Processed Peas Process

Gerry Adams is back, and this time he means business.

This time his business is no longer filming his silhouette while he talks using someone else’s voice. He has embarked upon writing a cookbook.

Gerry Adams is the former leader of Sinn Fein. A republican political party in Northern Ireland, who were accused of harbouring members of the IRA within their ranks.

These accusations are completely unfounded however, unlike Gerry’s cooking credentials which I know for certain are bona-fide.

How do I know this? Well, I have first hand experience of his cooking.

It was 1979 and my family and I were invited to Casa-Adams near Ballymena for Christmas Dinner.

We sat while Gerry and my father debated whether Irish whisky was better than Scotch. My father, being a proud Scotsman, insisted that the barrels of the Glen were superior to those of the Emerald Isle.

Meanwhile, my mother and Mrs Adams laughed at how preposterous men were, before harshly being told to hold their tongues.

Then, without warning, a gunshot fired. Everyone in the room sat silently still. A bell rang.

Gerry smiled and began tucking his serviette into the neck of his shirt and said “here we go now, so we do.”

Just then, the kitchen doors open. Two men walk through, they’re wearing balaclavas only exposing their eyes and mouths. They’re also wearing flared jeans, corduroy suit jackets and turtle neck jumpers. They stand at either end of the dinner table. They’re holding rifles.

Then another man, donning the same attire emerges, carrying a platter with the biggest potato ever grown. It was bigger than a goose and could’ve fed an army for three Christmases.

Gerry was invited to look through a hole in the potato. He did so and could see through to the other side. This hole was left by the gunshot we heard earlier. The potato was successfully cooked through.

My father was then invited to carve the potato. One of the men in balaclavas handed him a rifle with a bayonet fixed to the end of it. My father proceeded to carve the potato with the bayonet knife.

The joy on everyone’s faces was palpable. This celebration of Irish pride, heritage and defiance.

As proud Scotts, we were honoured to be involved. Sharing the anti English sentiment, it was what bonded every man, woman and child that night. Christmas without English goose, American colonial turkey, Brussel Sprouts or some hideous bird within a bird monstrosity, conjured up by some greedy lunatic.

We were thankful to the Adams family for their hospitality. They weren’t the scary bunch that you see on TV. They were regular people. Not to mention mean cooks.

So, now everyone else will be able to learn the cookery of anti-English defiance. Delicious food that Tommy Robinson and Nigel Farage won’t want, and can’t have anyway, the scum.

I can’t wait to host Christmas Dinner this year. Its going to be a blast.

The Spanish Introversion

Today, history was made in Spain. For the first time in their country’s history, their Prime Minister has been voted out by other politicians for having no confidence.

Mariano Rajoy was deemed to be so shy, introverted and self conscious that he is a danger to the Spanish state.

A treasurer of his party was convicted of money laundering, tax fraud and accepting bribes while Rajoy just sat back and allowed it to happen, on account of not having the bottle to confront him. The treasurer ended up receiving a jail sentence of 33 years.

Now Rajoy is set to be replaced by a man who initially raised the no confidence vote, and who lost two consecutive elections: Pedro Sanchez.

Pedro is an economist and former basketball player. He has been described by many sections of the media as ‘photogenic’. A testimony which is sure to reaffirm his self confidence, which will no doubt assist in his ability to lead his nation.

Sanchez’s party has the backing of both Catalan and Basque parties. The former a bastion of confidence, following their audacious independence referendum a few months ago. The latter being balshy enough to bomb Madrid numerous times in their quest for independence.

Sanchez will require all the confidence he can acquire from his supporters, as he only has 85 out of 350 seats in Parliament. Therefore, he will have to confidently promote policy changes if he is to stand any chance of passing any of them through as law.

As Rajoy was voted out of the leadership he earned via democratic process, he coyly looked up through his emo-fringe an muttered “I’m sorry to have troubled you” before shuffling out of the door, frantically tucking his hair behind his ears.

All of this proves the age old adage of the English North-East ‘shy bairns get nowt.’

The D.C Brigade

Political correctness has gone mad in America.

Political correctness is language, behaviour and policies designed to avoid offence or disadvantage to social groups.

Since its inception in the 1980s, political correctness has ensured that flippant verbal misogyny (that language your grandad speaks) is now frowned upon. Any HR department in any company can have somebody fired for allowing this language to fall out of their mouth.

Political correctness has also ensured that certain actions will no longer be tolerated. Men can no longer pinch women’s bottoms (like how your grandad wooed your nan) around the office. HR can actually have the police called for inappropriate sexual contact. Hence the reason the birth rate is decreasing in the West since your grandad’s day.

