Dangerous Substances

Hmm. Drugs. There are many that are dangerous that aren't on the wicked list (that's wicked bad not wicked 'mint'), many that aren't dangerous but are and others that have never been considered. You often come in to contact with them in day to day life. I did earlier in fact (as if you hadn't guessed).

We went to Tesco earlier in the week, part of the wife's health drive (not that it's helping her lower end problems). Wahey we went on the 'fresh' fruit and veg section. (See the ''''? That's cuz 'fresh' is a complete fuckin' misnomer especially if you shop at Asda. It's off by the time you get to the car, let alone three days later.) Bit a this, bit a that, hmm feel those melons. I even bought a Pineapple for the first time in my life; that was fun I can't tell you. We intended on making smoothies of strawberry and bananananan and raspberries. We got at least half way through before my blender broke. I estimate we threw away about fifteen pounds worth of fruit that otherwise isn't edible and you can double that when you factor in how much of the stuff we did manage to make hasn't been touched by the wife.

Amongst the more 'obscure' items we bought were some chillies. I'm a bit of a gastro-amateur when it comes to food which translates as: pick a meat, throw it in a pan and throw other stuff in at random. And so this was my technique tonight. Except I planned on pasta instead of meat. Tin of tomatoes, red pepper, garlic, red onion and one of my chillies. Let the pain commence.

There I am chopping away thinking to myself of all the stories of the useless twunts that have chopped chillies and rubbed their eyes. Ho ho ho I very nearly verbalised. Then I got distracted. I hadn't done the wife's baked beans! Ooh, my eye is itching, scratch OMFG fuck fuckity dwarf on a barge someone has inserted a blow torch in my eye akin to the oriental bird in Hostel.

It hurt. A lot. I don't have a pain threshold. I have a pain switch. At the 'off' position all is tranquil. At 'on' it's like Jack Bauer is inserted in my mutha lovin' brain.

I literally fell up the stairs to the bathroom ( I was stood three feet from the kitchen sink but my instincts led me stumbling up the frickin' stairs) and eventually managed to dab it with a tea towel. Didn't work. The wife suggested cotton pads. Didn't work. All this time I was worried about my culinary creation which may have been burning. Eventually I got in the shower and stood with my eye under the shower. Fifteen minutes later the blow torch had been replaced with a single solitary match. And a football had been inserted under my eye (a euphemism for swelling). I can now see again but I may have to change my name to John Merrick for the foreseeable future.

My pasta was lovely by the way.

Pigs are happy when flagellating