Can You Eat like a Civilized Human Being?

WashYourHands

Well-known member
Hands, even for soup. Just shovel it in. The English and their manners eh. Bit like the Japanese for heavily coded nuances, island cultures always in the existential presence of being usurped. Drunks who don’t know they’re drunk are far more grating.

The volume goes up. They tell everyone they’re going for a piss. They eat all the cheese. They steal your lighter and text you from the same room they’ve got it hostage. They won’t fuck off. It’s 3am and they’re deep into a bottle of port that’s appeared from nowhere. Oh god no. Your partner tells the drunks she’s going to bed. Fuck. That’s leaving me to it and telling me to get on exiting them out. 4am. They’re offering you lines of pub dust. You suspect this has already been going on during their piss breaks. One of them starts crying about their ex and someone says the ideal remedy (as a form of caring) is to definitely rack up more lines. More lines? A senior suspect might have injested something else too, they’re the only person not talking, just staring. The taxi/Uber bloke comes through in time. Tip the cunt a score personally for intervening. Get shouted at for staying up late with certain known twats. Lie in the dark.
 

Mr. Tea

Shub-Niggurath, Please
Staff member
Hands, even for soup. Just shovel it in. The English and their manners eh. Bit like the Japanese for heavily coded nuances, island cultures always in the existential presence of being usurped. Drunks who don’t know they’re drunk are far more grating.

The volume goes up. They tell everyone they’re going for a piss. They eat all the cheese. They steal your lighter and text you from the same room they’ve got it hostage. They won’t fuck off. It’s 3am and they’re deep into a bottle of port that’s appeared from nowhere. Oh god no. Your partner tells the drunks she’s going to bed. Fuck. That’s leaving me to it and telling me to get on exiting them out. 4am. They’re offering you lines of pub dust. You suspect this has already been going on during their piss breaks. One of them starts crying about their ex and someone says the ideal remedy (as a form of caring) is to definitely rack up more lines. More lines? A senior suspect might have injested something else too, they’re the only person not talking, just staring. The taxi/Uber bloke comes through in time. Tip the cunt a score personally for intervening. Get shouted at for staying up late with certain known twats. Lie in the dark.
I love how so many of your posts start with an opinion or observation, expressed simply enough, and then evolve into a miniature voyage into the dark heart of the British psyche, like Marlow slowly steaming his way up the Congo.
 

martin

----
You're all bleeding animals. I was raised by redneck navvies but have impeccable table manners. My mum actually beat me with a wooden spoon and sent me to bed hungry if an elbow even brushed the table.

You need to learn dining etiquette or you'll be fucked when Saffron Whitby-Desforges asks you out to dinner to talk about commissioning your 'electronic soundscapes' for her Biennale installation - and you're sitting there with a furrowed brow, trying to cut a steak with the fish knife, with chewed food flecks lining the rim of your wine glass... or scooping handfuls of crab bisque into your gob and over your chin. Animals!

The exception for me is a doner kebab. Some primal reflex kicks in, and I'm suddenly back among our wolf ancestors, eyeing a delicate lost lamb with murderous intent. Sitting at the bus stop at 1am, eyes aflame... battering into the debris of greasy meat, irradiated chilli sauce, chlorinated salad and soggy, disintegrating pitta...noisily humming the chorus to "Love Will Tear Us Apart" as I graze...flashing my canines and inching away whenever someone walks up asking if the Northern Line's still running. Feast with the beast!
 
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