In present day America, political correctness requires the American people to be patriotic, racist and to support the murder of unarmed Americans by the police, which is only fair in an equal society. Anyone caught not supporting these ideals loses their job, on the spot.

The latest high profile job losses due to being un-politically correct are in the National Football League.

Colin Kaepernick and Eric Reid were caught kneeling during an important American tradition, dating all the way back to 2009. The tradition of standing still with one’s hand on one’s heart while the American national anthem plays.

It is extremely politically correct for the players to observe this tradition while all of the fans in the audience go to the toilet, buy beers, food and refreshments whilst largely ignoring the events on the field.

The two players have since lost their jobs and haven’t kicked a ball in anger since. They say that they were protesting the killing of unarmed African American citizens at the hands of the police. Something that it is also politically correct to put up with and support.

Since hearing the two men’s excuse for being unpatriotic, the PC brigade came out in force to make sure neither player would work in this, or any town again. This is just another example of polical correctness gone mad, with patriots virtue signalling and challenging the oppression of American values.

Conservative snowflakes and their culture of being offended is getting out of control. Ever since the transatlantic slave trade was abolished there, white people have been whining non stop about having to mow their own lawns. They’ve been given the invention of mechanical lawn mowers. What more do they want?

Medium Range

Forget The Avengers, X-Men, Firefighters and American soldiers. There are real heroes amongst us. Real men and women who put their lives on the line every day, for just five pound sterling at your local shopping precinct, these people communicate with the dead to tell us our futures.

Futures are moments in time which haven’t yet taken place. Even as I write this piece, the next word will be written in the future. Like this word…and this word…and this one etc.

However, although those words were written in the future at the time, I knew I was going to write them, so I could easily predict what they were going to say. I didn’t need to visit the spirit realm to find out.

There are other things that happen in future that normal people cannot predict. But there are those aforementioned gifted individuals (called mediums) who can use spheres made out of a substance called Chrystal (a see through material that is better than glass, yet nowhere near as good as diamond), cards that have different pictures on them, which were made in a magical building called a ‘factory’, looking at the lines on a person’s hand, or channeling the souls of dead people who refuse to circumnavigate the universe as they’d rather interfere in the lives of the living.

Some of these gifted individuals are very famous and appear on television, such as Mystic Meg, Russell Grant, Derek Akora and Uri Geller, whereas others prefer to stay true to their roots and just stick to the live circuit. The most popular of these being the world famous Clair Voyant.

They were granted their gifts by God. God is an all powerful, omniscient, male space ghost who created the universe, but can’t be bothered to look after it any more, so he handed a select group of people the power to see the future and the distant past using the souls of departed humans.

Derek Akora is one such person who speaks to the distant departed. He and his disciple, Yvette Fielding travel the country and stand in very old buildings in the dark, while Derek uses his body as a vessel for the spirits of dead people from hundreds of years ago. It takes a while for the transmigration to take place, as the dead Shakespearean era person needs to use Derek’s mouth to speak in Scouse, so that modern people (from Liverpool) can understand them. Unfortunately, no cavemen, babies or jovial spirits can ever be found, so we’re yet to hear their side of the stories.

How do we tell who is one of these gifted persons? Well, it is simple, the men can be noticed by their mullet haircuts, shiny silk shirts and large medallions around their necks. Some even sport many rings on their fingers, including their pinky finger and thumbs. They tend to only ever be caucasian and usually claim an ethnic heritage of Roma or some other country which has never existed. The female equivalent tend to have shorter hair, glasses and big smiles.

Although, there is a natural pecking order to mediums, which means their appearance does alter from time to time. Their attire is linked to their waiting lists.

Claire Voyant seems to be at every single mall during the day and every pub in the evening, such is her workload. She has become so efficient at giving half hearted readings over the years using the cards mentioned earlier, that she has a near non existent waiting list. Her client base is the less affluent, bored of their mundane existence, desparate for something super natural to happen, simpleton.

Whereas Derek ‘The Messiah’ Akora preys on those who are just as intellectually challenged, but are in dire need of self improvement, yet not even slightly interested in addressing this, so are more preoccupied with what medieval theives may think of the modern world. As a result, him and Yvette ‘Magdeline’ Fielding swan around wearing long black leather jackets, looking very much reminiscent of a Morpheus and Neo of mediums. With a six month waiting list for their services.

