Bellies & Burgers, Fingers & Freshies
DINNER AT MELUR
Last night a group of us dined at Melur. It was a successful dining event as exemplified by these Blokes and their Bellies:
Proverb: When the belly is full the mind is amongst the maids
It’s a fancyish Malay restaurant. [If the main course costs more than £4.25, then according to the Nilster Scale of Life, its in the realms of 'fancy'. When a dish hits £9.85+ then its considered 'disgracefully fancy'.]
We all ordered exotic starters made from ingredients we couldn’t pronounce and cooked in ways we couldn’t possibly fathom. Mash, my Bald Bruvva from Annuva Muvva, ordered chicken wings.
‘CHICKEN WINGSSS!!?!” I yelled, my glaring eyes filled with astonishment and voice drenched with disgust.
‘Chicken Wings!! Are you STOOPID!? Dude this is not Dixy’ What are you gonna do next? Order a chicken burger for your main course??!”
I went on to boast how I myself would never have ordered such a base dish. That chicken wings is prime Neanderthalic food. That the last time I stepped into a Dixy was years ago out of sheer necessity as I hadn’t laid eyes on food for three days straight.
MASHED UP
So today I’m in Green Street. I’m outside a shoe store in the cold and wet with my nose pressed against the shop window, looking on at Mother, Honey and Ladoo trying on shoes in the warmth, with….
…a Dixy burger in my hand.
I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how I managed to stoop so low and, frankly, ‘do a Mash‘. I Mashed up. Royally.
FINGER TO THE FRESHIE
I stood there devouring my Dixy burger as quickly as possible because a) I was starved (having eaten a whole three hours ago) and b) to hide evidence of my sins.
A freshie and his friend walked past and gave me an unctuous smile. I looked at him with sheer incredulity evident across my furrowed forehead. ‘You have got to be sh!tting me.’
There was chilli sauce dripping down my chin, dried mayo on the tip of my nose (I always find dried food on my nose) and lettuce had just fallen out my mouth as I chewed my lank, rubbery chicken burger in a manner akin to a masticating horse – a combination of these sexy traits was clearly turning him on.
They walked on and Freshie turned to give me another smarmy, oily, toothy grin. The second time he did it I stood in the middle of Green Street and gave him the finger:
Up Yours mate!
His smiled turned into a banana grin and returned he the gesture with a…:
*Thumbs up* She wants me baaad
Prat. I’ll give him a brownie point for being so optimistic, thinking the Middle Finger is the UK equivalent of a Freshie Thumbs Up. He must be one happy chappy if he has been going through life thinking all the fingers he’s received are signs of goodwill.
Mash update
HOW THE HELL IS IT A TIE??????
I reckon its fellow baldies who are voting for Mash to keep his extended forehead. They’re probably all uniting together to exercise their right to look like eggheads. Pulling a Britney is soooo 2007 dahling.
Mash Potato
I have a friend called Mash. I met him at a dinner event and found his conversation funny because, and only because, he was speaking in his harsh northern accent.
Once I lost him in Primark (he only came along as I promised him food afterwards – we went to Mr Jerk – yummmm) and he went to a till lady and had tried to have her announce that someone was looking for Lily OftheValley over the tannoy system. He explained to her that there could be many Lilys in the store so it was imperative that she should not just stop at ‘Lily’ but come out with the whole mouthful of ‘Lily OftheValley’. It didn’t quite work. We only got the ‘Lily’ but had a good giggle anyway. (He giggles like a girl.)
I think the till lady would not have been able to announce the whole lot with a straight face – she would have had a laughing fit and would be too busy holding her sides as she’s laughing so hard that she’d forget to turn off the tannoy system; the whole of Primark would hear this commotion and all fall on their knees and grab the clothing rails to steady themselves as they’d all by now be laughing like crazy too; the stands would all come crashing down with the sheer weight of the Primarni population which would further fuel the laughter and the poor lady would have ultimately lost her job. I guess just a ‘Lily’ was a good thing.
We’ve upped-the-ante and for the next challenge are aiming to get the announcer to declare ‘Can Lily OftheValley please come to the tills as Mash Potato is looking for her. Thank you.’
Mash claims that ‘Mash’ is a shortened version of his real name. I think people started calling him that cos he looks like Mr Potato Head. I’ve nagged him for a while to grow his hair. He’s a good-looking chappy (he has dimples when he smiles) but every time he takes off his hat the ends of my mouth curve down and I feel a little disappointed. I keep hoping to see a nice healthy black carpet of hair.
He doesn’t listen to me. Ever. So what do you lot think?
Should Mash grow his hair?
Mash happy chappy
Mash exposed!
VOTE NOW! It’s an interactive vote – lets see what the people want!
And here’s me being vengeful (he put chocolate on my nose and I forgot to wipe it off. He didn’t remind me for about an hour – even when me and my chocolate nose were getting on the train. Git.):
Spot the Difference:
Mr Potato Head
Mr Moody Mash Potato
