Burning Stickmen

So anyway, I was talking with Soap the other day, and we thought - hey, wouldn’t be great if we could post our thoughts on a text file residing on a hunk of metal somewhere in North America?

Anyway, we rejected that idea and decided to write a blog instead.

So I guess this is the revival of the ‘Burning Stickmen’. In fact, if I were to pursue the analogy, I could say that we’re ‘lighting the fire’ again. Also in fact, if I were to pursue to analogy a little more, I could say that we’re ‘heating it up’. By chance, if I were to pursue the analogy even further I AAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Sorry, that was the analogy falling off a cliff.

In any case, I think the perfect way to start this off is with:

The Burning Chef!!

This story starts last week, when I’m in Sainbury’s doing a milk run, and I check the price of rice. (heehee price of rice). While I’m perusing this particular grain, my eyes fall upon a box of Sainsbury’s Arborio rice. For those of you that don’t know, Arborio rice is a special type of rice they use in Italian risotto’s, because it maintains a nice ‘bite’ even after being cooked to a creamy consistency. Since the last time I made a risotto it was a currified mess (yes, currified), I decided to give it another try.

86 hours later, I said to myself: ‘HOLY F**K! That was some damn good risotto!’. Given my massively benevolent nature (I accept PayPal donations), I have decided to give everyone out there the chance to say the same thing! The process only takes about 45 mins overall, and is something every heterosexual guy should try out….

Risotto of Awesomeness +5

Ingredients:

~300g /Little over half packet of Sainbury’s Arborio Rice - costs just over 1 pound.
Enough beef/vegetable stock cubes to make 1 litre of stock.
1 small onion. Or half a big onion. Or two really tiny onions.
Meaty bits. - I used half a packet of minced beef, chopped bacon and sausage bits work too.
Veggie bits - I used half a packet of mushrooms, but frozen veggie mix will work too.
A tablespoonful of butter.
A can of kickass.
Serves 3-4 people, or 1 person three times.

Instructions:

1. First of all, you’re going to need to find 2 big saucepans. One of them just needs to be a litre-big, the other one needs to be BIG-big. Chop up the onion and the veggie/meat bits (obviously not together) into small pieces and keep them to the side.

2. Start boiling 1 litre of water for the stock in the smaller saucepan, and start preheating the bigger one. Melt the butter in the saucepan, adding a little cooking oil if you want. Once the butter has melted, toss in the onions and stir fry it for a few minutes until it starts to turn soft, and then chuck the meaty bits in. You should then chuck the veggie bits in until they go a little soft (much like your boyfriend).

3. At this point, your meaty bits should be precooked, and there should be some oily sauce at the bottom of the pan. Chuck in as much arborio rice as you want there to be risotto, keeping in mind that its mass will probably double. Coat the rice in the oil and stir fry it a bit - this is the secret for producing nice risotto with great bite & minimal stick.

4. Once the risotto starts searing a little, pour in enough stock to cover the rice, keeping the rest of it on the boil. You’ll want to continually stir the rice until it absorbs all the stock, while preventing it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Keep on adding stock when needed, until all of the stock has been used up and the rice has turned into a rather sticky mush. There was an open bottle of wine in the fridge at this point which hadn’t been touched in weeks - I took a swig and it didn’t taste vomitable, so I poured a healthy dash of it in. SCORE!!

5. Keep on stirring the rice over heat until it reaches a consistency resembling stiff rice pudding. The entire process should take about 15-20 minutes on medium heat, enough time to cook the rice. Taste it every so often, and determine that it is stiff, but chewy and delicious. The Italians call this al-dente, but I call it AWESOME.

6. Once the desired consistency is reached, take the saucepan of the heat and season the risotto with pepper, salt, and grated Parmesan. Mix the cheese in while the risotto is still hot, which will melt it in and create a perfect orgasm in your mouth. It might taste like a blowjob, I don’t know, I’ve never given one.

7. Stick it in a bowl and serve with a nice cold beer.

And that, my friends, is a f**king awesome risotto from the Burning Chef!

I can safely say that in the past 19 years of my life, theres been quite a strong correlation between the amount of boredom in my everyday life, and my general feelings of wanting to kill myself.

I know we all say “Boredom can’t kill you,” but I heck, I dare say it can do so much WORST than just kill you. It walks up to us, disguised as a pleasant, relaxed chap with much to offer. But before you know it, when we least expect it, he throws a nipple cripple our way. As we jolt forwards in pain, he conjures up a pie from thin air and puts it in the path our our face. While we’re still covered in cream, nipples bruised, he then dissapears, leaving us agitated and with a feeling of unease. Unease that there is nothing we can do, but to wipe the pie off, and nurture our nipples gently back to health.

