Diary of a morbidly obscene biscuit addict

When asked to put something together for this feast of a blog, I think only one person was expecting such a biscuit shaped spanner in the works such as the following.

Diary of a morbidly obscene biscuit addict

1.

This week I have been facing insurmountable odds in my battle with an aggressive combatant:

PARTY RINGS

These vile little biscuit specimens with such catastrophically kaleidoscopic faces, so gaudy they famously made Andy Warhol sick*1, have been taunting me remorselessly all week. The sugar rainbow adorning their attractive topside a very affront to my maudlin mood. I don’t know whether I think that by eating the Party Rings some of the delightful colour will some how rub off on my general outlook on life or that I am eating them to just get them out of my face!

Whatever the reason, it’s beside the point; dwelling on the philosophical ramifications of ingesting these day-glo edibles is not going to keep me from the task at hand. So I go about throwing hippy biscuits into my gaping maw with the same fervour as a hairy biker sucking the marrow out of a human femur “wye eye man, its right teehsty”*2

And then I’m off. Like Super Mario being fired out of a sour faced cannon I’m on a space odyssey. Look there’s the famous Friesian nebula, where all the planets look like cows. And look out! Crafty Pete the Cosmic Gibbon is aggressively waving his fist at me for trespassing. I chart a new course for the coco-pop asteroid rings of the cookie dough planet Great Uncle Beta. I take a closer look. Nine seconds later I have eaten my way through the Great Uncle’s 10,000 mile interior. Oh my God! Cheesy Sue is here, and with her sausage roll dog! Me and Cheesy Sue go way back, we had a thing together for a while. She was great! But then Carol Vorderman told me too much cheese could cause dietary problems*3 so we had to split up.

The sausage roll dog calls my name. The voice is familiar. My fantasy space voyage dissipates. My boss is asking me why I have been flying around the office spreading crumbs and eating any and all perishables that cross my line of sight. “I have been eating Party Rings” I triumphantly cry, dragging out the word ‘rings’ so I sound like a crazed telephone. “Only 89p a pack”*4 I add as my eyes dart around the room. “If I give you £1.78 exactly will you buy another two packs?” she politely asks looking rather nervous but also a little eager. “HAHA” I bellow, snatching the money and making for the door. “I will return as your king and military commander – Captain Riboflavin Cholesterol, the Caramac Kid, the Sultan of Smarties, the Double Decker douchebag, messiah of Maltesers, the pink wafer prince...

Exit.

My battle with Party Rings an abominable failure.

*1 - Not true
*2 - Requires a Geordie accent, oh and the hairy bikers are categorically not cannibals, I hope. For otherwise we are all doomed!! Doomed!
*3 - This could have actually been from GMTV’s Dr Hilary Jones
*4 - True! Go and see.