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!