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.
Showing posts with label bain marie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bain marie. Show all posts
Thursday, 9 April 2015
Thursday, 18 December 2014
Paramounted - The Christmas Special
Today the three chaps (sans Mayonnaise) gathered to shoot the breeze in advance of the anniversary of the birth of our lord Jesus H Fucking Christ. Jelly, the author of this episode, came first and after mopping up his juices exited by the back door (Lil' Bourke Street), bored wandering around the interior waiting for the chums. He spotted Butter cumming down the road and both re-entered the back door, surprised to notice that Paramount has a resident night club, "The (B)Ass Lounge". Neither had been there, lately.
Once seated at their usual table, outside Chef Wanka's, Jelly mentioned that he'd originally mistaken a strange bald bearded cunt slurping noodles for our friendly bald cunt Peanut, but it was a different bald cunt altogether. Butter had brought some edible substance with him but Jelly didn't see what it was, a negligent lack of attention that the scribe of the episode should be ashamed of. Jelly upped from the table to choose and buy something for lunch (a rare treat as he usually brought home made leftovers to the Paramount). He settled for Chine's, a tall pile of fried food that will doubtless cause menace to his digestive tract later in the day. Upon return to table Peanut had arrived and was already shovelling Wanka into his maw. Bits soon flew out of it though, through nose too I'd guess, upon hearing Butter's usual below the belt japes. Mayonnaise was missed... where was she?
Discussion was pretty heated for such a brief gathering, and took on the subject of cunts, the world being full of them, among other things. Christmas parties had been attended (Penaut, Butter) and rejected (Jelly). Butter had also attended the Office of the Community Sector's reunion, with DP present and retired and moving to South Australia, and then DP ensuing (and all in the Sector cumming and rejoicing, except for JP, the foul bush pig, who'd have caused instant droop to all male parties had she been present). Jelly left a big fried dim sim on his plate which appalled all, particularly when lifted aloft, hanging only by a thin stream of cabbage that resembled our favourite life-giving zinc substance.
Peanut and Jelly had also forgotten this blog vehicle, thinking it abandoned, shame, but Butter assured all he'd been keeping it active (and then some). Christmas carols were heard, but not as rocking or funky as PB and J would have liked. Butter had to go, Peanut and Jelly accompanied him only for Peanut to remember forgetting his bag. Got his bag and then all left to return to the joys of work. Merry Christmas!
POSTSCRIPT: Jelly's belly suffered a nasty upset after dining at "Chine's". Surprising but it turns out the pre-prepared fried morsels displayed in the "help yourself" bain maries aren't as nutricious, or, frankly, delicious, as they look or as the vibrant salesmanship touts them to be. BYO or good ol' Chef Wanka from here on in.
Once seated at their usual table, outside Chef Wanka's, Jelly mentioned that he'd originally mistaken a strange bald bearded cunt slurping noodles for our friendly bald cunt Peanut, but it was a different bald cunt altogether. Butter had brought some edible substance with him but Jelly didn't see what it was, a negligent lack of attention that the scribe of the episode should be ashamed of. Jelly upped from the table to choose and buy something for lunch (a rare treat as he usually brought home made leftovers to the Paramount). He settled for Chine's, a tall pile of fried food that will doubtless cause menace to his digestive tract later in the day. Upon return to table Peanut had arrived and was already shovelling Wanka into his maw. Bits soon flew out of it though, through nose too I'd guess, upon hearing Butter's usual below the belt japes. Mayonnaise was missed... where was she?
Discussion was pretty heated for such a brief gathering, and took on the subject of cunts, the world being full of them, among other things. Christmas parties had been attended (Penaut, Butter) and rejected (Jelly). Butter had also attended the Office of the Community Sector's reunion, with DP present and retired and moving to South Australia, and then DP ensuing (and all in the Sector cumming and rejoicing, except for JP, the foul bush pig, who'd have caused instant droop to all male parties had she been present). Jelly left a big fried dim sim on his plate which appalled all, particularly when lifted aloft, hanging only by a thin stream of cabbage that resembled our favourite life-giving zinc substance.
Peanut and Jelly had also forgotten this blog vehicle, thinking it abandoned, shame, but Butter assured all he'd been keeping it active (and then some). Christmas carols were heard, but not as rocking or funky as PB and J would have liked. Butter had to go, Peanut and Jelly accompanied him only for Peanut to remember forgetting his bag. Got his bag and then all left to return to the joys of work. Merry Christmas!
POSTSCRIPT: Jelly's belly suffered a nasty upset after dining at "Chine's". Surprising but it turns out the pre-prepared fried morsels displayed in the "help yourself" bain maries aren't as nutricious, or, frankly, delicious, as they look or as the vibrant salesmanship touts them to be. BYO or good ol' Chef Wanka from here on in.
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