Waffles, pancakes, beards. Etc.

Hello you. Long time no see. Have you lost weight? No of course you haven't, i was just being polite, you fat pig.

Sorry, thought i'd start with a joke. But then couldn't think of one. But calling people fat pigs is good for a shocked chuckle. I do hope no actual fat people read that and end up crying themselves to sleep or anything. Although there has to be some weight in teardrops. Maybe crying is a good way of losing a few pounds. In that case, i bet Holland & Barratts will start stocking onions and nosehair pluckers as diet aids.

Forgive any uncapitalied is or random slepping errors in this post, i'm typing it on my phone's moderately shonky email app, in between doing funky locksmithing jobs. It's not the easiest thing to do, typing on a touch screen phone with a nintendo ds stylus, but hey, it could be worse, i might be typing on an iphone with my fat fingers and farming ridiculous predictive autocorrect. By farming i meant fucking, just thought I needed to explain that. I was making a hilarious autocorrect joke. Which on rereading i felt needed explaining. To be honest I should just delete this whole paragraph. Although that's actually difficult to do on my phone's email app. So it's like a viscous circle. Which is like a vicious circle, but stickier.

As you can tell from this post's title, i may have asked for topic suggestions off of the folk of twitter. Food and facial hair obsessed are that lot. No-one suggested boobies today, but someone did mention i blog about the US Mid-term elections, and there's enough tit there to satisfy that criteria.
To be fair, the only knowledge I have of US politics is from the movie Dave and the occasional uninterrupted five minutes of The Daily Show when gem isn't telling me to turn over to Come Dine With Me. But what I gather is that there is some sort of tea based movement that a lot of people don't like. Run by Earl Grey, the most royal person in America, the tea party movement is obsessed with getting americans to raise their pinky finger when they drink a cup of tea.
I have suspicions that this is somehow related to Gaffer and Sidney making a comeback at Tetleys. But I really shouldn't say much because the PG Tips monkey knows where I live.

Aaaand that's enough blogging for now, because I need a wee. And I wouldn't want to write a soggy blog.



A bit of random twitter-suggested blogging nonsense.

Well, I say 'random'. I don't think it'll be anything unexpected. Probably knickers, food, boobs. The usual stuff that people think about on twitter. I really shouldn't have used the word random, because when someone describes themselves as 'random' in their profile it kind of insinuates someone being wacky or hilarious, when really it just implies that they could be talking about anything, boring or otherwise. Envelopes. See, that's random, but you didn't find it very funny did you. Well, you did, but only because it was in the context of a being in a hilarious blog post. Anyway, you see my point? Do you? DO YOU???

Aaaaanyway... let's see what the twitter people have been suggesting I blog about...

@friesnshake - #fudgeblog knickers

Ah, there you go, first of the block is knickers. I was really expecting 'boobs' first but knickers is a perfectly good and predictable choice.

I don't really like thongs, because I don't like seeing ladies' bottoms eating their knickers. Besides, a decent pair of knickers is easier to pull off with your teeth without having to bite down and taste anything that's done flossing.

So. Knickers. Next...

@Narcotic_Thrust - #fudgeblog Sausages

A food one. Ok, I like Sausages, they are my favourite tube based food, better than frubes and an empty toilet roll full of haribo. Although the latter is a good place to hide haribo, it's best to make sure the toilet roll tube hasn't been taken from a really stinky toilet. My favourite type of sausages are those ones that taste a bit tomatoey, but they don't seem to do those as much nowadays. I'm not really keen on the sausages that have lumps of apple in them, because that seems like a bit of an evil plot to sneak fruit into my food. And apples are bad. Read the bible. Maybe.

@Banner29 - #fudgeblog Grapes

Another food one. Maybe I should have asked for suggestions just after lunch and then folks' subconscious wouldn't be obsessing over food. Anyway, I do like grapes, they are like sweets. but on a twig. Is the twig that has grapes on it wood? I can never quite get where the wood ends and the fruit begins. The same with apples, (which are bad, see above) is the stalk of an apple wood or is it apple? Are there any scientists investigating this? Why not? Oh, they're busy curing cancer. Alright then.

