Rites

I have been told I need a platform.

No one cares or is interested in anything I could possibly do, without a platform.

This will be my platform.

This will be a Super Mario platform free from Goombas. A pulpit, Pope-style. My fat face is a megaphone yelling at you about stuff! HELLO! MY NAME IS SAM AND I EAT TOO MUCH! I COOK TOO MUCH TO EAT AND WRAP LEFTOVERS IN CLINGFILM AND LEAVE THEM IN THE FRIDGE UNTIL IT SMELLS LIKE A CHINESE SUPERMARKET FRIDGE IN FRATTON, PORTSMOUTH, THAT I FREQUENT FOR INGREDIENTS LIKE A CULTURAL-APPROXIMATING MARCO POLO THIEVING MOTHERFUCKER! The bloke who runs it loathes me. I know he does.

Though I could, and have written various bobs and wordy reams that probably contain more thought and wise wit than anything I can currently imagine putting on here, this must be what matters.

They’ve told me it is.

I am going to write things here about food and cooking.

I may or may not make reference to any or all of the following: My penis/’Ghostbusters’/boredom/noodles/Mission Chinese Food/being fat and/or bald/Godspeed You! Black Emperor/my children/bitterness and woe/bourbon whiskey/gross things to do with whey.

This is the hello wrapped up, dusted and dunned.

I’ll put something cheerful and all food and stuff up later. I’ve got a photo on my phone that makes these Chicken Skinned-Duck Sausages I made look gross but I don’t know how to take decent photos of food. I think that maybe if I put recipes on here with the awful photos then maybe people would cook them because they might think:

“It couldn’t possibly look any more gross than Sam’s version. I’ll cook it and feel good about my powers of food presentation.”

Someone else might think:

“Gee (Some people still use ‘Gee’, they must do) that Sam sure does come up with some tasty but ugly tucker”. 

The above speaker may or may not be a child actor in a family-dramedy from the fifties.

Then maybe they’ll post their good looking versions of my awesome recipes, I can nick their photos and get a cookbook deal. I’m the ideas man and they/you can be the talent and my missing perfectionist bone.

PS- I’m listening to the first Interpol record which mostly holds up. Also the bloke who runs all the Polpo restaurants says that you shouldn’t swear on Twitter. He is a stickler for punctuation and has neat hair. I punctuate like a dunce and what remains of my hair looks pasted there by a blind and untalented toddler. Can I swear on here? Should I?

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2 comments on “Rites

  1. Recently found your blog and I think its brilliant. I rarely muster the will to read blog posts to the end but I do with yours. Swear away!

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