Paramount Panoramas

Substitution of Butter- Jamaica Me Crazy!

Could it be true, Butter leaving the Paramount fold to seek greener pastures?

To be substituted!

Can this substitute walk like a slut?

Can this substitute exude energy and charisma fueled only by a single apple or rice paper roll?

Can this substitute ever replace the foul mouthed, vile minded Butter?

Will the substitute be an intellectual romantic who loves to sing stories about living and loving in a tropical paradise...oh, that's not Butter, thats Bertie!

Jamaica Me Crazy

Jamaica me coconuts, crazy times.

I Peanut

It is my last official meal at La Paramount.  The chaps are in good spirits.  Jelly and Butter cheer me on through my traditional chicken and vegetable Asian pot of fun.  We talk about all the great times we have had in this great eating space.  Jelly notes that with the ending of my current position in Government, the door has truly opened for a go at the golden calf of job contentment: a full-time job at the Paramount.  Of course, I could start off small, cleaning out the toilets and scrubbing the jizz off the wash basins and poo from the floor.   Perhaps, then graduating to cleaning up tables and taking the dirty plates back to Chef Lanka, with a few, surly biffs across the head from the big chef for not moving fast enough.  But slowly I Peanut would ascend the dirty, greasy, sticky pole of the big P.  Getting my own apartment looking over the plastic dome of the food court.  Getting special access after hours to the senior employees’ bathroom; unlimited, 24 hour access to the Paramount gym, casino and strip club on the rooftop level.  Then eventually, I would be presented with the massive set of keys to attach to my stained, black slacks along with my own storage locker for personal items and things I had stolen from guests, as I become the official Paramount caretaker, the most revered (and indeed feared) position in the Paramount organisational chart.  When I become no 1, it will be like Scarface burying his head into as many steaming plates of Chef Lanka stewed goat curry as he desires.  Who will stop me then?  And I Peanut will plot my revenge on all those who have wronged me.  

Three gents having a gay time

It was a bright, cold day in May, and the clocks were striking thirteen. The Paramount was looking resplendent in the golden haze of the shimmering Autumn sun. Peanut, Jelly and Butter gathered, sadly without Mayonnaise, to chew the collective fat.

The three effete aesthetes made merry in the garrulous food court. All were in a particularly gay mood.

Chef Wanka was keeping the masses well fed with his hot, spicy meat and protein-based sauce. Peanut had ordered his meal from somewhere else but his meat was smoking, so much so that he had to slow down and use some lubricant. As this was one of his better days, Butter only repeated the 'lubricant' joke four times.

Jelly regaled his friends with stories about his move to a new abode, replete with impaired folk next door who are apparently giving his missus a good seeing to. Peanut lamented sadly that he wasn't allowed to drive the bus, although all agreed that this predicament was better than 'furry fat fanny'.

There was further fascination in Butter's oversized Le Coq Sportif hooded jumper. Clearly, Peanut and Jelly were quite jealous of Butter's big red Coq. Discussion turned to Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Junior, and then the piece de resistance, Freddie Mercury who clearly remains the gents' idol for his unorthodoxy.

As they trudged wearily back to their jobs, all agreed that he loved Big Brother.

Untitled (Peanut's Forkette Woe)