Ah, the suggestions have died down... Just sent a tweet to wake them all up and hopefully they'll suggest something good. They're quite good that twitter lot, when they're not obsessing about followers, celebrities or x-factor. They do like to have their say about x-factor, be it taking the piss out of the acts (I admit to have watched x-factor purely for this purpose) to getting very cross because people are talking about x-factor and ignoring them or something.

Ah, look they've woken up...

@MissSorbet - #fudgeblog Cattle :)

Ah, well I think I just covered cattle in that x-factor rant I'm sure. Or is that sheep. Are sheep cattle or are just cows cattle? I'm not a farmer I'm not supposed to know such things...

Anyway, I think all cows should be renamed Beefs, and then there'll be none of that 'where does meat come from' ignorance that leads to kids going all vegetarian and crap. Not that there's anything wrong with being a vegetarian, it's just bloody daft. Meat is lovely. Especially in a sandwich or with supernoodles.

Ooh a well thought out one next...

@chaosgerbil - #fudgeblog where you love of Transformers came from and where you would like to see the next film go :D

Nice to see a laughing smiley at the end of that. Although really this habit of not giving your smileys noses is really annoying. How would you like it if I took your nose off? Exactly. You'd be the butt of everyone's pisspoor 'how does he smell' humour. Anyway, if I stole your nose I'd give it back soon enough, probably by revealing that it was hidden behind your ear all along.

Anyway, I likes Transformers because 1. they are cars and jets and such. 2. they are robots. 3. i was born at exactly the right time to be brainwashed by all the advertising and hype surrounding the first tv series and comics and 4. they look better stood next to my telly than a vase or some sort of doily.

As for the next film, well it can't be worse than the last one, can it? I'd really like to see less of the ridiculous human nonsense (which was fine in the first film, as it added tension to the previously unseen robots but was unneccessary and clumsy in the sequel) and a lot more robot on robot action (which was the only time the first and second movie shone), however I'd also like to see a bit more effort made on the filmmakers' part in reducing nameless robots/cannon fodder to a minimum and actually giving us robots with identifiable characters. And I use 'characters' broadly, basically I want to see more than unnamed drones popping up to get shot.

Otherwise, I'd just like to see it in the bin. Or on my DVD shelf gathering dust, because I'm a completist with a penchant for a fancy transforming box.

Well, that wasn't a very funny bit of blog, was it. Shame on you, gerbil.

Right, the suggestions have dried up. Bugger, the blog post has ended on a downer...

Ok, let's end it on a high...

here's a poem I am just going to write...

This is my funky funky blog,

It smells a bit like a spunky dog.

Not spunky in the sense of being covered in spunk,

just a dog that seems to be one with the funk.

If you like my blog, please tell your friends,

and if you go scuba diving, please don't get the bends.

There, happy now? Blog complete. end of line.

Oh, and noone suggested boobs. I'm disappointed, as I was going to use that as an excuse to look on google. Ah well. Next time maybe.

Fin. (French for finished. I wonder what the french is for the word 'fin', like on a fish. Probably 'le finish' or something. Probably not. Oh look I'm going on and on, and I've already said I'm finished twice. Right I'm off. Really should end these brackets too.)

There. Done. Piss off, I'm busy.


Bit of a rant. Sorry.

The next door bloody neighbours (left hand side, shitty gonks; the right hand side ones are mostly nice) have been having a BBQ/Party/Squealy Piss-up since lunchtime and it's doing my nut in, so I thought I'd get rid of my frustrations by typing this. I am pressing the keys on the keyboard very hard so if I accidentally DRIFT INTO CAPITAL LETTERS, see this as me getting exceptionally mad.
Of course, we have absolutely no chance of being able to complain about the shit music, BBQ smoke, fag ash and stray children that seem to be invading our personal space because they did that irritatingly British thing of popping round yesterday to warn us in advance and to 'invite us' if we fancied going. Notice the quote marks around 'invite us', meaning that their invitiation was one of those - "you're perfectly welcome to come round and chat to a bunch of random strangers about bin-man things, as long as you don't complain about the shitty parking, or anything else that annoys you. Oh, and you're not really welcome, because we've not said more than two words to you since you moved in three years ago." - type of agreements.
So, anyway, I'm trapped in my house because if I step out the back I get a face full of smoke, and if I step out the front one of their little stray children things will kick a football into my head. And even if I do get outside I can't drive the bloody car anywhere because their binman friends have filled the cul-de-sac up with their many Vauxhall Vectras. Why do they all have Vauxhall Vectras? God knows. Maybe they had a dumb looking wide person discount that week.
Oh good god the music's making me feel old too, they're playing what seems to be the same Euro-dance tune on a loop (you know the one that has very badly translated lyrics, a looped violin track and a bassline that makes your eyebrows bleed) with the occasional 'song-from-last-year-that-was-overplayed', for example that bloody stupid Kid Rock cut and paste song that as a kid brought up by Lynrd Skynrd obsessed parents I must resort to stabbing people every time I hear it. Rarrrr I've gone a bit stir crazy.

Ahhh... good. It's just started raining. My mood is improving now.

DAmn, I've run out of rant now.

Ooh look they're all running to their cars now trying to protect their hair from getting wet using paper plates. Hehehehe.

Anyway, I think that's enough therapy for today, cheaper than a stress ball and less messy that a good sex session. That was my blog.

See you later.
Don't invite me to your BBQ.

PS. I got sent 13 packets of supernoodles this week by @annieredheadx off of that twitter. Go and follow her. Now. I do like supernoodles.

PPS. Australian Come Dine With Me is shite. Don't watch it.


some words and such in some kind of order

Hello and that.

Just thought i'd type some things.

Not sure what those things are yet, bear with me...


I do like that new Starbucks Via instant coffee. Tastes all posh. Now all i need to do is buy some posh biscuits.
Ooh, actually, Gem has banned biscuits from our house, because i'm turning into Mr Tubby Lumpguts. I suppose i really should do some exercise, but it's raining and wii fit is £90. That's 120 pies. Exactly,

So, as you can see i'm not really focused on the ol' bloggage today, think i've not had enough sleep. I blame the kids. Only 50 years until i'm old enough to get my revenge and wake them up in the middle of the night so i can have a wee. I can bide my time til then. Yes.

It's bloody raining, i should have worn sleeves. I hate having wet elbows.

My quick review of Inception - not enough anthropomorphic pineapples. Or sex dreams. Otherwise good. That's it.

I really want to eat a cloned steak. Apparently cloned beef is available to buy now. I bet it's lovely. And guarantees all your steaks will be the same. Like futuristic steak canadiennes.

If my nipples had a job, i bet you wouldn't be so quick to call them useless, would ya?

The Girl in the Dragon Tattoo is a good film. A lady put a dildo up a man's bottom. Lovely.

Ok, that's it. Blog done. Might be more coherent next time. Although to be honest it couldn't be less.

The Toast-Sandwich is my invention. Don't steal it.


How to make your website look fancypants...

Below is a super-funky way to make your website look all high-tech and funky techy cool...
...whaddya mean it's taking too long to load?
That's it.
Just shove this little picture on your webshite and people will think your site is sooooo cool because it obviously is taking ages to load.
Just a little helpful tip there.
You're welcome.


Fudge's Guide to the World's Cup of Footsoccer

On June 11th this year, people from around the world and maybe universe will be gathering round their tellys, radios and internets ready to watch (tv)/listen (radio) /masturbate (internet) to twenty-ish men running around in overpriced trainers trying to kick a logo-covered ball into various nets. Yes, this is the World's Cup of Footsoccer. And this here guide contains everything you need to know about 'The Beautiful Football Game'.

Probably best to start from square one, or 'kick the ball off' as the players say...

What is Footsoccer?
As everyone knows, footsoccer is a game of two halves, with added bits of half added at the end of each half, and possible additional 'extra halves' being added in the case of neither original half coming to a valid conclusion. Playing this game are two teams of millionaires, pants models and people too dumb to be PE teachers. Whenthe referee (dressed in black, like sports casual funeral director) blows his whistle, the two teams kick a footsoccerball ball up and down a field in an attempt to kick the footsoccerball ball into the opposing team's net. Guarding the net is a goalkeeper, who is allowed to cheat because not only is he wearing the wrong PE kit, but he also has a funny hair cut.
When a player kicks the ball into the net, a 'score' or 'goal' is added to their total, and a novelty dance ensues, with possible shirt removal and cheering from the crowd of people who are at the stadium watching.
After 45minutes or so, the referee blows his whistle and the players go for a wee, maybe some Robinson's squash and a nice sit down, then they have to go back outside and play for another bit of time, but this time they play in the opposite direction. This is so football fans' necks don't get sore from looking in one direction, or so the side that was previously being 'the baddies' now gets to be 'the goodies'.
Kicking other players in the face and such can result in a 'Fowl', and means the other team gets to have a turn kicking the ball without being pestered. If you get kicked in the face in the penalty area (the goalie's special zone of power, where he can pick up the ball with his hands like a cheating girl) then you get to do a penalty. A penalty means you are allowed to kick the footsoccerball ball at the net without getting pestered, and is the best thing you can get.
If a player does get kicked in the face or falls over and grazes his knee or feels like having a snooze then he can be swapped for a different player, who, while not good enough tobe allowed to play a full game, is unfacially kicked, upright, and fully rested. This is called Subbuteotution.
The most confusing thing people ask an expert such as myself is "what is the offside rule?", to which my answer is "if you're not on the side you're supposed to be on then you're off it and that is bad."
Right then, that's the rules of footsoccer...

The World's Cup.
Normally football goes on and on forever in it's little team based leagues, like some kind of plotless soap opera, but the World's cup is different. For the World's Cup, players give up on their teams and bugger off back to where they came from, to play for their national side. This allows the media to overindulge in casual racism, disencourages fights in Manchester and teaches idiots geography.
England last won the World Cup in 1966, and England has done nothing else worthwhile in sport since, or so they'd have you believe. In actual fact, England have 'nearly won' so many times that by not telling everyone else to 'bugger off we invented the game' they are the moral victors and deserve a medal. Or something.
The World's Cup this year is being held in South Africa, where the players are allowed 'diblomaddic immunidy'.
There are various groups of teams, each team consisting of someone good, a mediocre team and various rubbish teams that don't stand a chance and are really only there for the aforementioned geography lesson.
After winning the most matches, the winners (and sometimes a runner up, if there's like, an odd number or something) move into the Quarter-Finals (moderate excitement) then Semi-Finals (Bladder-loss, intense hatred of rivals, boycotting of that country's produce etc) and then the World's Cup Final (Sitting in the corner, dribbling). The winner of the final is declared World's cup champion and then they go on a topless double decker bus and get OBEs or their country's equivalent.
And that is the end of footsoccerball. Or rather it is for most normal people, for the fans it means going to watch the continued soap opera, with their reduced-to-clear England lunchbox that they got when we lost against Yemen.

And that's my guide to footsoccer and the world's cup. And nothing to do with penguins.


my general election 2010 blog

Penguins are flightless birds that muck about in the arctic and such. Or the antarctic.
The one without the bears.
Anyway, they can swim, quite fast, but look like drunken idiots when they try and dive in.
Once every year or maybe fortnight, they march off to some place or other to find a mate. Apparently this involves singing bad pop songs. Like in Glee.
Anyway, then there's some egg making, and then the boy penguin looks after the egg while the girl penguin goes off shopping at mothercare or to get some fish for tea.
Penguins like fish, by the way. I'm not sure which fish is their favourite, probably tuna. Or trout. Or pilchard. Or shark. Actually, probably not shark. They'd never catch one.
Anyway, apparently tap dancing is not good for penguins.
Penguin's greatest enemy is obviously the most dangerous creature in all of nature - man. Or Godzilla. Actually, yeah. Godzilla would probably do more damage. Ooh and a tiger. A tiger could kill a penguin. Easily. It'd just slap it's face off.
Penguins are waterproof, but not fireproof, bulletproof or immune to lasers. Or tigers.
And that's everything i know about penguins, i hope it filled the penguin shaped gap of knowledge in your brain.

What? You wanted a witty political commentary on the upcoming general election? Nah, penguins are more fun.


Eggmas Bloggage

Yay It's Eggmas!

I do hope you're all so full of chocolate eggs that you're about to give birth to a chocolate chicken. I've been trying to keep my chocolate intake to a minimum, but I've only been able to cope by substituting more fried meat into my diet. And that's a lot of fried meat.

What has I been doing this freakishly long weeeeekend?
Good (open for debate) Friday...
Went to the MOSI at Manchester, somewhat disappointing given that the museum had a bloody great building site down the middle, resulting in excessive lift use and walking to get from one building to the other (and making a post museum McDonalds trip more of a necessity than a treat). Also the kid's play section has been completely removed (new stuff coming soon, apparently, fat lot of good that is) so instead of an interactive museum adventure a la Eureka, Jess was left to follow us around relatively dull, mostly static exhibits.
On the plus side, they did have a Dyson Airblade hand dryer in the toilets and that's just fucking cool.

We went to Ponderosa, which is like a zoo, but with rubbish animals. On a plus note, my parents paid for everything, Jess got to hold a snake (provoking crazy squealing from her wiggly-phobic mother) and I had a nice sandwich.
After that we went shooping (which is like shopping, but typed very quickly with fat fingers) and I got meself Day of the Dead on blu-ray (with free Bub comic! Result!) and some Transformers Animated DVDs on the cheap. Oh, also I made the greatest parental mistake ever by starting Jess' Zhu Zhu Hamster collection.
Assuming you're not a child, or you don't have kids, I'll explain what a Zhu Zhu Hamster is. Basically, you know those shoddy little battery powered hamsters that you used to be able to buy from the market for £1 to entertain the cat, well they're basically the same, but with sound chips so they make a squeak, a greatly inflated price tag and ACCESSORIES. No, that's not a caps lock mistake, there's a bloody lot of ACCESSORIES. Including Baby Hamsters, Vehicles, Clothes, Play tracks, a Garage and Little bags and blankets for carrying the overpriced little bastards about with. So far, we've got Jilly the pink hamster, a 'sports car' and a little bag. And somehow Gem has agreed with Jess that we need to buy more stuff. Including babies for the thing. Ugh.

Eggmas Day...
Much confusion as to what we're actually supposed to do on the Easter Sunday, seeing as we're not church goers and The Goonies isn't on TV. Instead, we're at the in-laws, I'm typing this blog and uploading the ridiculously massive England map onto my Nokia's new free sat nav (2 hours and waiting).
Tonight we'll be either watching The Mummy 3, How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, The Strangers or whatever Come Dine With My Country House Rescue In The Sun crap Gem has recorded on the sly. Actually, she did mention The Vampire Diaries, but I doubt we'll watch that, because she knows I'll just hum annoyingly all the way through, and complain about how Buffy was better.
Oh, and also we'll be watching Doctor Who, because the PlayTV thing decided to only tape 20 minutes of the new show last night. Of that 20 minutes, Matt Smith managed to impress both me and Gem, especially Gem, who was ready for a post-Tennant boycott until Matt said 'fish custard'. She's easily pleased. Well, televisually she is.

Eggmas Monday...
Not sure what we're doing tomorrow, probably gonna be visiting my Auntie Irene whotalksveryfastandsaysalotwithoutactuallysayingmuch. And then maybe we'll be swimming, although that depends if we can get Meg a swimming cozzy (which I've just remembered, and Gem seems to have forgotten). Also it depends if the swimming pool place is open, and not too crowded with smelly pool-pissers.

Oh, and this weekend I've had a break off of twitter, because both me n gem decided it was getting a bit dull, folk not talking, random unfollowing for stupid reasons, and general childish bitchiness. As such, I've missed out on doing #letscelebr8by tweets for Peanut Butter and Jelly Day, Alec Guinness' birthday, International Pillow Fight Day and much more. Hopefully someone out there remembered to celebrate them, without me telling them to...

Oh, and it's the missus' 1st year twitterversary today, her general twitter experience ranging from meh to ooh to crazy addicted to annoyance and then back to her present state of meh. Perhaps it's some sort of repeating cycle.

And that's your lot, can't think of anything else to type now. Oooh I mended the trackerball on the missus' blackberry. I didn't even use a hammer. Yay me.

Ok that's it, you can go back to eating your eggs. But if you get the squits, don't expect me to wipe your ass.



creme eggs, chocolate robots & toe-jam

Fed up of apologising for not blogging in a while, so i won't. Apologise. Unless you consider that non-apology as an acknowledgement of the need for an apology, and thus an apology in all but the word.
Anyway, where was i? Oh,yeah... Over there...

*walks to other side of the room, where i was*

...much better. Now that i'm back where i was when i was there, i can write something interesting for you to read with your bodily reading utensils (eyes, mind etc.) Today's funky topics, suggested by folk from that bird-based, social-networking site are Creme eggs, Clockwork Robots and Toe-Jam.

So in no particular order (easiest to splurge first) i'll start with Toe-Jam.

Toe-Jam and Earl was a video game from the olden days, and was delightfully mental. I liked it at the time, but recently i played it and it was shit. There, that was one of them there video game nostalgic reviews that you can find anywhere on t'internet. I give it a nostalgic shit rating of 3.72/14

Clockwork Robots will never rule the world without people, because eventually they'll need someone to wind them up. And even if they did invent a clockwork winder-upper robot, there would need to be someone who could wind up the winder upper robot. This is an example of a flawed perpetual motion device, and thus i give this a flawed perpetual motion rating of 2.2/2.3 - the highest rating anything written in the last ten minutes has recieved.

Creme eggs are bloody lovely, aren't they? How do i eat mine, well i nibble off the top then slide my tongue inside to get out all the mysterious fondant filling. Apparently, the way you eat a creme egg is directly related to your oral sex performance. Which probably explains why the missus always gags when eating them then bites inappropriately hard. Hmmm...

There, blog done. Phew.


Fudge Goes to the Movies

I've been to the pictures, and thought I'd just like to say, that main actor in those fillums looks bloody wonderful.


random three-word topic blog

right then, it's three-word topic time. As suggested by the lovely folk on twitter. Who i'm not crediting individually because i'm a lazy monkey.

What annoys me about facebook is how it's started to encourage you to get all touchy-feely with your friends. 'why not tell Andrew Crompton about your day?' because he's a fat git who made my school life hell, that's why. And relax...

Because we can't always have floppy tesco value toast.

Good theory, pisspoor sitcom.

Super-noodles, fried meat, beans, ketchup.

I tried learning to knit when i was younger, but after i stabbed myself i figured, best to leave it to the cauliflower heads.

You fuckers. You know i missed breakfast.

Because if it didn't, you'd be sad.

I find cleaving to be much more fun.

He was the king of antwadar,
he never washed his pants.
On a trip to zanzibar
His cock got bit by ants.

As i write this, the sat nav tells me 'I am on M62, Between M62 J32 (3450 yd) and M62 J31 (450 yd). And no i'm not driving.

I'm going to leeds now, if you'd like to buy me a sandwich, meet me there, spam and beans please.

I will dedicate this blog entry to whoever sends me the best drawing of someone fighting a nun on a bookcase. So there. EDIT - @Gavlp (http://twitter.com/gavlp)won, since his pisspoor effort was the only entry. So this is now dedicated to him. Ooh

Or, ideally add me on msn, because sometimes i like to talk to folk in more than 140 characters, but not like on the phone or in person. Because you might be ugly or mad or something. My twittername at hotmail dot com if you wanna come n say hello.

I really wasn't kidding about that sandwich idea in leeds...

Why must i finish? Well, i've run out of topic suggestions. Twitter's gone a bit rubbish in that respect. Last time i did a three word topic suggestion request there were f'ing hundreds of responses. Maybe people are bored of me. Actually, no, i'm just wonderful.

Fin. Which is arsey for The End.


