I appear to have hybridised Millionaire's Shortbread and peach crumble.

Why? BECAUSE I CAN. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

ETA: I have named it Bad Romance Pudding. It's less cohesive than I thought I wanted it, but it's very good. The oats and fruit counteract the tendency to stodginess and the strong near-bitter of the cocoa adds a nice twist. Needs to be served warm with custard, IMO.

I appear to have hybridised Millionaire's Shortbread and peach crumble.

Why? BECAUSE I CAN. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

ETA: I have named it Bad Romance Pudding. It's less cohesive than I thought I wanted it, but it's very good. The oats and fruit counteract the tendency to stodginess and the strong near-bitter of the cocoa adds a nice twist. Needs to be served warm with custard, IMO.

that's better.

Either the heat is slightly less brutal today, or walking to Mum's was the exact right amount of exercise to kick my system into functionality; I feel better than I have for weeks.

I am sick of feeling so crappy all the time. Trying to do something about it. I doubt I'll ever have the motivation to eat a truly healthy diet, but I went shopping last night and started work on a slightly less unhealthy one.

And I am cooking. I am cooking RIGHT NOW. It is a sort of vegetable stew, with carrots, chickpeas, leeks, cabbage and celery, all held together with either mushed canned tomatoes or canned ratatouille - I haven't decided yet. And bacon. Big chunks of pinky-gold smoked bacon, dirt cheap because they were the tail-ends that wouldn't fit neatly in the slicer. But a lot more vegetables and pulses than bacon.

The celery is even organic - admittedly only because Asda had run out of bog-standard celery, but it still counts.

(argh, pissfuck, the thrice-damned onions burned while I was typing this. Oh well. It'll add a nice chargrilled flavour. Or something.)

Also included: the remnants of a bar of dark chocolate flavoured with chillies that neither I nor my mother could bear to eat as is. I've had it lurking in the kitchen cupboard for months waiting for just such an opportunity. I might add in some cream of coconut as well, and turn the whole thing into a sort of fusion ersatz mole.

...I remember now why I used to enjoy cooking.


Also, arse. I've put everything into the biggest pan I have and there's no room for the fucking chickpeas. (I soaked those last night and cooked them by themselves this morning, because if you cook vegetables for as long as it takes to cook chickpeas they dissolve.) Hopefully there'll be room for them when the vegetables have cooked a bit.

NEED MOAR PANZ.

Edited to add: Further notes on cooking: This flat does not possess a smoke alarm, although the council have visited twice, expressed concern and promised to return and install one at some unspecified future date.

However, the spotted dog does appear to possess an inbuilt smoke alarm. As soon as the pan reached scorch point, Squish started yowling and indicating that I should visit the kitchen. I love my weird dog.
that's better.

Either the heat is slightly less brutal today, or walking to Mum's was the exact right amount of exercise to kick my system into functionality; I feel better than I have for weeks.

I am sick of feeling so crappy all the time. Trying to do something about it. I doubt I'll ever have the motivation to eat a truly healthy diet, but I went shopping last night and started work on a slightly less unhealthy one.

And I am cooking. I am cooking RIGHT NOW. It is a sort of vegetable stew, with carrots, chickpeas, leeks, cabbage and celery, all held together with either mushed canned tomatoes or canned ratatouille - I haven't decided yet. And bacon. Big chunks of pinky-gold smoked bacon, dirt cheap because they were the tail-ends that wouldn't fit neatly in the slicer. But a lot more vegetables and pulses than bacon.

The celery is even organic - admittedly only because Asda had run out of bog-standard celery, but it still counts.

(argh, pissfuck, the thrice-damned onions burned while I was typing this. Oh well. It'll add a nice chargrilled flavour. Or something.)

Also included: the remnants of a bar of dark chocolate flavoured with chillies that neither I nor my mother could bear to eat as is. I've had it lurking in the kitchen cupboard for months waiting for just such an opportunity. I might add in some cream of coconut as well, and turn the whole thing into a sort of fusion ersatz mole.

...I remember now why I used to enjoy cooking.


Also, arse. I've put everything into the biggest pan I have and there's no room for the fucking chickpeas. (I soaked those last night and cooked them by themselves this morning, because if you cook vegetables for as long as it takes to cook chickpeas they dissolve.) Hopefully there'll be room for them when the vegetables have cooked a bit.

NEED MOAR PANZ.

Edited to add: Further notes on cooking: This flat does not possess a smoke alarm, although the council have visited twice, expressed concern and promised to return and install one at some unspecified future date.

However, the spotted dog does appear to possess an inbuilt smoke alarm. As soon as the pan reached scorch point, Squish started yowling and indicating that I should visit the kitchen. I love my weird dog.
This is especially for [livejournal.com profile] orac_zen, with love.



Story here.
This is especially for [livejournal.com profile] orac_zen, with love.



Story here.
Open letter to an RP character )
Open letter to an RP character )
It seemed like a perfectly ordinary fungal fruiting body. Perhaps [livejournal.com profile] cottonmanifesto and [livejournal.com profile] urbpan should have been more alert; perhaps they should have noticed the pall of silence that surrounded the sickly purple slimy thing in the woods, the telltale absence of birds, other wildlife or any growing thing within two hundred yards of it. Perhaps they did; but they couldn't resist the chance to sneak close and photograph it anyway. And thus sealed their own doom!