Another delightful day presented itself to meet the gang at the Paramount (or The Mount as many of us like to call it). I was first there, sliding my big arse down the golden banister of the grand stairway entrance to a rapturous round of applause from the bunch of rubes stuffing their faces with dim sims and fried chicken at the bain marie closest to the lifts up to the Babuloo Nightclub. I waited and eventually Jelly wandered in aimlessly. He wandered around for a bit and I had to wave my withered hand a few times in the air to get his attention. He sat down and we greeted each other cordially as I noshed into my usual chicken and vegetables from the Chine Express (Ed - don't you mean The Cockaido?). I was having trouble really penetrating the chicken matter with my plastic forkette. But I persisted as us sad chumps will always do with our pathetic, unsatisfactory eating implements. Jelly and I thought we were going to be it for the gang for this session. I mentioned to Jelly that I had lunch solo with Butter the other Friday and that perhaps he and Butter were the same person. Of course, Jelly had to hurtfully mention that sometimes I called him Butter anyway. This was a low blow against my legitimate and debilitating brain injury that I carry the burden of in silence. But then a very glamorous Mayo came swanking in, tossing her golden locks in the air and the precious stones around her neck. She sat down and told us all about her holiday to the exclusive resort town of Moama just across the big river. We bowed our heads in jealousy as Jelly could only talk about his recent vacances to his home town of Perth. But it was worse for me who had no trips to put forward at all, except a recent trip I had to my local milk bar where the Libyan owner sits around with his friends from the Levant smoking cigarettes next to the chocolate bars and chips. At last Butter turned up and everyone commented how slim and fit he was looking, like he could just slide into a holster and sit there all day waiting for his moment to blow his wad. Butter had some kind of Chinese roll thing which he said looked just like his friend’s penis as he slid and popped it seductively into his hungry mouth hole. Jelly told Butter yet again about his trip to Perth and Butter responded that he had once visited a rough part of this city to buy some items at a supermarket where a group of neer-do-wells lounging around the door had told him he “walked like a slut”. I actually initially thought he had said “walked like a slug” which didn’t make any sense as slugs don’t actually have feet just slithery, slidey tentacle-like things. Finally, it was time for us to adjourn to the next meeting of the gang of The Mount, and Butter showed us his slutty walk all the way up the grand stairs on his way out. We all had to admit, it was really something, almost as good as Pacey from Dawson’s Creek. Bravo Butter!

Brat Pack Bain Mammaries

On the twenty sixth day of March in the year twenty fifteen, two of the chaps met with chapette at the Paramount for the usual gastronomic pleasure, conversational repartee and cheeky hi-jinx. Jelly passed Mayonnaise while entering the complex, having just traversed the automatic doors on the complex's south entrance, Jelly entering the building, Mayonnaise leaving. Jelly paused and looked at Mayonnaise, puzzled.

"Wrong way?"

"No", Mayonnaise replied, "I'm going to buy my lunch from a competing, non-Paramount food outlet across the street."

To which Jelly enquired, "No Chine Express?"

No further comment was made. Mayonnaise strode out, Jelly strode on, and descended to the bowels of the Paramount via the southern escalator.

At the food court, Jelly found Peanut seated in front of Chef Wanka's, the old favourite, smug and cosy, shit- (or rather cheap bain marie produce-) -eating grin on his chops. "The old favourite spot", said Jelly. "Yes, the old favourite spot", said Peanut. Jelly mentioned running into Mayonnaise upstairs, and her snooty refusal to partake of Paramount wares. Jelly clarified that Johnny Turncoat Mayonnaise was off to buy food from the glass ceilinged, open air, contemporary, atrium food court, Paramount's nemesis. Harpee!

Perhaps to explain Mayonaiss's defection (nay, defecatation?) Jelly noticed an absence of rice at Wanka's. "Running low on rice today, isn't he," Jelly muttered. "Yes, he's been churning out the Sri Lankan delicacies today," Peanut muttered. "The Paramounters can't get enough of Wanka today. It's like an adolescent convention!" And they laughed and laughed, until tiny spots of normal yellow wee wee pipped upon their Depend adult undergarmants.

Eventually, Mayonnaise came in with a paper cup, inside of which were rice noodles, red onion chunks (Jelly thought they looked a bit conspicuous) and liquid, which Mayonnaise revealed to be soup. "Soup?" enquired Jelly". "Yes," answered Mayonnaise.
Earlier, while waiting for Mayonnaise, Butter and Jelly had looked upon the grand stairway, a topic usually reserved for their exit from Paramount festivities, and discussed how such a resplendent passage could be utilised by a member of the female gender, such as Mayonnaise, to recreate scenes from 1980s Brat Pack-esque adolescent comedies, where Butter and Jelly could stand at the foot of said stairway, besuited and anxious, in Tony Danza (father) / Anthony Michael Hall (nervous-horny-prom-date) guise, while Mayonnaise slowly, sensually, in saucy puffy ball gown, descends the stairs in soft focus slow motion, in Molly Ringwald (nerdy-ignored-high-school-girl-rendered-beautiful-by-removal-of-spectacles-amidst-air-of-horny-adolescent-prom-date-get-laid-expectancy) guise.

Alas, such romantic hopes were quashed, Mayonnaise slinking in grumpily via the southern escalator, sloshing a cup of cheap Vietnamese chain store soup.

Better late than never - 18 March

I was running late, and there was no Butter as he was off on an exotic vacation.

