A very shellfish, cunt.
In a world where almost everyone is out for themselves and a total asshole, does everyone have to become this way to get what they want? Do I? even with the people who are closest to me?
Take the case of the figgy strudel:
One evening in the master bedroom of the Manor Gaylord, Lord Rasputin van Scotty was whining.
"All I need is a little bit of pudding, just a little bit" he whined
"Worry no longer", stated I, Lady van Scotty, "for I shall make us a wondrous figgy strudel!"
and I betook myself to the kitchens.
Hours of toil later, I produced from my hot box a wondrous pudding indeed. Despite figs being my most favourite fruit I could not eat any of the pudding that night, having already wolfed three sealions in butter sauce and a turkey sandwhich. So I saved myself a piece and left it in a bowl in the kithchens. I served up a generous portion of pudding to Lord R. van Scotty with the last of the ice-cream.
He took it wordlessly and curled up with it in the master bedroom. "Is it okay?" asked I
"Oh, yah, its alright, quite nice." he shrugged non-comittaly, and fell fast asleep.
The next morning I seved my Lord a poached egg with soldiers and went out for a jaunt.
Some hours later I returned, mouth watering at the prospect of my saved bit of figgy strudel. I went down to the kitchens. It was not there. I searched high and low. No luck.
I raced up to the master bedroom with fire in my eyes.
"WHO ate my piece of figgy strudel?" I cried, pointing at Lord whatsit.
"Oh, um yah, it was I" yawned Lord thing.
"That was MINE!" I screamed. "I spent ages making that, that was MY piece that I saved especially!"
"Oh yah." he shrugged "I just couldn't see why it would still be there, so I ate it, got to make things make sense somehow, you know".
The musician who was entertaining Lord R. v Scotty piped up at this point.
"Mmmm, yes, personally I couldnt see why you hadnt eaten it for breakfast." he said
"O, well," I stammered, a bit confused by their nonsensical justifications, "well, it was because I felt like an egg."
"Well I bet you do, now!" chuckled Lord cunto, and settled down in bed to congratulate himself for having made his best joke of the day.
I retired, stony faced, into silence.
It wasn't so much the eating of the dessert, but the attitude of the perpetrator that got to me, and continued to rattle me for the rest of the day.
At dinner time Lord fuck piped up: "I'll make dinner!" he chimed
"Good, okay, fine." I croaked groggily, having just woken up from a nap.
Dinner turned out to be vegetables and rice. It was fairly bland. I noticed that Lord pooface had fish with his.
"You have fish on yours" I observed
"Oh, yes, this is my half of the fish that you caught, fairly, got to get our fair shares."
I went out.
Much later, and probably much too much later for it to make sense to his mind, I rounded on him.
"If you're going to be so sellfish, and uphold your policy forever of never saying sorry, at least you could do some small nice thing for me to make up for it." I said
Lord Scotty rolled his eyes and went "pffft".
"I spent alot of time making that strudel, and that piece was mine." I stated obviously
At this, Lord S tossed himself about, stamped a bit, and angrily switched out the light.
"Why are you so angry now then?" I asked
"I'm angry because you are the one who broke all my toes a year ago, and I have to live with the pain for the rest of my life, and pay for all the doctors visits" and at that he fell fast asleep.
So, I lay awake feeling hotly guilty all night, and all the next day, until I found out in the evening that his toes weren't even sore. It was just that using the toes beats anything I could possibly ever get upset about.
So, should I develop a harder shell, and keep all my treasure tucked away like all the other assholes? And never make strudel again? I dont know.
Take the case of the figgy strudel:
One evening in the master bedroom of the Manor Gaylord, Lord Rasputin van Scotty was whining.
"All I need is a little bit of pudding, just a little bit" he whined
"Worry no longer", stated I, Lady van Scotty, "for I shall make us a wondrous figgy strudel!"
and I betook myself to the kitchens.
Hours of toil later, I produced from my hot box a wondrous pudding indeed. Despite figs being my most favourite fruit I could not eat any of the pudding that night, having already wolfed three sealions in butter sauce and a turkey sandwhich. So I saved myself a piece and left it in a bowl in the kithchens. I served up a generous portion of pudding to Lord R. van Scotty with the last of the ice-cream.
He took it wordlessly and curled up with it in the master bedroom. "Is it okay?" asked I
"Oh, yah, its alright, quite nice." he shrugged non-comittaly, and fell fast asleep.
The next morning I seved my Lord a poached egg with soldiers and went out for a jaunt.
Some hours later I returned, mouth watering at the prospect of my saved bit of figgy strudel. I went down to the kitchens. It was not there. I searched high and low. No luck.
I raced up to the master bedroom with fire in my eyes.
"WHO ate my piece of figgy strudel?" I cried, pointing at Lord whatsit.
"Oh, um yah, it was I" yawned Lord thing.
"That was MINE!" I screamed. "I spent ages making that, that was MY piece that I saved especially!"
"Oh yah." he shrugged "I just couldn't see why it would still be there, so I ate it, got to make things make sense somehow, you know".
The musician who was entertaining Lord R. v Scotty piped up at this point.
"Mmmm, yes, personally I couldnt see why you hadnt eaten it for breakfast." he said
"O, well," I stammered, a bit confused by their nonsensical justifications, "well, it was because I felt like an egg."
"Well I bet you do, now!" chuckled Lord cunto, and settled down in bed to congratulate himself for having made his best joke of the day.
I retired, stony faced, into silence.
It wasn't so much the eating of the dessert, but the attitude of the perpetrator that got to me, and continued to rattle me for the rest of the day.
At dinner time Lord fuck piped up: "I'll make dinner!" he chimed
"Good, okay, fine." I croaked groggily, having just woken up from a nap.
Dinner turned out to be vegetables and rice. It was fairly bland. I noticed that Lord pooface had fish with his.
"You have fish on yours" I observed
"Oh, yes, this is my half of the fish that you caught, fairly, got to get our fair shares."
I went out.
Much later, and probably much too much later for it to make sense to his mind, I rounded on him.
"If you're going to be so sellfish, and uphold your policy forever of never saying sorry, at least you could do some small nice thing for me to make up for it." I said
Lord Scotty rolled his eyes and went "pffft".
"I spent alot of time making that strudel, and that piece was mine." I stated obviously
At this, Lord S tossed himself about, stamped a bit, and angrily switched out the light.
"Why are you so angry now then?" I asked
"I'm angry because you are the one who broke all my toes a year ago, and I have to live with the pain for the rest of my life, and pay for all the doctors visits" and at that he fell fast asleep.
So, I lay awake feeling hotly guilty all night, and all the next day, until I found out in the evening that his toes weren't even sore. It was just that using the toes beats anything I could possibly ever get upset about.
So, should I develop a harder shell, and keep all my treasure tucked away like all the other assholes? And never make strudel again? I dont know.
posted by Face at 4:12 PM
4 Comments:
Tell him if he sucks his toes they might feel a lot better. Don't under any circumstances offer to suck them yourself.
Maybe if he smeared figgy strudle on them they might get sucked.
He would have to make the strudel himself and do all his own sucking
I believe that there is a reasonable solution. It will involve one marble rolling pin, five metres of electrical tape, two flasks of warm black-currant cordial and a box of 50 Beehive safety matches... Really, you do the math.
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