It had taken me decades of patient genetic tinkering to produce the thing, and I must say, I surpassed even myself. A cunning recombination of material from as near as Greenland and as far away as Omicron Persei VIII, the purple orb sensed the intrepid pair's approach with its motion-sensitive cilia just in time to explode, enveloping them both in a cloud of rampantly infectious spores!

The Health Department and the Center for Disease Control (Extraterrestrial Division) did their best, but the spores proved resistant to all their best efforts. In a last-ditch effort to contain the infection, they made the decision to put both of them in cryogenic suspension... and there they wait, alive yet not alive, frozen solid for eternity or until an antidote is found. Whichever comes first.
It seemed like a perfectly ordinary fungal fruiting body. Perhaps [livejournal.com profile] cottonmanifesto and [livejournal.com profile] urbpan should have been more alert; perhaps they should have noticed the pall of silence that surrounded the sickly purple slimy thing in the woods, the telltale absence of birds, other wildlife or any growing thing within two hundred yards of it. Perhaps they did; but they couldn't resist the chance to sneak close and photograph it anyway. And thus sealed their own doom!

It had taken me decades of patient genetic tinkering to produce the thing, and I must say, I surpassed even myself. A cunning recombination of material from as near as Greenland and as far away as Omicron Persei VIII, the purple orb sensed the intrepid pair's approach with its motion-sensitive cilia just in time to explode, enveloping them both in a cloud of rampantly infectious spores!

The Health Department and the Center for Disease Control (Extraterrestrial Division) did their best, but the spores proved resistant to all their best efforts. In a last-ditch effort to contain the infection, they made the decision to put both of them in cryogenic suspension... and there they wait, alive yet not alive, frozen solid for eternity or until an antidote is found. Whichever comes first.
Little did [livejournal.com profile] pointyhairedone know, as he merrily stumped his way down to the pigsties, that the innocent-seeming farm animals amongst which he spent his bucolic days were harbouring a deep, dark secret.

The secret? Faithful, hard-working sheepdog Jet had been lured away in the night by a drugged sausage cunningly disguised as a rock, and in Jet's place now lurked an evil-eyed ringer, a sociopathic shark-toothed substitute with murder on his mind!

Any Border Collie is a master of the hypnotic arts, of course. It's in the breed standard. But only a Border Collie belonging to Pointy's arch-nemesis, good old supervillain ME, would ever stoop to using the breed's superlative mental powers for the cause of chaos, evil and destruction.

And make no mistake, Master Spike was a pretty damn good supervillain in his own right. Pointy never suspected, as the first wave of sheep bore down on him, that every single one had been convinced overnight that it was an obligate carnivore. Poor lad, he never stood a chance.
Little did [livejournal.com profile] pointyhairedone know, as he merrily stumped his way down to the pigsties, that the innocent-seeming farm animals amongst which he spent his bucolic days were harbouring a deep, dark secret.

The secret? Faithful, hard-working sheepdog Jet had been lured away in the night by a drugged sausage cunningly disguised as a rock, and in Jet's place now lurked an evil-eyed ringer, a sociopathic shark-toothed substitute with murder on his mind!

Any Border Collie is a master of the hypnotic arts, of course. It's in the breed standard. But only a Border Collie belonging to Pointy's arch-nemesis, good old supervillain ME, would ever stoop to using the breed's superlative mental powers for the cause of chaos, evil and destruction.

And make no mistake, Master Spike was a pretty damn good supervillain in his own right. Pointy never suspected, as the first wave of sheep bore down on him, that every single one had been convinced overnight that it was an obligate carnivore. Poor lad, he never stood a chance.
I'm sure I had an idea, back there. And then I glanced at [livejournal.com profile] toft_froggy's journal for ideas about how to kill her wittily and topically, and got hopelessly distracted by Trajan's honking great column. I'm fickle that way. A really impressive great column can often keep me distracted all day.


...where were we? Ah yes. Impressive great columns. Specifically, emails about impressive great columns, ostensibly from fetchingly-named people such as Pentagram L. Waterproof, Windmill K. Verbiage, Autumn V. Parham and Carla Couch. What poor [livejournal.com profile] toft_froggy didn't know was that all of those were cunning aliases for Ruthless Archvillain Me, and that as she chuckled over the silly names in her spam folder, the subliminal messages embedded in the subject lines were working away in the parts of her brain so obscure that they don't yet have scientific names. Yes, I'm that good. And I won't go into details, in case of upsetting the sensitive (is anyone sensitive still reading this?) - but her death by combined hoodia, revolutionary new herbal supplement and cialis overdose, in combination with the contact poison from the forty-eight replica Rolex watches... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty.
I'm sure I had an idea, back there. And then I glanced at [livejournal.com profile] toft_froggy's journal for ideas about how to kill her wittily and topically, and got hopelessly distracted by Trajan's honking great column. I'm fickle that way. A really impressive great column can often keep me distracted all day.


