So the easter themed TV is hilariously mixed.
Yesterday, childrens classic Chicken Run (who doesn't laugh at the escapades of plastecine birds?) - you get the reference to eggs, right?
Today, The Passion Of The Christ which is... slightly less upbeat than the former and never fails to make my chocolate-coated stomach churn. Even I, an un-squeamish potential doctor find the torture scenes hard to handle.
So there you have a contrast between the comercialised easter and the original message. It's amazing that over 2000 years its been completely transformed from a brutal tale of whipping, nailing and crucifying to all fluffy bunnies, chicks and rolling eggs.
Passion got me thinking about religion but I'm not going to enter into a theological debate at 2 in the morning. Maybe later.
All the easter eggs have put a distinct stop to my weight loss plans. Plans are as follows: Have to lose a bit before May 3rd (my big brother's wedding) but not too much as I won't fit into the gorgeous dress I've bought. Then can lose about a stone before summer (always have to be thinner in summer, can't use the excuse that it's insulation) and then maintain/lose another half stone by christmas when I jet off to Australia for three weeks. Fun fun, rabbit food is in, carbs are out!
Want music.
And beer.
Will attempt to find both.
Monday, 24 March 2008
Friday, 21 March 2008
Never have I ever... seen 20 penis's on a stage in the middle of a nightclub... oh wait...
One word: glorious.
Wednesday night was a calendar worthy night, a diary worthy night, a BLOG worthy night. 'Twas the night of Man-o-man 2008, a celebration of the fasciation held by rugby boys all over for pretty much just getting naked. Tasks were performed, songs were sung, condoms were flung and multi-coloured pants were worn (and auctioned). And half-naked, stacked to the heavens (ooh there were a lot of lovely backs) uni rugby boys waited on tables and were auctioned off to the highest bidder. My girlfriends and I watched in despair as ripped lad after ripped lad was bought by some backcombed-ballgown-wearing-orange-faced yahs (each of us only having a £5 each). We swooned over 'Jono', the hottest flame-haired male since Ron Weasley (I kid you not) as he crooned 'Let there be love' and fed champagne to squealing ladies, and Henry a.k.a 'Buttplug' - who incidently is that bloke off 'Living on the edge' - as he squirted cream on his muscular torso and gyrated around the room. All the while we each harboured a secret (or not so secret) crush on the host 'Bluesy' who appeared between each act wearing nothing but toit like a toiger boxers.
The final task of the night was the strip round - with growing anticipation we watched as the two finalists (hot ginger and short black-haired guy) removed more and more of their clothes... gone was the shirt... off were the trousers... there went the boxers... a count of 1..2..3! and they both turned around to flash their manhood at the audience. Oh dear lord.
Of course, being rugby boys, when the winner was announced (short black-haired guy... what?) the whole team ascended on the stage and treated us to a communal strip show - the FULL monty. Mercy me there were bits flapping all over the place.
The obligatory piss-up followed shortly after.
So were there muscles? - yes
Were there penises? - YES
Were there fat props dancing on tables? - ew yes
Will I return to man-o-man 2009? - oooh yes
Will we keep a 'rugby' collection jar in the kitchen for the next year? - well what do you think...
Wednesday night was a calendar worthy night, a diary worthy night, a BLOG worthy night. 'Twas the night of Man-o-man 2008, a celebration of the fasciation held by rugby boys all over for pretty much just getting naked. Tasks were performed, songs were sung, condoms were flung and multi-coloured pants were worn (and auctioned). And half-naked, stacked to the heavens (ooh there were a lot of lovely backs) uni rugby boys waited on tables and were auctioned off to the highest bidder. My girlfriends and I watched in despair as ripped lad after ripped lad was bought by some backcombed-ballgown-wearing-orange-faced yahs (each of us only having a £5 each). We swooned over 'Jono', the hottest flame-haired male since Ron Weasley (I kid you not) as he crooned 'Let there be love' and fed champagne to squealing ladies, and Henry a.k.a 'Buttplug' - who incidently is that bloke off 'Living on the edge' - as he squirted cream on his muscular torso and gyrated around the room. All the while we each harboured a secret (or not so secret) crush on the host 'Bluesy' who appeared between each act wearing nothing but toit like a toiger boxers.
The final task of the night was the strip round - with growing anticipation we watched as the two finalists (hot ginger and short black-haired guy) removed more and more of their clothes... gone was the shirt... off were the trousers... there went the boxers... a count of 1..2..3! and they both turned around to flash their manhood at the audience. Oh dear lord.
Of course, being rugby boys, when the winner was announced (short black-haired guy... what?) the whole team ascended on the stage and treated us to a communal strip show - the FULL monty. Mercy me there were bits flapping all over the place.
The obligatory piss-up followed shortly after.
So were there muscles? - yes
Were there penises? - YES
Were there fat props dancing on tables? - ew yes
Will I return to man-o-man 2009? - oooh yes
Will we keep a 'rugby' collection jar in the kitchen for the next year? - well what do you think...
Monday, 17 March 2008
Jump up jump up and get down
Changed name to 'Red'. Chose it because it is my favourite colour and not my real name (every superhero must hide their true identity). Plus it doesn't make me hungry.
In the process of getting ready for the third night out in a row. Oh how hardcore I am.
In the process of getting ready for the third night out in a row. Oh how hardcore I am.
Too fast to live, too young to die
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls
Let the outpouring of randomity commence
So it didn't take me long to regret choosing the screen-name 'chocolatefudgesundays' as I am now doomed to experience hunger pangs every time I write to my blog. Can you change it on this? Further investigation is required.
Keep smelling my wrist and getting a whiff of apples. Don't really like my DKNY perfume but I woke up this morning smelling like hangover and was too entranced by the promise of scrambled egg and beans on toast that i forgo my usual shower and had to douse myself in eau de pommes instead. Hope pommes was the correct word, I know that it in French and German pommes means either apples or potatoes but I can never remember which. For the record, it was eau de apples I applied liberally to the surrounding air (and up my nostrils which always happens and makes me sneeze) not eau de potatoes. However that is an exciting business opportunity. Again, further investgation is neccessary.
Tip for the day: type 'basshunter foreign with subtitles' into youtube. It's a song about a robot named anna. Seriously.
Let the outpouring of randomity commence
So it didn't take me long to regret choosing the screen-name 'chocolatefudgesundays' as I am now doomed to experience hunger pangs every time I write to my blog. Can you change it on this? Further investigation is required.
Keep smelling my wrist and getting a whiff of apples. Don't really like my DKNY perfume but I woke up this morning smelling like hangover and was too entranced by the promise of scrambled egg and beans on toast that i forgo my usual shower and had to douse myself in eau de pommes instead. Hope pommes was the correct word, I know that it in French and German pommes means either apples or potatoes but I can never remember which. For the record, it was eau de apples I applied liberally to the surrounding air (and up my nostrils which always happens and makes me sneeze) not eau de potatoes. However that is an exciting business opportunity. Again, further investgation is neccessary.
Tip for the day: type 'basshunter foreign with subtitles' into youtube. It's a song about a robot named anna. Seriously.
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