Jelly was suffering from overindulging in a cheeky red drop the previous night. He thought it seemed a good idea (at the time) to go with an extra vertically large compilation from the Chine, “All you can dump on your plate” extravaganza.

An unfortunate creature sat near us, devouring his grub. Half man, half dim sim, the poor individual di d not realising he was ‘what you eat’ and his regular dining at the Paramount was clearly taking its toll. A photo could not be taken of Dim Sim man without alarming the beast.

Jelly shared a story of his charming, but extremely racist grandma who had warned his girlfriend at time that she had better not marry him or their children will have ‘slit eyes’. Now happily married, it appears the offspring were spared this curse.

Poor health prevention strategies were discussed, ie. You can avoid type 2 diabetes by having the luck to be born with type 1 diabetes. Breast cancer is an equal opportunity for all, whereas prostate cancer is not.

Peanut was impressed with my knowledge of the difference between sailboarding and windsurfing. We also discussed our high pressured careers and whether it was appropriate to add cutesy cat pictures to liven up a stock standard power presentation. We agreed it should be encouraged.

Jelly and Peanut coughed up fur balls, and I later discovered; they were actually conversing in French!

Paramounted - From Strength to Strength

Another auspicious day at the resplendent Paramount, which is clearly unrivalled in haute cuisine in Melbourne. Whilst the team detest oriental food, they all love Asian food which is why the venue is such a resounding success.

Given recent absences, this was an unusual lunch as all four protagonists - Peanut, Butter, Jelly and Mayonnaise - all came together as one, masticating furiously.

There was much mirth as by a long, arduous process of elimination, the team discovered that Butter was not in fact wearing a new shirt, tie, socks, briefs, or anything else of interest. He had however taken his pants up, or off, depending on your point of view.

Everyone was famished, and lunch was as welcome as lubricant at Mardi Gras. Peanut was lolling meat about in his mouth, and clearly not for the first time that day. Jelly brought his own concoction, or 'concocktion' given the ingredients, and Mayonnaise had an apple, although the others agreed she did indeed have a lovely pear.

Butter brought some biscuits that he had stolen from his employer, and yet after he turned his back for what was semenly a few seconds, they were all soggy! It was hard to wipe the grin - let alone the white wee wee - from Peanut and Jelly's faces.

After Butter almost lost his job at the last group date, having launched into an extremely audible and simultaneously sexist, racist and homophobic rant unknowingly in front of a senior staff member who happened to be lunching at the Paramount, all were on the lookout for the covert presence of other spies. Sure enough, the team was within earshot of another senior staff member who was clearly there to intimidate them, although his disguise left a lot to be desired.

With pressing engagements ahead, the team left in unison, and agreed to all 'look after' Jelly's wife given that Jelly would be 'en vacance' for a few days. A timetable was hastily drawn up with Butter and Peanut agreeing to visit between 3-5 times a day to mow the lawn, trim the bushes, and for anything that 'popped up'.

Budget Reports

I had just sat down to my lovely chicken and rice dish from the conveniently placed Japanese foodery when Jelly turned up, a bit earlier than usual. I said, “You’re a bit early Jelly,” and he replied, “It’s never too early for Jelly”, and I had to agree. We delighted once again in the resplendent faux Egypt age of the pharaoh style architecture of the Paramount, although the mirrored columns were more than an echo of New York’s infamous Studio 54 in the 70’s. Why, I almost expected tanned, gold-panted, blonde-headed boys to be cascading down the stairway presaging a night of wicked fun and debauchery. But soon I was back in reality. I texted Butter to find out “where he was at” and he replied in text, “On my way c**t.” He has a way with words that one. When Butter arrived he mentioned how he could really do with a black-bottomed snake (or words to that effect). We all laughed heartily, as we have done so many times before at the excellent wit and aptness of his statement. “You’re telling me,” I chortled. As usual, I couldn’t finish my dish and had left some leftover rice on the table. Jelly started taking exquisite photos of the scenes around us. They will be coming out soon in his forthcoming, exclusive photo history of the paramount called, I Paramount or The Arse of Paramount: A Photographic Rendition of the Age of the Food Court. It was his black and white photograph of the single grain of rice that moved me to tears. “You can see the whole world in a simple grain of rice,” I opined and the others didn’t say anything, like they hadn’t heard me at all. But I had heard me and that was all that mattered. Jelly left early due to work commitments leaving Butter and I to chew the fat. Unfortunately, halfway through a foul-mouthed tirade against the confinements of the working paradigm, Butters noticed that his soon-to-be former supervisor was sitting at a nearby table. I reassured Butters that he had said nothing out of order and all those bastards had it coming anyway. But when at last we parted, and I looked at his thin figure striding in determination back his job at the Department of Unearthly Delights, I wondered how long it would be before he paid dearly for his rash words at Paramount and borrowing money from his gainfully employed, fellow chaps Jelly and Peanut.