So what am I saying? Nothing much realli. I was merely bored. But it was indeed better to spend 20 minutes writing up a bad article, than to be f-ed up the A by that jerk called boredom.

Alas, my dear friend has reached the ripe age of 17!

Traditionally, it is the duty of the elders to give the younglings advice- and since I’m older than Sunder by 10 months, I too shall attempt to pass on a few gems of wisdom.

Sadly, I don’t have many gems of wisdom, so I’ll just copy and paste something I heard in a movie today:

“Whats the the bad news then?”

“Well, the bad news is that in a hundred years, we’ll all be dead and nothing we do will really matter.”

Amen brotha…amen.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to get at here, but I just felt a moral obligation to post something up on my fellow blogger’s birthday. In truth, I’m about as uninspired as Paul McCartney after The Beatles right now.

 

SO I guess I’ll just say my goodbyes right now. And goodnight!

 

p.s. Enjoy being 17 Sunder! You only have 365 days to cherish the moment!

 

Why hello there, young bloglings. Welcome to to yet another intriguingly erotic episode of the Burning Stickmen, brought to you by our resident cynic. Now, today is a very special edition, because it comes straight after the Chinese New Year. Who are the Chinese might you ask? Well, in case you didn’t realise already, we look like this: (-_-).  However, this is a hasty generalisation that cannot simply be applied to everone; we have many different faces. For example, this is me with my eyes wide open in shock: (-_-)  at how fucking stupid you are.

But I digress.

In commemoration of our illustrious Year of the Golden Pig, this blog post will have absolutely nothing to do with Chinese New Year, just like how your mum has cancer.  (sorry if this is actually true). But let us move on to our feature presentation!

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Eye Screwed, The Science Dude (because Bill Nye was taken)

Eureka! It’s time for another exciting post of Eye Screwed, The Science Dude, as he takes all manner of interesting questions for readers! Don’t forget people - you can ask any question, and each time we will take the best selection and answer them with our uber-knowledge! All you have to do is email them to ahmee_t@hotmail.com! Note: Multiple entries are allowed encouraged, as are expressions of love and letterbombs. (If you fail to get a reply, we recommend you forward all mail to clitospher@hotmail.com as well)

We have an amazingly diverse selection of questions to answer today!  Let’s get started straight away:

chris_is_a_fag wrote:

Hey Dr. Screwed! I was fucking emo yesterday, and I was wondering why water is colourless, but when you get cloth wet, it becomes darker. Is this some sort of weird dark magic? Should I cut myself?
Thanks.

Dr. Eye Screwed’s Answer:

Dear chris,

Water is a simple chemical, but cloth is not. As such, there is an essential difference in character between these two substances, and when they get into contact, conflict ensues. The reason why wet cloth looks darker is because it is actually, in fact, bruised from all the fighting. The dark colour of the cloth symbolises the emptiness of your hollow, hollow existence and the screaming blackness of your irredeemable soul, to be consumed by the nothingless of death.

And yes, you should cut yourself.

jake.the-rake wrote:

Dear Dr. Screwed,

I was reading your column the column the other day, and I thought of something I wanted to ask. Do you know how I can get taller? I’m shorter than everyone else in my class, and all the kids are picking on me. What should I do?

 Dr. Eye Screwed’s Answer:

Dear jake,

Have you ever noticed that when you jerk off, your midget penis gets slightly bigger? Well, if you try masturbating your entire body it is highly likely that you’ll become taller. Get at it now!

 Roxa_998 wrote:

Yo, why’s the grass always greener on the other side? 

 Dr. Eye Screwed’s Answer:

 Dear Roxa,

I have no fucking clue. Go hump a horse.  

Dr. Eye Screwed wrote:

  Dear Dr. Screwed,

Why do you wear beer in your underwear? Do you really think that getting your sperm drunk is an effective contraceptive? Why do you smell like french fries? Do you really eat children for breakfast?

Dr. Eye Screwed’s Answer:

Dude…… GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!

 

Okay, so we pretty much have nothing to talk about right now; CNY hols are starting soon and we have mocks right after that. However, I’ve decided to grace you all with another post (Awwwww). The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book: “Finding nEMO: Sunder’s guide to clinical depression” (coming to a store near you!). Anyway, it turns out that there are many valid reasons to slit your wrists, and thats not even including coming to the realisation that your girlfriend died 6 months ago and you’ve been screwing a corpse, which has slowly started to attract a large mass of anthropods that make your clothes smell funny. 

