I’m at a difficult stage in my life. The hour long commute from my home to work has to be done in a car (well no, I could take the bus, but so do so many smelly people and I can’t be done inhaling someone else’s body odour for an hour whilst I try to prevent my cankles brushing theirs) and I’m having trouble selecting a radio station. See, I used to enjoy Radio 1, and I admit that I think Nick Grimshaw is fantastic in the morning, but oh god lord the music. Occasionally there will be a song I enjoy, but most of the time I’m wailing at the radio because of the standard of music. For example, they play Lorde all the god-damn time, and her heaby breathing and straining of every single syllable makes it sound like she’s singing for gold in a COPD clinic talent show. So, I end up stabbing at the buttons and switching to Radio 2.
Radio 2 is alright. I used to chortle along with Moira but I find her braying fake laugh like nails on a blackboard now. The music is slightly better, though I’ve heard it classed as 90% period-pain music, 10% Take That, which I think sums it up nicely. I’m usually alright with this for most of the journey until they play HIM. Ed Fucking Sheeran. Good heavens no. His voice is alright, and his songs catchy, but there’s something about him that really makes my skin crawl. Well, not so much crawl as sprint right off my flesh and through a shredder. For one, in nearly every single photo I ever see of him he’s doing this incredibly vexing squint-smile combination, like he’s trying to read a heartfelt message off the head of a pin. Plus, he looks the absolute spit of my ex, who spent more time in bed scratching his dry skin than anything else. And he was a good one! I dated a proper abusive dick for a good year called Neil, until his passive-aggressiveness and cheating ways ended up with me cutting his treasured pony tail off. Remember: what do you find when you lift up a pony’s tail? An ARSE. He had a weird bone disease too which meant he had really long arms and legs – sex was like getting into a fight with a rotary drier. So yeah! Radio 2. Alright until that flame-haired moon-faced bumhole starts his warbling.
What’s left? I’m not intellectual enough for Radio 4, I’m sick of hearing the same eight pieces of music on Classic FM and, as I’m not a taxi offender / habitual sex-offender, Smooth FM is out of the window. BBC Radio Newcastle consists of people ringing up talking about their ingrown toenails and Metro Radio, which used to be grand back in the day, is fronted by two thick people and a sound effects machine. Bah. I generally end up getting in a huff with myself and singing instead. I could put on a podcast or my own music but I’m too lazy to figure out how the bluetooth works on my car. