Four star menu

 Famous swearing chef Gordon Ramsay opened a £3million restaurant in New York called Gordon Ramsay at The London.  But critics were unimpressed and several put the boot in.   Ramsay, 40, is said to be fuming.New York Magazine’s critic Gael Green was the most outspoken.
She wrote: ‘The chef’s signature feint, a luscious smoky froth with white beans has us sighing, but almost everything else is a work-in-progress.

 “****ing ****,” said Ramsay.  “***** and *****, cod balls, ****ing  pot roast and ****oles!”

“We are shocked by a leathery lobster ravioli and an unseemly marriage of langoustine tails and maple-infused chicken (not to mention the bill),” continued Green.

She also hit out at the toilet doors which didn’t lock properly.

“****ing lobster, ****  ****** chicken!  Toilet ****ing door! How was I to ****ing know she was in there having a s**t!?” replied Ramsay, “****** toad in the **** and stuffed ****!”

Unfortunately, Mr Ramsay had to be carried away by four waiters at this point.  Ice packs were applied to his forehead and groin and a luscious smoky froth with white beans was massaged into his buttocks until he became calm again.

How we all love a happy ****ing ending

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The Dancing Delusion

In the latest series of ‘Look at me, I’m a C List Celebrity Dancing’,  there has been yet more controversy.  Richard Dawkins, Professor of Thinking from Oxford University, has been upsetting the regulars.

Following his attempt at a Quickstep, with professional partner Labia, Dawkins is grilled by the judges.

“Your Fishtail is too curved, your Running Right Turn is too loose around the floor and your dancing pants are too tight around the crotch!”  hisses Tiny Tonioli, tossing his head in disdain.
The crowd boo distractedly, not sure which side they are going to take yet.

“If you were anymore uptight we’d have to take the rod out of your arse to get your trousers on!” shouts Ron Godman.
The crowd laugh.  Yeah, Ron’s right, Dawkins does look a bit straight-laced.

Darling, the female judge, is under the desk struggling to open a bottle of gin with her teeth. 
Bruce Forsyth moves on quickly to the last judge, Craig Reveal Horrid.
“It was too short, it was too long and it was backwards and forwards.  I didn’t like it,” spouts Craig.  The crowd have a good boo at Craig, Dawkins and the furniture.

“May I say something, Bruce?” asks Dawkins quietly.
“Yes, of course my love, you have your little say.”

“I would just like to state that I am against dancing because it teaches us to be satisfied with not understanding the world.  To an honest judge, the alleged convergence between dancing and science is a shallow, empty, hollow, spin-doctored sham.”

The judges mouths fall open, they look at Dawkins, they look at the crowd, they look to the Lord of the Dance; Brucie.
“Alright, Richard, my love, but a lot of people find great comfort from dancing.  Not everybody’s life is good, and dancing brings them comfort.”

“There are all sorts of things that would be comforting,” replies Dawkins, “I expect an injection of morphine would be comforting—it might be more comforting, for all I know.  But to say that something is comforting is not to say that it’s true.”
The audience are deathly still now, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Dawkins continues in the same steady voice; “Most people, I believe, think that you need dancing to explain the existence of the world, and especially the existence of life.  They are wrong, but our education system is such that many people don’t know it.
I believe that an orderly universe, one indifferent to human preoccupations, in which everything has an explanation even if we still have a long way to go before we find it, is a more beautiful, more wonderful place than a universe tricked out with capricious ad hoc magic and belief in Ballroom Dancing.”

The camera pans over the faces of the judges and the audience.  Many people are sobbing, some hide their faces in their hands.  A horrible little man who doesn’t know his Cucarachas from his Ronde Chasse has rocked the foundations of their faith.

For the first time ever Brucie cracks. 
“Well you won’t be back next week, sweetheart!  The audience here and at home aren’t going to be voting for your brand of nonsense!”
The crowd go mad, cheering for the great Forsyth and booing Dawkins.

But amongst them and on some of the sofas at home, some punters are still sitting quietly, many of them have tears in their eyes but behind that mist a little light has come on.

                        
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Pastafarian Intelligent Design

They are amongst us.

Those who believe that the world was created by ID (Italian Dish), not by the red teeth and claws of physics, nature and evolution.

All the evidence of science, that physical forces following the Big Bang formed the Universe and created the Earth, is rubbished by these worshippers. 

The idea that we evolved from the lower creatures to the giddy heights of the selfish, war mongering, adulterating, child abusing, earth destroying creatures we are today without the help of an intelligent God is an anathema to them.
The Pastafarians know that this world was created by the Flying Spaghetti Monster and they wear the clothes of his faith.  Pirate Outfits.

Bryan Killian, a Pastafarian from North Carolina, has been banned from school for repeatedly turning up in Pirate Uniform.  He and his fellow believers are trying to get American schools to teach all three creation theories – God, Big-Bang and Flying Spaghetti Monster.  They also believe that Pirates are devine beings and not in the “God, isn’t Johnny Depp just devine?” sense either.

How the other world religions such as Islam,  Sikhism, Buddhism and Harry Potterism are going to cope with yet another competitor we will have to wait and see.

If you want to try out a religion in which you can eat your God (other than Catholicism) go to the Pastafarian site here:  http://www.venganza.org/

I highly recommend it as a starter, washed down with a cheeky Chianti, but it’s a bit hard to swallow as a main course.