But  I digress.

The Top 10 Reasons to Cut Yourself

10.   You’re Hitler. One day, you look in the mirror, and you suddenly realise that that black furry thing is notyour toothbrush, but is in fact your moustache. Suddenly it all clicks! That’s why there are a bunch of guys in tanks parked in front of your lawn! That’s why the guy at your hardware store keeps giving you cyanide instead of paint! That’s why you hate The Sound of Music! What do you do now? Well, a modern age needs a modern Hitler. I suggest you comb over your hair and join the latest emo-Hitler  movement. Not to be confused with the “I Can’t Believe it’s not Hitler!” movement.

9.    You’re Pregnant. Contrary to popular belief, giving birth is not like taking a really big shit. It’s more like ejaculating a lawn mower. Besides, the pain of giving birth is only secondary to the pain of knowing that for the rest of your life you will be caring for a baby. For those who don’t know, a baby is like a really old version of a Digimon, that’s about a 100 times heavier and doesn’t respawn. Babies also have limited mutation abilities, but this can be improved with ample use of radiation. If you rub two babies together you can start a fire.

8.    You’re Pregnant, and you’re a guy. Boy were you drunk last night. 

7.    You’re Pregnant, and you’re on the cast of The OC.  Normally, this would be passable, but the event horizon of your stupidity was about three seasons ago. Go jump in front of the nearest bus, and pray that hell has better TV.

6.    You have high blood pressure. Obviously you have too much blood. The solution? Spaghettify your wrists!

5.    You’ve finally come to the realisation that your girlfriend is dead and you’ve been screwing a corpse for the past 6 months, which has started to make your underwear smell like old socks. What? I mentioned that already? Well I guess I lied didn’t I?

4.     The sun looks darker than usual. Duuuude. Have you like, seen the sun maaan? I mean, like, it’s all alone in the sky, and nobody gives a shit about him. All the stars, like, call him ‘fat-ass’ and shit, just cause he’s a little big. The clouds won’t even talk to him anymore. Nobody, like, knows how hard it is to stand there and shine all day, do they? I bet if he could write a song it would go something like “I want to slit my wrists, but I have no hands, only lightbeams to cut my soul” That’s deep man, deep. Hey, pass the glue.

3.      You invaded a foreign country under false pretenses and proceeded to muck up the entire region in a shitstorm of sectarion violence and immoral activity towards llamas. You know who you are…

2.      You’re not as handsome, intelligent, witty, extroardinarily modest, immensely wise or understanding as Soapz and I are. (see below) You see, not everyone can be as great as we are. To spare yourself the lifetime full of jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, why not just end it now? I mean, it’s not like you’ll ever amount to anything right?

And the best reason of alll…….!!! 

1.        You run out of peanut butter. So it’s been a hard days work, and you go home to help yourself to a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich. However, when you open your cupboard door, all you see is an empty jar. Suddenly you’re consumed with a shivering feeling of emptiness and fear. Your wife comes home, sees the empty jar and shouts “OH MY GOD THERE’S NO PEANUT BUTTER LEFT!! I WANT A DIVORCE!!!”. She takes your car and drives off, taking away half your life earned savings. You smash the jar on the ground, causing a minor shockwave that ripples through the earth and time, causing the Asian tsunami of 2004. Meanwhile, your daughter comes home, sees that there’s no peanut butter left, screams, and starts stabbing herself to death with the pieces of the jar. Meanwhile, your boss calls you and says that you’ve been fired due to lack of peanut butter, and that you deserve to rot ina peanut butterless hell. Santa Claus comes down the chimney and bitchslaps you, because there’s no more peanut butter, and he shoves your face in the toilet shouting “THINK OF THE PEANUT BUTTER! THINK OF THE GODDAMN PEANUT BUTTER!!!!”. 

 By the way, you’re also pregnant. 

Well, what can I say, I’m feeling like a champ in this “game of life” thing, so I gotta boast! Please, if you feel any pangs of jealousy, just go kill yourself. Jump off the roof or something cuz my life is just so sweet and great that you’ll never reach my level. Just go commit suicide to spare yourself from any unnecesary suffering and envy. Well, with that out the way, lets start!