I’m currently in the waiting list for Mystic Meg. However although her list is shorter than Derek’s, she talks two hundred times slower than the average person, therefore the actual waiting time is longer. I might pop along the precinct later and ask Clair Voyant if she can predict how long Meg’s waiting list will take to get to me. Then if it is longer than six months, I’ll sign up to Derek Akora’s instead.

Alternatively, I can just pay Clair a bit extra and ask her to look into the future and tell me what both Derek, and then Meg will predict for me when I ask them to look into my future. I think I’ve spotted a loophole.

The Knackered Chef

Jamie Oliver is finished.

Unfortunately, the U.K’s favourite chef is failing at the one thing that he knows best. Owing successful restaurants.

He is closing down numerous branches of his Italian restaurants, and now, his barbecue franchises: Barbecoa. His debts currently sit at £71.5m.

Jamie became famous in the 1990s for being a cool, young, maverick chef who said words like ‘gnarly’ when describing food that he’d cooked. As well as for riding a scooter and playing the drums in an indie band.

As time went on, he became nosey about what other people and their children were eating, and embarked on a food revolution in an attempt to make Britain healthier. McDonald’s and other household name food sellers lost lots of money when customers walked away.

Then he tried to convince the British public that they could make three course meals in only half an hour. Once people saw through that nonsense, instead of admitting that it wasn’t actually possible, like a real man, he then made another television show making dinners in just 15 minutes!

Whilst doing all of this, Jamie Oliver made millions by selling his cook books, and is the leading seller of cook books in the U.K to date.

Due to being so proficient and fast at cooking, Jamie should be the leading restaurant owner on the planet, but apparently not.

Meanwhile, across the pond, in America, lives another British chef who has embarked upon a one man mission to save the American restaurant industry.

Gordon Ramsay uses a mixture of his loathing of Americans and tough love to turn around the fortunes of clueless restaurateurs all over the USA. Shouting as loud as he can into the faces of chefs, waiting staff and managers in order to encourage them to be less incompetent at their jobs, before refurbishing their establishments, hugging them, revamping their menus and then reopening their restaurants, before going back to shouting in their faces again.

This works wonders for the broken businesses and Gordon walks off into the night, having done his job in bringing the business back into profit.

It’s time to bring Gordon home to save Jamie. There are 160 British jobs at stake, as well as Jamie’s reputation.

I can understand Jamie’s reservations. It takes a big man to swallow enough pride as the best selling TV chef, to let someone your success drove out of the country back in again, to come and shout swear words into your face on camera, because you were so complacent, that you took your customers for granted and now they’ve left you and gone back to McDonald’s.

It will also be a huge job for Ramsay. He doesn’t only have an independent restaurant to help out. Jamie’s franchisees have gone nationwide. That’s a lot of refurbs for Gordon to pay for. Lots of menus to revamp and many hugs to many staff members.

At the end of it all, it’ll be worth it. Maybe they could enlist Nigella to help out. The other two chefs can use her cleavage to shout into, while she supplies sexual innuendo dialogue to summarise what the viewer is watching.

Race and Giggles

Mel Brooks is a Jewish American man who has written movies and stage plays. He is considered a comedy writer and has written some incredibly successful comedy things. 

One of his movies is named ‘Blazing Saddles’ and it is about an African American man in the Wild West era of America. This character is appointed sheriff of a town full of people who openly use the N-word to describe him. 

After doing a fantastic job of being a sheriff, he wins over the town and everybody ends up thinking he’s actually a great guy (for one of them). 

All the way through the film, racial slurs are bandied about with fascist abandon, and this contributes to what is considered the comedy in the narrative. 

As mentioned, the storyline is set in a time where slavery had not long been abolished in America, and black people had not long been allowed to ride horses. A practice that was previously illegal to them. Still they were not allowed to own land, or be in the same room as white people, and were generally considered subhuman. 

Mel Brooks could have told the true story of Bass Reeves, the black sheriff who lived in the nineteenth century, on whom The Lone Ranger was based (played by a white actor). But instead he made a comedy about racism, probably in an attempt to bridge the divide between black and white people and create unity through laughter at black people’s expense. 

Brooks has lamented recently that racism can’t be comedy any more because of political correctness. Apparently, it is no longer acceptable to laugh about a newly freed-from-slavery, marginalised people being marginalised by newly former-master-and-owner marginalisers. Political correctness gone mad. 

It seems that Mel has seen the error of his ways and stopped writing such nasty, divisive and controversial art. He said “It’s OK not to hurt the feelings of various tribes and groups. However, it’s not good for comedy.”  Also, Brooks has referred to political correctness as “the death of comedy.”

