Last Wednesday, I did something I hate with a passion I usually reserve for Marmite or Mirror of her Dreams, and I resigned myself to the beige inevitablity of registering as unemployed with the Department of Work and Pensions
Marmite is made from boiling down raw evil until it becomes
*concentrated* raw evil, then carefully extracting any goodness though a chemical process, concentrating the result, and putting the final product into black jars so that the sunlight doesn’t cause it to dissolve.
Also, mixing Marmite with holy water causes an explosion which witnesses say can only be described as “Like matter and anti-matter“.
Nobody has yet tried either staking marmite though the heart, feeding it lemons or stealing its socks.
It doesn’t just taste bad, it contaminates every implement that goes within 10cm of it to a degree that the next thing you use it with *will taste of marmite*
and gods help the fool who uses his marmite knife next on the butter.
I wouldn’t like Marmite dressed in a golden lid, and I wouldn’t like it if it had secondary sexual characteristics you could see from space
(To a (now) ex-girlfriend) : The simple thing is that, light of my life, Marmite is ikky. Marmite is a blot on the spec of a culinary horizon of spreads that rises over the mountains of “It’s All Mine” Real Chocolate spread, though the wastelands of peanut butter, around the small puddles of sandwich spread and flooding the valleys with a sheen of golden syrup glinting lightly in the sunset.
Somewhere out in this metaphorical landscape is a pit of thick black/brown liquid that occasionally goes “gloop” horribly, it’s only claim to fame being a brief appearance in a movie starring David Bowie.
Marmite is the anti-spread, a single gram of it dropped into half a kilo of butter will render the entire pat useless for consumption by all those with more than one single properly functioning taste bud. Marmite is the very definition of evil, it’s very colour a signal to nature to stay the hell away from it, nothing edible can be that colour. It’s smell can drive grown men out of a house, it’s taste causes ducks to swim *away* from bread. Even it’s makers admit that you can make circus-freaks of the people who eat the stuff. It is Wrong, purely and simply. And the fact that you, darling, eat the stuff just confirms how good your taste in things is.
Now. if you’ll excuse me, I’d better start running.
And today, a gift from a friend who I’ve known for a very long time:
I love my friends. Mostly.