1) I’m one smart motherfucker. Statistically, if you’re reading this, I have a 99.98% chance of being smarter than you. Think about it- you are reading a stupid blog made by two teenagers instead of doing something useful like feeding the poor, or saving the world, or doing homework. How smart CAN you be? But even if you were Einstein reincarnate, I’m still smarter than you. In fact, I’m SO smart, I won’t even bother explaining why. It’s unlikely you’ll grasp my impeccable logic anyways, so just accept it bub!

2) I am one rich motherfucker. I’m in the top 2% of the worlds richest! I can buy myself in excess of 50 slaves in some weird african country (I pay them a 50p an hour, for 24 hours, for a month- $18000. Bargain!).  Although I CAN buy myself some slaves, I won’t because…

3) I am one kind hearted motherfucker. Thats right. One can be both egocentric AND kind hearted (although I must say, it is quite rare- which makes me even more unique and cool). Being kindhearted makes me favourable in God’s eyes, and really, you can’t beat that! Heaven better have stereo and flat screen TV’s!

4) I wear matching socks….motherfucker. As you can see, my brain is clearly running out of ideas. I’m experiencing writers block! My life is so excellent, that the language centers in my brain have been converted to pleasure centers. Language was invented for silly cavemen to complain and try to solve problems with each other. Since my life is so great, and I have no need to solve problems, my language brain-cells have retired, and are currently bathing in brain fluid…yum!

5) I can write this article without experiencing any feelings of  conceit….

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Not! 

Well wassup everyone. I hope you’re enjoying your hols. Although, to be frank, ‘enjoying one’s hols’ is a rather vague term, as it’s meaning is layered with expectation and premonition so that nobody is really sure if they’re supposed to be simply relaxing or marinating in an orgasm of euphoria. What a world we live in.

Anyway, so far, I’ve partaken in some of Australia’s more cultivated delicacies, namely meat and beer. The meat is more meaty that the meat we meet here, and the beer is quite good also, though I haven’t tried all the brands. Feel free to lodge any requests for samples.

So the most interesting point so far is the fact that I’ve started to learn how to control a motor vehicle (though not legally I might add). This pretty much adds up to circling round a parking lot, having fun with the accelerator and trying not to jolt bones out while braking. In case anybody wants to know what it’s like, it’s easier than it looks. Imagine those racing games with steering wheels you see in the arcade - driving is pretty much like that, except that instead of being able to see everything around you, you’re mounted on an elephant that can only stare forwards. It’s easy enough to control, but the problem is the hoods and sides of the car pretty much obscure the road next to you. Otherwise, it’s like a driving sim, except that you don’t score points for crashing; rather you end up decapitating your neighbour’s garden gnome, or worse, his garden gnome’s neighbour.  

I laugh so heartily when I see gansta’s in their large baggy clothing. I snicker when I see biker dudes in their black leather outfits. And I just plain freak out when I see homosexuals wearing their feminine stuff.

This post however, is not a stereotyped, un-PC, prejudiced piece of shit, but merely my musings on sociological conditioning. I’m sure those gays, bikers and gangsta’s are all very nice people, but the clothes they wear!!!

Anyways, yesterday was christmas, and I was over at my uncles for the christmas feast. As I sat down, my uncle looked at me, then down at my pants, and straight at my eyes again. “Those pants are the most ridiculous pants under the sun!”

Apart from a slight squirm I experienced due to his use of a crap cliche (under the sun…pft!), I was hardly offended. He then began to examine the little frays I had on my pant pockets, and stared at the uneven wash of my jeans. Dammit.

I must be a rebel….with frays on my jeans. Woah!!! Uneven dye on my jeans! I must be the coolest kid at school! But no. Theres nothing special about these jeans- at least not in my eyes, nor the eyes of most people I know. But my uncle viewed them as coming from a totally different planet. He viewed them as ridiculous, and probably thought I had horrible fashion sense. For all I know, he could be at home right now, blogging about those “ridiculous jeans” his nephew was wearing. I dunno.

But enough about me and my jeans. Point is, all this “fashion” stuff is a conditioned piece of cow turd. Fashion can kiss my yellow ass. Whats cool, stylish and sexy to one person, is totally nasty to another. Extra extra extra large shirts on a midget may be cool to hip hoppers, but faggish to goths. Basically, the definition of stylish clothes is “something similar to what I’m wearing,” or “something that someone in my clique would wear.

So from this day onwards, I won’t look on rappers, emo’s, metro’s or any other fashion styles with a discriminating eye. Instead, in my heart, I’ll know that to THEM, they are the coolest, most stylish people on earth.

Btw, in Hong Kong next Saturday (23rd) and 2 weeks after that (Jan 5-7)