Two Little Boys, Two Big Toys

After a flurry of counters, reschedules and "sorry, happy to do a lot of things but I won't do that!"s, Jelly and Peanut bit the pillow and agreed to connect as couple. Butter is a handy lubricant, and Mayonnaise always welcome, but both knew that there'd still be no shortage of "man-mayonnaise", flowing like a white wee geyser, if just the two of them came. Neither Jelly nor Peanut had attended White-Wee Night, had Butter or Mayonnaise? An Action for future Paramounted.

The Paramount was again surprisingly busy (The frequent mucky tummy Jelly had suffered (Chaps? Chappette? ACTION - P, B and M to update J on health of their bellies and recties post-Paramount cuisine in past visits)from previous Paramount Food Court visits (thinking of you Chine) hadn't turned people off? Or is the ironic wink-wink-nudge-nudge charm felt by the chaps for the Paramount shared by others? Or, most disconcertingly and most likely, do people actually and genuinely feel comfortable in this filthy hole?)but Jelly, early to the party, secured a cosy patch outside Wanka's, welcomed the masses and massaged himself waiting for Peanut, who sauntered in with his now-usual cardboard cup of Cockaido meat and juice. Jelly got Bulgogi, no more be said.

The mood of the meeting fluctuated. Initially there was passionate frenzy, the standard arousal brought about by the pastel silk-stocking glare of the Paramount Food Court. Then came an awkward silence, before hunger set in. Peanut was ravishing, Jelly was ravenous, and soon both snouts cavorted in their respective troughs. Juices were mopped up, arses wiped, cocks shaked, tears shed for absent friends, and then bitter mocking of those filthy scabs Butter and Mayo. At this talk turned to work, its futility, and indeed all of life's malignant uselessness. Jelly spoke of the despair of getting a new job, as all jobs are shit, the next just as shit as the last, but because the present is so shit you've got to try and get out, however shit the options. Both agreed that the only highlight in a life of work is the very small window when offered a new job, before starting the new one and learning it's just as shit as the last one, but that small window is so alluring that we try and try again, failing again, failing better. It's all shit and all useless.

Mounting the mock-marble staircase, reaching its summit, Peanut again gushed forth about Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, the joke now about Peanut's repeated reference to Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, the joke now about Peanut's repeated reference to Peanut's repeated to Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, the joke now about Peanut's repeated reference to Peanut's repeated reference to Peanut's repeated reference to Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio...

ACTIONS:
1. Butter and Mayonnaise to update Chaps about their activity on White Wee Night (Due Date: Next Meeting)

2. Peanut, Butter and Mayonnaise to update Jelly on health of their bellies and recties post-Paramount cuisine from past visits (Due Date: Next Meeting)

Male members

After the bitterness and recriminations of Mayonnaise's ambitious attempt to move the gang from the beloved Paramount had subsided, the three male members - or arguably two plus Butter - regrouped at the God-forsaken shithole for some chow.

Space was at a premium in the usual seating area, so Peanut and Butter decided to try a new position. And after they'd finished (in record time!), they also decided to try sitting in a new spot. Light filtered through the Paramount's opaque apertures and gave the lunchtime encounter a romantic feel. Jelly was clearly enamoured with the contemporary seating arrangement as it was written all over his pants.

Peanut was seeking extra mouthfeel from his meat and despite avoiding the duck which was proudly on display in one of the bain-marie's vanity windows, decided to try a new providore of haute cuisine from within the Paramount's hallowed food court. After admiring his sultry sustenance, Butter was keen to open Peanut's beef curtains but he was unfortunately flying the Japanese flag.

Jelly and Butter conducted an audit of Peanut's calendar, which in a remarkable change of policy had been issued in the same year as the dates on display in the calendar. There was much mirth in the timeless conundrums of life imitating art imitating life. Jelly and Butter commended Peanut for his remarkable talents, which clearly stretch beyond Lead Choreographer and Fluffer of the Cheeky Chaps. He is destined to capture Larry Pickering's crown.

