1 - Become infuriated at the Co-op / Cunt-op, queuing to pay for a newspaper. What should have been a simple and speedy transaction was delayed by the cunts who need to queue at the kiosk rather than the main till, on the basis that they need a lottery ticket or scratchcard, or a mobile phone top-up via the Paypoint Till. So, while cuntin' Maud pissed about, I had to wait ages for my paper to be scanned before I was allowed to leave the exact money for the paper. Cuntin' Co-op.
2 - Miss a phone call that I could have received at any time in the whole day, but it arrived in the 10 minutes I was out.
3 - Miss a visit (as rare as an active clit in a nunnery) from my neighbour.
The neighbour's fleeting visit was one with very good intentions, as I discovered upon my return. On the worktop in the kitchen was a small container akin to that in which a portion of rice might arrive from a Chinese takeaway. However, the container contained (for that is what it was designed to do) a strange looking mixture.
I was perplexed until Junior MWSC showed me a sheet of paper which was delivered along with the container of whatever it was (I considered tapioca, flour and water - ie. glue - and old porridge as contenders) and I was intrigued. My intrigue did not last very long, but it was certainly there for a few minutes as I read the A4 sheet, starting with the main heading -
Herman The German Friendship Cake
The opening statement was amusing, and I realised that the substance (and thus the author of this note) was animate (with the name of Herman) despite being a weird substance in a tub.
Hello, my name is Herman.
I am a sourdough cake. I'm supposed to sit on your worktop for 10 days without a lid on. You CANNOT put me in the fridge or I will die. If I stop bubbling, I am dead.
Now, as opening gambits go, this was fairly forthright. I felt suitably told, and was somewhat relieved to find that Junior has placed Herman on the worktop - the exact place Herman dictated that he ought to live. I'd never been instructed by a sourdough cake before, and was not at all sure what the fuck a sourdough cake was - and a day later I am still none the wiser. I do however have the feeling that I would not like the taste one little bit. The next section on the sheet detailed what was to happen over a nine day period. In some ways, it was like reading a ransom note.
Day 1: Put me in a large mixing bowl and cover loosely with a tea towel.
Day 2: Stir well
Day 3: Stir well
Day 4: Herman is hungry. Add 1 cup each of plain flour, sugar and milk. Stir well.
Day 5: Stir well
Day 6: Stir well
Day 7: Stir well
Day 8: Stir well
Day 9: Add the same as day 4 and stir well. Divide into 4 equal portions and give away to friends with a copy of these instructions. Keep the fourth portion.
Now, this schedule was to my mind quite onerous. I was now being told I'd need to supply flour, sugar and milk on days 4 and 9, and do a lot of stirring. To what end? So that I can divide by four and give three-quarters away to other people. This raised an issue; I know not of three people to whom I could hand over a dollop of splodge, and don't have three disposable containers to contain dollops of splodge to give away (or is that force upon targets in the guise of friendship?). Further, I decided that it was a lot of effort to go to, when the end result was no advancement in the cake-making department, but simply a process to increase the mass of the stodge before apportioning it to other parties. So, at this stage, short of friends, containers, a will to introduce ingredients, enthusiasm or a like of something called 'sourdough cake', I was less than enthusiastic.
The next part was worrying; especially so, considering the narrator of this guide was a cuntin' cake!
Day 10: Now you are ready to make the cake. Stir well and add the following:
- 1 cup sugar
- half teaspoon salt
- 2 cups plain flour
- Two thirds cup of cooking oil
- 2 eggs
- 2 teaspoons vanilla essence
- 2 cooking apples cut into chunks
- 1 cup raisins
- 2 heaped teaspoons cinnamon
- 2 heaped teaspoons baking powder
I stood in the kitchen. leaning on the worktop, looking at Herman, thinking - 'Cunt'.
I read the final paragraph, and struggled to comprehend the utter madness that had arrived between 5.41pm and 5.51pm that evening.
Mix everything together and put into a large greased baking tin. Sprinkle with a quarter of a cup of brown sugar and a quarter of a cup of melted butter. Bake for 45 minutes at 170-180C. When cold, cut into finger pieces. The cake freezes well and is also delicious warm with cream or ice cream.
What the fuck - I stood no chance. No butter to melt (we use Clover) and no brown sugar in the house. My cooker has no way of knowing (let alone advising) whether it's at 170 or 180 degrees; instead, I have just 5 settings: Cold/Off; warm; hot; fucking hot; cuntin' fan-fuckin'-assisted hot! I was not sure whether the "when cold" instruction referred to me or the cake, as a prerequisite to cutting into fingers. This Herman geezer was turning out to be fucking hard work, in my humble cuntin' opinion.
I looked at the cost. Excluding the cost of the gas for cooking, I reckoned on about £4 plus a cup-full of inconvenience. Then I'd need cream or ice cream as well. Herman was pissing me off.
The gesture from the neighbours was lovely, but having been out during the time of Herman's arrival, I feel I have a reason to claim a strange dis-association from the chain-letter style approach that Herman has got people working to. Today, which was Day 1, Herman has not been residing in a large mixing bowl, and tea towels are nowhere near him. He has struggled a bit, in the takeaway tub (albeit without a lid) and has gurgled quietly. The slight bubbling has served to increase his mass slightly, but I have stunted his growth. I am now faced with the task of disposing of Herman.
I have considered a few things today:
1 - I have no idea whether I even like sourdough cake
2 - I have every reason to believe I won't fuckin' like sourdough cake
3 - I am fucked if I'm producing any sourdough cake, let alone sharing with three other cunts
4 - I cannot be bothered, nor do I have the ingredients
5 - If I want sourdough cake, I'll go and buy some
6 - Who created this complete bollocks of a way to waste time and money?
7 - If I bin it now, will it keep growing before bin collection day, next Friday?
8 - What do I say to the neighbour?
This is a mixture of shit, money, friendship, blackmail, bollocks, chain letters, embarrassment, cookery, coercion, madness, glue, cake, tapioca, containers, tea towels, cuntin' annoyance, worktops and flour!
Sorry, Herman - no offence, but this cake lark is shite!
...
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