Michael Cargill

Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.

Tag Archives: barbecue

Seeing as I’m the office fat bitch know-it-all…

mumsnet…it stands to reason that there’s simply no need for you to ever speak if I’m in the building.

Wsssht!  Why are you talking?  I already know what you’re going to say, so why bore everyone with your tedious prose?  And even if it turns out that I was wrong about what you were going to chat about – which isn’t likely – I’ll simply TALK OVER THE TOP OF YOU UNTIL YOU REALISE HOW FUTILE YOUR VOCAL CHORDS ARE.

By the way, did you see the re-run of Santa Barbara on channel 125 last night?  Oh, it was marvellous.  Bridget was worried that Jerome was cheating on her again and there was another misunderstanding when… WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU USED TO WATCH IT BACK IN THE DAY? I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SAY BECAUSE I WATCHED IT LAST NIGHT.

I remember a few years ago when management were thinking about getting Neil Armstrong, the former astronaut, to come in and give a motivational talk to us.  Can you believe it?  Neil Armstrong!  He’s a legend!  A pioneer!  And a complete waste of the annual entertainment budget.

I marched into their meeting and told them what a bunch of fools there were, explaining that I recently read two newspaper articles and recorded at least one documentary on the Apollo Moon Landings… so what the hell could Neil tell us that I didn’t already know?  I even offered to do the talk myself but they declined the offer and ended up spending the cash on a staff BBQ instead.

It was horrendous, the caterers were cooking the sausages all wrong and wouldn’t listen to a word I said to them.

The timely return of agony aunt Nurse Ratched

nurse ratchedHey, y’all.

I’ve been rather fixated with the weather recently, what with summer finally making its way to these delicate green shores of ours.  It’s the perfect time of year to invite my most hated relatives around for a BBQ; I just love watching them gradually become more and more sunburnt as they gorge recklessly on a mountain of half raw chicken and limp pasta salad.  Never let it be said that the sun ever fails to put a smile on my face.

Dear Nurse Ratched

Now that the warm weather has arrived, I’d like to buy some garden furniture so the family can eat outside.  However, my husband wants to keep the old stuff we’ve had for years. Can you help?

Deary, in times like this you need to ask yourself just one question: “What would a football hooligan do?” And the answer to that is “throw bricks and knives until he gets what he wants.”
I recommend buying a set of darts and fixing them to the underside of the garden table.  Look around in the charity shops first as they’ll be cheap and covered in rust if you’re lucky. When you get back home loosen the screws on the table and the whole lot will come crashing down on Hubby when he finally gets round to setting it all up!  If you manage to pierce an eyeball or two then not only will it serve as ample punishment for his miserly ways, it’ll also leave you in full control of any further decisions about the garden furniture.

If that doesn’t work you should kill yourself.

Dear Nurse Ratched

I was looking forward to several weeks of drunken BBQs but my girlfriend has suddenly decided she wants to be a vegetarian. What can I do to salvage my summer?

Oh dear, this is serious business. I once briefly flirted with vegetarianism until I realised what would happen to all those poor, defenceless animals if no-one was willing to chop their flesh up into nice little steaks and shove them under a grill – they’d be left to starve and rot in the fields all on their little lonesome.  Can you imagine the detrimental effect that would have on house prices?  I suggest you alert your girlfriend to these pitfalls by leading a herd of bulls into her house in the middle of the night. Once they’ve torn up her carpets, defecated in her kitchen, and farted in her underwear drawer she’ll be more than thankful for your timely educational intervention. If the opportunity arises I recommend holding her down so that she can be gored once or twice, just to be sure that the message is driven home.

If that doesn’t work you should kill yourself.

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