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Inemuri in the office

 In Japan dozing anywhere from in Parliament to business meetings is allowed.  It’s called inemuri, which literally means “to be asleep while present”.

The custom is partly a result of how commitment to a job is judged in Japan, says Dr Brigitte Steger.  Inemuri is viewed as exhaustion from working hard and sacrificing sleep at night.  Many people fake it to look committed to their job.

Not me, I have no reason to fake inemuri (or to look committed to my job) and can often be found actually asleep, while present, at my desk.  If you prop yourself up with a stack of files and narrow your eyes into little more than slits so that the light can’t get in, you can usually get a couple of hours kip before some idiot wakes you with work, fire-drill or similar trivia. Obviously, the racial characteristic of narrower eyes is a big advantage to your Japanese inemuri practitioner, as is the balancing skill learned by following various oriental relaxation arts.  Most western workers are lacking in these areas, although a good solid beer-gut can lower ones centre of gravity.

There have been occasions when unsympathetic colleagues have taken advantage of an inemui disciple.  Robert Location, a clerk from Vodaphone, was wheeled on his office seat out of the building, and onto a farm truck going to Smithfield Market.  As his three wheeled, high backed, executive chair spun wildly amongst sixty three Beaulah Speckled Faced sheep he woke and with a blood-curdling scream burst from the back of the truck onto the inside lane of the M25.  Only then did he realise that he was stark naked except for a sign saying “Sheep Shagger” stuck onto his privates.

Despite this, I would urge you to give inemuri a go.  When your boss finds you asleep at your desk and realises you are exhausted from over work he will reward you with praise, cash and promotion. 

Then you will feel the true satisfaction of the inemuri master.  You may even find he insists you spend more time at home practising.

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Music of the Beers

Last night in my local, “The Slug and Philosopher”, Old Ted was tucking into one of the new dishes being offered by the pub’s chef.
He’d chosen Struthio camelus on a bed of Rocket, served with thick cut Solanum tuberosum, which when it turned up was a large piece of mysterious meat with lettuce and chips.Ted had asked the chef what it actually was and had been muttering about it ever since.
“Ostrich and Chips!  What sort of pub’ serves bloody Ostrich?”
He gestured towards the juke box with a three foot drumstick, dripping in gravy.
“And what’s this music all about?”
A drop of ostrich gravy from the huge leg steak described a graceful arc through the air and ‘plinked’ gently into Wayne’s pint glass where it slowly diffused, turning the Lager a richer corn shade.
Wayne turned to address Ted, “Stop waving that drumstick around before yer brain somebody, and I’ll answer yer question.”

He leaned forward, a conspirator with a secret to tell.

“Some people would say that music is merely an artistic form of auditory communication incorporating instrumental or vocal tones in a structured and continuous manner,” said Wayne, “but that don’t explain why it’s so important to us humans.

All our senses are there to help us live.  The reason things smell good or feel nice, or look attractive is to let us know they are safe or desirable.  The reason things smell or look bad, or hurt us is to warn us away and keep us safe.”

He looked suspiciously at his beer, smelt it cautiously, but then quickly took a large swig before continuing.

“But why do we all love music?  What evolutionary purpose does it have?”
He surveyed our stupid, gravy-stained faces.

“Pythagoras observed that a blacksmith hitting an anvil with varying amounts of force caused different notes to be rung and from that discovered the relationship between weight, space and musical tone.  All objects produce music through their mass and movement, even the planets themselves.  The sounds produced are so exquisite that our ordinary ears cannot hear it, although it surrounds all things.

It is said that Moses heard such music on Mount Sinai and that all men hear it when they die.  Us mere mortals only hear the small part of the spectrum allowed to us, whether it’s Mozart of Maddona, but we inherently know that it is the most important thing we can sense.”

He took another cautious pull on his pint before continuing.

“Music is the simple eight part code to the workings of space and time.  If man ever masters the code we will be able to travel back and forth through time and across the vast distances of space.  Until that happens we will have to wait until our earthly bodies release us and we know all things.”

“Does that answer your question, Ted?” I asked.
I could just see his eyes peering over the top of the Ostrich thigh he was chewing.

“I just wanted to know which idiot had put the ‘Birdie Song’ on,” he glared.

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Star crossed

 Capricorn
Russell Grant’s Astrological prediction.

A person who has recently left school could come up with some intelligent observations today. Spending a few hours with someone you’ve not had a lot to do with in the past could be surprisingly enlightening. If you’re in a position of leadership, taking time to find out what’s going on in the background could be to your advantage. Keeping a low profile will help your cause. Later, a silly mistake may make you look foolish.

That’s amazingly accurate!

My son who left school very recently (at about 3.20pm actually), made the intelligent observation that Astrology is a heap of crap.

Then I spent a few hours with my wife, a person I have not had a lot to do with in the past, only to be surprisingly enlightened to find that she thinks Russell Grant is a fatuous, over paid, insincere conman.

I’m not in a position of leadership, but if I was, I reckon it would definitely be to my advantage to find out what’s going on in the background.  For example; if I was leading an expedition to the North Pole, and in the background a Polar bear was stalking us.  And if that was the case, keeping a low profile would definitely help my cause.

How Russell keeps knocking out these pearls, I really don’t know! 

Oh, hang on a minute  – I’ve just seen it says ‘Capricorn’, that’s not me, I’m a Taurus.
Now I just look foolish.

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