At one time, there was nothing Brooks wouldn’t joke about. He said “comedy has to walk the line, take risks.” When asked if there was anything he would not write comedy about, Mel exclaimed “I would never touch gas chambers or the death of children at the hands of Nazis. In no way is that useable or correct for comedy. Its just in truly bad taste. Everything else is ok.”

Well said, Mel. Never joke about an ethnic group who have been enslaved, murdered and who’s existence was made illegal. Never. There’s only one group of people that has ever happened to, obviously, so they must not be the butt of anyone’s jokes. But as you say, everything else is ok. 

Even if an ethnic group has been born the property of another ethnic group for four hundred years, only to be reluctantly set free, with another two hundred years of social barriers holding them back, just because of the colour of their skin, they’re still fine to joke about. Absolutely fair game. 

Shame really, as I had a good idea for a Rom-Com set in Dachau, starring David Schwimmer and Stacey Solomon.

Dessert Islands

For lunch today I want to eat something called street food. Before I knew what it was, I thought that street food referred to some sort of drug dealer dining in the ghetto. Unfortunately, it was something much more middle class. 

Street food originated in the far east, where people commuting to and from work and during lunchtimes could dine very cheaply outside in the warm. A side effect of this is that properties in this part of the world have extremely small or even no kitchens.

In England, street food has been embraced and I’ve been told it has brought the cool, cheap, convenient grub to my home. Even fast food chains and pubs offer street food even though they’re indoor dining places, where food is prepared and eaten inside, nowhere near a street.

So today, I walked out of my office, walked around some stalls and choose which one I liked the look of the most. There were benches everywhere for diners to sit on, there was the customary non-offensive, upbeat funk music being played with people dancing and singing along with tone deaf abandon in their respective queues. Dancing and singing. Sober. In public. There was a well to do young man wearing jogging bottoms, an ill fitting t-shirt and dirty trainers filming the surroundings on his phone. Spinning around slowly on the spot. Filming people eating. On his phone. Sober. In public.

I decided I liked the look of the Philly cheese steak sandwiches, so I stood in the queue for one. It was raining and cold, but there were four people ahead of me and the gentleman preparing the food was serving people in pairs, so this shouldn’t take too long. Unfortunately, when I got a bit closer, noticed that he was cooking the steaks to order instead of just making a big batch. Also, he was working on a hot plate that was one hundred millimetres in length and width. I waited for twenty minutes in the rain just to be served.

When I was finally handed my hot sandwich, I was asked for seven pounds. Seven English pound sterling. For a sandwich. In broad daylight.

This unfortunately dented the cheap, fast and convenient credentials that I was informed street food represented.

In England, people have huge kitchens with large islands in the middle of them, taking up masses of space on our small island, where we currently have a housing crisis. Many parts of the far east are over populated, so obviously there’s no room for big kitchens with large islands, so they’re forced to get their food from kitchens on the street. The good news is, they are quick, cheap and convenient.

It’s almost as if English people are happy wasting space at home and money outside. Imagine standing out in the rain instead of in your nice dry, massive kitchen. Homeless people live outside on the street, yet they can’t afford street food, and they have to sit there, drunk on the floor in the rain, watching everyone else smiling, eating, dancing and singing in queues. Sober. In public. 

Backbench to the Future

In June 2017, Great Britain will be having a general election. 

A general election is where members of the public take part in a queue (the nation’s favourite pastime), before making a mark on a peice of paper with a miniature bookmaker’s pen, to signify which person they want to rule the country. 

Ruling the country entails using all of the tax money collected from members of the public and allocating it to various means, determined by a budget plan. There’s also the issue of making laws for the public to follow. 

Over the past few years, the contest and then eventually, the job of ruling the country has been fought and won by men in their forties who all knew each other from school. A school called Eton.

Eventually, people grew tired of these men and decided that they’d been running the country like a business, with the general public as commodities. A new direction was sought. 

Thankfully, this new direction comes in the form of the leader of the Conservative party: Theresa May who is 60, and the leader of the Labour party: Jeremy Corbyn who is 67. There are no other candidates you choose from whatsoever. None.

In Britain, the current retirement age for women is 60 and for men it is 65. This means with all that spare time on their hands, both candidates are well placed to devote all of their time and energy into ruling the country. 

Both leaders have vowed to put forward progressive, futuristic manifestos. Corbyn is promising to nationalise and unionise everything, just like it was in the 1970s. Whereas May wants to murder animals for sport, eradicate immigration and get rid of the NHS, leaving the country much like it was in the 1950s.