...where were we? Ah yes. Impressive great columns. Specifically, emails about impressive great columns, ostensibly from fetchingly-named people such as Pentagram L. Waterproof, Windmill K. Verbiage, Autumn V. Parham and Carla Couch. What poor [livejournal.com profile] toft_froggy didn't know was that all of those were cunning aliases for Ruthless Archvillain Me, and that as she chuckled over the silly names in her spam folder, the subliminal messages embedded in the subject lines were working away in the parts of her brain so obscure that they don't yet have scientific names. Yes, I'm that good. And I won't go into details, in case of upsetting the sensitive (is anyone sensitive still reading this?) - but her death by combined hoodia, revolutionary new herbal supplement and cialis overdose, in combination with the contact poison from the forty-eight replica Rolex watches... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty.
Wooo! Only three hours to go, people! And my eleven o'clock victim is none other than the lovely [livejournal.com profile] vatoengland.

She thought she'd been so careful. So foresighted. She never left the house without first scanning for alien technology, never ate or drank anything she hadn't synthesised herself, didn't even go to sleep without switching on the motion detectors, calibrated to pick up and alert to anything from nanogene-sized upwards.

...Anything, that is, except for the familiar members of her own household. Little did she know she was harbouring, in her own hearth and home, something quite other than the friendly, clownish multicoloured kitten she'd grown to love. Little did she know that said kitten had been implanted with elaborate post-hypnotic suggestions from the day of her birth, awaiting the day she'd be given the signal to act on those fiendish, subconscious impulses she didn't even know she carried.

Everyone was baffled to find [livejournal.com profile] vatoengland stark and cold, with just the yarn tail of the catnip mouse still dangling from her lips.
Wooo! Only three hours to go, people! And my eleven o'clock victim is none other than the lovely [livejournal.com profile] vatoengland.

She thought she'd been so careful. So foresighted. She never left the house without first scanning for alien technology, never ate or drank anything she hadn't synthesised herself, didn't even go to sleep without switching on the motion detectors, calibrated to pick up and alert to anything from nanogene-sized upwards.

...Anything, that is, except for the familiar members of her own household. Little did she know she was harbouring, in her own hearth and home, something quite other than the friendly, clownish multicoloured kitten she'd grown to love. Little did she know that said kitten had been implanted with elaborate post-hypnotic suggestions from the day of her birth, awaiting the day she'd be given the signal to act on those fiendish, subconscious impulses she didn't even know she carried.

Everyone was baffled to find [livejournal.com profile] vatoengland stark and cold, with just the yarn tail of the catnip mouse still dangling from her lips.
Next up: [livejournal.com profile] bloolark. In a departure from my usual elaborate methods, she'll be simply shot, stuffed and mounted in a large display cage. The fiendish part comes afterwards, when I take her to the nearest pet store and cunningly hypnotise the owner, who will be entirely unable to avoid speaking the words I put in his mouth.


It'll go something like this... )

P.S. And I'm stealin' yer pretty black lory. XD
Next up: [livejournal.com profile] bloolark. In a departure from my usual elaborate methods, she'll be simply shot, stuffed and mounted in a large display cage. The fiendish part comes afterwards, when I take her to the nearest pet store and cunningly hypnotise the owner, who will be entirely unable to avoid speaking the words I put in his mouth.


It'll go something like this... )

P.S. And I'm stealin' yer pretty black lory. XD
My next victim is my adorable [livejournal.com profile] jhovall. For this execution I'll be using a variant of the super strong pheromone spray seen (I think) in the first episode of Torchwood. I'll slip it into your drink, suspended in slow-release gel microcapsules, and once you've swallowed enough of it for the effects to be irreversible, that's when I slap the preloaded vortex manipulator onto the back of your hand.

You will be instantly teleported into the audience at a huge performance of the most popular boy band in the world. Do not presume to ask me which boy band - I do not pollute my brain with nasty modern Terran pop culture. I have highly-trained ruthless minions to deal with that sort of little detail. The important thing is that you will arrive in the midst of the crowd just as the pheromones reach critical mass and start oozing irresistible attraction out of your every pore - whereupon you will be torn to messy shreds by twenty thousand lust-crazed rampaging teenaged girls.
My next victim is my adorable [livejournal.com profile] jhovall. For this execution I'll be using a variant of the super strong pheromone spray seen (I think) in the first episode of Torchwood. I'll slip it into your drink, suspended in slow-release gel microcapsules, and once you've swallowed enough of it for the effects to be irreversible, that's when I slap the preloaded vortex manipulator onto the back of your hand.

You will be instantly teleported into the audience at a huge performance of the most popular boy band in the world. Do not presume to ask me which boy band - I do not pollute my brain with nasty modern Terran pop culture. I have highly-trained ruthless minions to deal with that sort of little detail. The important thing is that you will arrive in the midst of the crowd just as the pheromones reach critical mass and start oozing irresistible attraction out of your every pore - whereupon you will be torn to messy shreds by twenty thousand lust-crazed rampaging teenaged girls.
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