Butter admitted that he still regularly masturbates at work which brought empathetic acknowledgement from Peanut and Jelly. Between the three of them, enough white wee wee could be garnered to even sate the voracious appetite of Feargul Sharkey.

Jelly noted that Peanut was no longer wearing a tie. Clearly Peanut is only prepared to tie objects around his neck for recreational purposes.

The chaps bade each other farewell and headed back to the soulless, meaningless nihilism that is their daily lives.

why do chaps pull out at the last minute?

I, Mayonaise was stood up!
So I spent the time wisely google'ing' (how to spell a made up word?!) one of my favourite trash subjects, "bad tattoos".  Here is an example of a team effort:



Ps. I, Mayonaise am a cleanskin so can laugh at the misfortune of others.

New year, new expectations

Today was tense.

Previously, Mayo had suggested an alternate venue for the chaps/ette to meet- Who the fuck does she think she is!

Shot down and pre-eaten (who can make until 1pm for sustenance anyway!), she slinked into home base, tail between her leg (only one, the other is a prosthetic, and it's not a good idea to mention her tail with the 'anger issues').

Peanut was scoffing some kind of unidentifiable 'wanka' down, oyster sauce indulging him the lubrication for his deep throat. Apple juice was providing a much needed sugar hit, words coherent...not...too...much.

Butter was dining on one rice paper roll and one apple. His diet was a discussion point, so svelt is he. Privately schooled, one would expect him to have adequate nutritional knowledge, and, as he admitted, he puts the 'fist' in sophisticated. When not dining in such extraordinary company he enjoys nuts, activated personally, and the occasional meat and 3 vege.

Jelly was distracted, aloof even. Once pumped, and probed.... for information, it was revealed he aspires to be Centre Manager of the Paramount! Oh to walk the floor, hire and fire, filling the voids of the Paramount with his presence, and, some new tenants. I'm sure we will discuss how to make this dream a reality at a future executive lunch meeting.Do not fear little Jelly, dreams really can come true (if you really believe, and you know the c**ts in head office).

It was revealed that on the classy and assy, Grinder, Butter is also known as the 'Stubby Hubby'. Do ya self a favour young lovers and look him up.

At some point the conversation turned to family... phones came out with family snaps and 'all of a sudden' club members were busy and important and quickly dispersed.

This clip 'nearly' does justice to how I, Mayo feel about the Paramount Club: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hci3QQhMrdE.

Paramount within a Paramount

Dear readers, I apologise for the lateness of this report but laziness and a state of general apathy were preventing me Peanut from completing my correspondent duties for the Paramount group. However, I managed to break free of the sticky and terrible tendrils of lassitude to put together this rather unremarkable entry.

Well I remember officer that I got there first on the day in question. As usual, I sat at my table and wondered if anyone was going to turn up. Sure nuff, no sooner had I cogitated on this gloomy possibility when Jelly emerged from behind a plastic palm tree shouting, “Surprise to you Peanut.” I turned around to face him with a stupid grin on my face and have a piece of curried beef hanging out of my chops. You see, I had visited once again the kitchens of Chef Lanka to get my lunch for that day. As Chef Lanka once said with great wisdom, “Eat all you can at the Lanka you fat c**ts.” So as I worked my way through my meal with Jelly sitting opposite, good ol’ Butter turned up with his ear glued to his mobile phone on important business matters. I can’t remember if Mayo turned up. It was so long ago and the details remain increasingly vague and unretrievable to me. It has now become but I dream within a dream. Like a Paramount within a Paramount. Sort of like that movie Inception but I don’t get to play the main Leonardo di Caprio role. Sorry I can’t shed any more light on the incident officer. I have no idea what happened after that knock to the head on the stairs or how I ended up wrapped in a cigarillo in that well-known hangout for fancy men. Just to note that a supporter of the UK Independence Party at Ramsgate opined how he looked around his town and didn’t know where he was anymore with all those dark and swarthy faces at the supermarket and the constant jibber jabber of foreign tongues. It’s not the England that his mother and her mother before her fought and died for I tell you that. Over and out for now. Mr Peanut.

Abbott in cocktail stick k9 turd fiasco!

Beautiful Paramount Scenes