So, in an age of the internet and smart phones, where everything you could possibly need to know is literally in your pocket and updating every single second, you’ve got two bygone decades to choose from. 

It doesn’t matter which one, between them and a monarchy from the middle ages, Britain can look forward, into the future, equipped with fresh ideas that nobody has ever seen before. 

Best Before 1954

The United Kingdom of Great Britain has an unemployment rate of 4.7%, which represents 765.40 thousand people.

Unemployed people are people of working age who do not have a job, even though they’re able bodied and are not in education. These people normally rely on the state for an income.

Unemployed people cannot retire, or resign as they do not have an employer to retire or resign from.

The exception to this rule is a man named Philip Mountbatten, or as he’s better known by his stage name: Prince Philip.

Philip was in the armed forces for a time, but whilst there, he met an extremely wealthy young lady whom he decided he would marry, in order for him to become a kept man. He hasn’t done a day’s work since.

However, despite this, Philip has just announced this week that he is retiring.

On doing my research on this story, it became apparent that Philip has retired from ‘royal engagements’.

Curious, I decided to investigate further. What are royal engagements? Is he helping people propose to their spouses in a regal fashion?

It turns out that his job was effectively just milling about and meeting people. In doing so, he met many people from all over the world, and from all different ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds.

All that travelling gave Philip a worldly wit and intellect, that he took with him to all of his engagements. This enabled him to quip with commoner and aristocrat alike.

When visiting some British children in China, he said that if they stayed in the country too long, they’d go “slitty-eyed”, making use of his observations acquired whilst travelling in the far east.

In his adopted home of Scotland, he asked a driving instructor how he “kept the natives off the booze long enough to pass a test.” If Philip were not the Duke of Edinburgh, he’d never have such in-depth knowledge of the locals there.

Also in Edinburgh, he inspected a fuse box and said that it looked as if it was “put there by an Indian”. He must have inspected many fuse boxes in India whilst staying there, for him to know what that looks like.

Then there are the people of Papua New Guinea who worship Philip as a God. I’m not sure what experience he has in the field of being an omnipotent, celestial world creator, but he has been around the world a lot, so he must have learned somewhere.

So, it seems that royal engagements entail travelling, learning, talking, joking and being a deity. Now he’s retiring to enjoy more leisure time. Whatever that looks like, it must be phenomenal, as his ‘job’ looked very much like leisure to me.

When Philip turned 90, he told the BBC that it was better to get out “before you pass your sell by date”. I’m glad Philip eventually came round to that way of thinking, as I think there’s a chance that date may have long passed.

I wonder what he’ll get as a retirement present, maybe a watch and a vase like the rest of us? I do hope he’s got a good pension.

The Choice of a new Genderation

Pepsi are back in the game!

After years in the cola wilderness, losing out to bitter rivals (and Monsanto bed mates), Coca-Cola. Pepsi have put together a TV commercial that will wrestle the carbonated, sugary, death-drink crown back in the more than century long rivalry.

As you can see in the above commercial, the bold Kylie Jenner is doing a photo shoot for some trans-mag, outside of a music festival.

Kylie then gets bored and decides to pop into the festival to have a look who’s playing, and motions to remove her wig…it looks as if Bruce is going to make a cameo, but no, she’s just bored of blonde and decides to go brunette into the crowd. Maybe it’s an attempt at going incognito.

The crowd seems to recognise Kylie nonetheless and let’s her advance to the front, so she can get in through the gates first. Everyone seems to be in high spirits, looking forward to the merriment that presumably lies beyond the manned fencing.

In front of said fencing stand some moody looking authority figures. They look absolutely parched.

Whilst en route through the large crowd, Kylie had been handed a can of Pepsi. In a selfless act of bravery, possibly more brave than the time she won an Olympic gold medal as a man, and then became a woman, she walks straight up to the man who looks the most thirsty (and as a result, grumpy), and hands him her Pepsi.

The bouncer then takes a sip, and everyone in the crowd starts dancing, even though there isn’t even a band on yet. This was a risky move. The bouncer could have been carrying a can of Dr Pepper spray.

What a heart warming show of kindness towards a stranger. 

For good reason, everybody seemed to love the advert. So many people loved it so much, that it even made the national news in the UK.

I’m assuming that it also must have made national news in other countries if it was so good. This meant that the advert didn’t actually need airing in the end, as it had already done its job. 

Well done Pepsi, I’ll definitely choose your cola from the fridges of corner shops in the future. All the sugar tax in the world can’t deter brave people from being kind to those in need.