About 45 minutes ago, I decided to make breakfast. There was a few sausages and rashers lying around in the fridge (one was stuck to the door) and they just seduced me to eat them. So after the seduction, I put the little bits of piggy on the griddle pan and left them to slowly cook. If you ask me, sausages need to be cooked slowly, you just get the best out of them to be honest. You fry them fuckers too quick, and they just wont co-operate when they get inside your gob. So using Internet time*, I cooked up the pork.
2 slices of bread were inserted into the toaster, and when the time came, my 2 rashers were introduced to the pork orgy in the pan. Another few minutes pass by, all the time I'm on the laptop, tweeting bullshit and generally doing nothing much online.
The time arrives for me to have my wicked way with the pork orgy. Skillfully I introduce a device to get them from their pan of pleasure to my plate. I tell them the orgy will continue in my mouth. The rashers and sausages are so indulged in their porkfest, they don't take much notice of what I'm saying. Then I hear a little porky voice.
"Vic, lets kink this shit up! Cover us in a little ketchup"
So, not wanting to be the one to spoil the party, I go to the fridge for some of the fine ass 57 varieties. Then, out of nowhere, alarm bells go ringing in my head. My mind darts back to my garage stop last night. I had to get petrol. I recall thinking about buying a loaf of bread, but I decided against it. Nothing personal or anything toward to the bread. Besides not wanting to run out of petrol on the South Ring and being laughed at by some "dude" in a Nike stripe wearing punto, I also needed ketchup.
FFFFFUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK
I didnt even think of getting the redness!
I take the ketchup out of the fridge and gaze into the bottle. Like a fallen comrade in battle, I know its too late. Theres a little life left in him, but not much. It wont be long. I squeeze the living shit out of the bottle. The gooey red liquid erupts, like a bullet exiting a skull, out of the bottle. Its not long before the fart sound emits from the bottle. This to me, as a ketchup addict, is the sound of death. I've heard it before. But at least Im safe in the knowledge that I can handle this very grim situation. Death is seconds away. I pick up the nearest knife, and like a crazed alcoholic lapping up spilt booze off the floor, I scrape the last of the sauce out of the bottle.
The pork orgy continues in a jacuzzi of Heinz and all is well with the world. Except now, I really am out of ketchup. FFS
Here is a picture of my fallen comrade. RIP. Notice the pieces hanging on for dear life at the top. Its like the end of Titanic!
*Internet Time = 5 minutes surfing = 20 minutes of normal time. Great for cooking, or losing days.
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