, you’re just a poorly organised moron who has no consideration for others. Invariably, you will choose the least appropriate time of day to conduct your pointless transaction too – for example, during the end-of-day rush hour when thousands are heading home is NOT the time of day to be checking whether any of your 16 lottery tickets was a winner. Similarly, at six am most people not asleep like any sensible person are invariably in a rush to get to work – and are likely to find you counting out pennies to pay for a newspaper an unnecessary waste of nine minutes of their day. In extreme cases your foolish lack of consideration may result in the person behind you in the queue having to skip their purchase entirely for fear of missing a transport link, leaving them without coffee and cigarettes for an agonizing forty minutes or more (smelly woman with a tea-cosy hat in McColls newsagent, 5:51am a week ago Tuesday, you know who you are. Bitch).
Fame Whores – Mankind has shown down the years that we are capable of phenomenal feats of physical and mental endeavour, the majority of which will, quite rightly, result in some kind of notoriety for the person who first completes them. So how, oh sweet merry hell how, have we created a society that rewards people with fame for nothing more than … being famous. You know who I’m talking about – the Kardashians and Hiltons of the world, these self-styled heirs of the W.A.S.P. crown who seem to think they are deserving of some kind of adulation by the public just because a few people know how many zeros their name translates to on a bank statement. In fact, all they deserve is to be rounded up and forced to undergo something truly worthy of the recognition they think they deserve. I’d pay serious money to see Hilton forced to work in a leper colony (at least if bits fall off of the lepers she’s probably carrying some plastic/silicone spares….) or a Kardashian reporting from the ground on the Syrian conflict. Wake up and smell the cheap, affordable coffee you over-hyped bunch of fretting, whining whores – you’ve achieved absolutely squat worth giving a toss about, and in fact your constant ‘look-at-me’ demands for attention have convinced me of nothing more than your prime candidacy for being the first person in history to get cunt-punted into a working jet turbine.
Teenagers – Am I alone in feeling that for once, our parents had the right of it all along?? Because teenagers are a bunch of ungrateful, whingeing, whining little douchebags with no respect, no manners and no intelligence who should all be rounded up and placed into some kind of work camp until the age of twenty-one. (No security will be required – as long as JodyNeilRuth remains on the outside, all the teenagers will stay behind the barbed wire if they know what’s good for them!). I mean come on – I was hardly a shining paragon of good behaviour and strong Christian morals when I was growing up, but if I’d said some of the shit I hear teenagers get away with now, I’d have been beaten half to death by the nearest adult whether they knew me or not. These days our teenagers are a bunch of no-hope thugs patrolling the streets like some kind of anti-neighbourhood watch scheme, intent on dragging the area down with their incomprehensible ‘fashion’ choices and their inability to string two coherent words together without the need to use expletives or ‘innit?’ as a form of punctuation. News flash, you teenage hard nuts – you don’t look cool, or big, or clever – in fact, you look like someone dropped off a bus-load of clients from the Frontal Lobotomy wing of the local hospital and forgot to pick them up again. The only comfort is that you will be unlikely to breed to any great extent since none of you possess the social niceties to ever copulate with someone who didn’t insist you handed over the cash first.
Amateur food critics – And finally but by no means in any way the least annoying of my tirade’s victims today, the amateur food critic. Let me be clear, I do not refer to real food critics, even if they only write their reviews for The Ass-End-Of-Nowhere Flower-Arranging Guild Bi-Annual Gazette. I instead refer to the asshat morons who have watched a couple of gastronomy programmes on the food channel and suddenly find themselves well-versed enough in food production to argue the toss with the chef cooking their food. If you don’t like the basil to parmesan ratio in my home-made pesto, or you feel that my Sauce Beurre Blanc is too heavy on the butter, then fine – no-one is stood behind you holding a gun to your head and forcing you to eat here. But DO NOT, upon pain of having a lobster fork driven repeatedly into your left eye, EVER feel you have the right to start telling me how to cook. If you think you can do better, there is a spare apron in the changing room – grab a knife and lets see your skills, bitches. Otherwise, take your amateur, poorly considered, uneducated and downright insulting opinion and fold it until it is all sharp corners, then shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I don’t lecture taxi drivers on their driving after watching Taxi, or offer restraint tips to door staff because I once watched Roadhouse, or suggest my doctor reconsider his diagnosis because I once watched an episode of Scrubs, so kindly fuck off trying to tell me how to do the job I’ve grafted thousands of hours at just because you saw some dumb fool (see TV Chefs, above) tell you about it for three seconds on television. Cunts.
Well, that’s good, a kind of cathartic return to writing admittedly but nice to be back in the saddle – even if it is a venomous, hate-filled saddle. The last few weeks have been a tough time around Maison Assassin, one of those times where life throws all kinds of strange turns at you, and at the end you feel a little disoriented from all the changes. I finally realised that the ridiculous hours I was working were not returning enough money to make it worth the time I was spending away from the family, and I’ve taken another job that’s literally right up my street, cutting four hours travelling out of my day, every day. It is this major change in lifestyle that has freed up time for me to return to blogging – admittedly not the reason I chose to do so, but a welcome side effect none the less. Previously I was working from seven am until ten pm with a two-hour break mid-afternoon, so you can, I hope, understand why it has been so hard for me to find not just the time, but more importantly, the motivation, to write. On several abortive occasions in the last week, I’ve sat with the draft of this blog open in front of me, struggling to find the words to move it from draft to screen and failing every time – on one occasion, I actually fell asleep on my keyboard! Key imprints in the face is SO last season’s look too……
So for good or for bad I’ve scaled back my work hours so I can spend more time with my two families – the real one who are my reason for getting up in the mornings at all, and my online one where I pretend that my interactions with you lovely readers somehow approximates to some kind of social life! Let me have your thoughts on today’s concluding part to the Idiots….. article, since as always I live for your witty and insightful commentary, and keep your eyes peeled as the next blog will be a little special, since it involves an interview with my lifelong best friend and some big breaking news in his world too. Until next time my pretties – thanks for hanging around waiting for me xx