Goldilocks and the three bears

Once upon a time (ie. Ages ago, before stories were supported by facts),there lived three bears.
There was a mummy bear, a daddy bear and a baby bear. For some reason they lived in a well-maintained two-floored cottage rather than a cave or hole in a hill or something. We can only assume that the bears had recently attacked and killed the previous owners and, enjoying the benefits of central heating and windows and such, they probably decided to stay.
One day, the mummy bear decided to abandon her natural salmon hunting instincts and using some sort of freaky überknowledge, never before seen in bears, she made some porridge.
Now, obviously, her genius knowledge was flawed as the porridge was much too hot, and rather than adding some cold milk the bears decided they would go for a walk in the woods until it reached the desired temperature. For some reason, the bears dished up the porridge before leaving the house, which is a bit confusing.
Aaaanyway, while the bears were off walking in the woods, not hunting salmon, a cheeky little blonde girl called Goldilocks approached the house. Now obviously, like all girls given novelty names, she was a bit of a chavvy rogue, and thought nothing of entering the bear's house without permission. The insurance company would no doubt say it was the bear's fault for leaving the door unlocked, but obviously since they had killed the previous tenants and were technically squatting, they probably didn't have any keys.
There was no bodily remains of the last tenants, nor had the bears left any evidence of their existance as bears, as goldilocks' suspicions as to the possible threat from giant furry beasts were not raised. However, she did see the porridge, and being a cheeky chav with no knowledge of hygiene or an awareness of the morality of theft, she decided to eat the porridge.
Now at this point we need to clarify the fact that three bowls containing the porridge were all made of difference materials, each with different thermal properties. This explains why when tasting Daddy bear's big bowl ofporridge discovered it was much too hot; mummy bear's medium sized bowl was freezing cold, and baby bear's small bowl was at an acceptable temperature. One can only assume that mummy bear's taste in cold porridge is not completely bonkers.
Anyway, chavpig that she was, goldilocks ate up all of baby bear's porridge. This is described as a somewhat gluttenous act, even though we are initially told that baby bear's bowl is incredibly small. He's probably still being weaned off salmon.
Like any good greedyguts, Goldilocks decided that she might as well sit down, and spotting the bear's three chairs decided to try them one by one. Now, Goldilocks is obviously a right fussy bitch, and daddy bear's chair was considered to be too hard, and mummy bear's chair was too soft and lumpy, like a bean bag or something. Can you imagine taking her to DFS for a new three piece suite? She'd be a bloody nightmare.
Then she sat on baby bear's little chair. Now obviously goldilocks was quite a hefty girl, as any bear, even a baby one weighs quite a considerable amount. Quite why goldilocks' fat ass is able to break a chair capable of supporting a bear is one for dieticians and weighbridge owners to discuss ad finitum.
So the chair broke, and foregoing any 'where there's a blame there's a claim' shenanigans (again, legally dubious given the bear's squatter status) Golilocks decided she'd go upstairs and have a lie down.
Again, there were three beds, again the parent bears' beds were unsuitable for some incredibly fussy reason. Why the parent bears had separate beds is another story, probably involving that dirty slut bear who took advantage of daddy bear's drunken advances at the christmas party, purely for the purposes of taking revenge on her arch-rival mummy bear, who spelled her name wrong in the parish newsletter in 1998. Like i said, it's a whole different story.
Anyway, goldilocks was obviously very tired from all her porridge and chair testing activities and she fell asleep.
And then the bears came home. And well, then they killed goldilocks. Because they were bears. Killer bears. As established early on in the story. Oh, they probably wondered about why some of the porridge was eaten, or why a chair was broken, but they were probably more likely to obey their baser animal instincts and eat the chav. Who probably tasted a bit like salmon.

The End


Generic 'i cant think of something to type' blogtweet

This may be a meandering ramble of a blog, because i don't know what to type today.
Hope you all had a nice late december stressful family hell season, and that you got at least one present worth putting on ebay.
Just been looking thru my comment moderation options, apparently people seem to think that because i write a blog, i should write something significant and useful. Well, knickers. My blog is extremely useful to someone who may perhaps need to read these words or die. Or if they need a website window open to maximize, covering the porn you were looking at when the missus walked in. So there.
Of course, the significance of this comment seems to have been ruined by the anonymous (obviously the same person) fuck you comments posted later.
So, yeah, that's why i've got comment moderation.
This really is gonna be a ramble blog...
Hmmm... Oh, we had another baby and you probably already know that. She is megan and her favourite ps3 game is Stuntman Ignition, which entertains her more than a box full of vtech tat.
SNOW! There was snow and it was fun. Then it was shit. Then it was ice and all the idiot drivers crashed their cars, then it was good again and we could leave the house. And that's the weather.
I am eating mini cornish pasties. They don't appear to have any meat in them. They do have what seems to be plasterboard inside. And carrot. So that's one of my five a day.

Anyway, that's my meandering ramble blog to make up for not blogging for ages. Stop looking so disappointed. Miserable git. Go on, post a grumpy 'that was rubbish' comment, i'll moderate it's arse off.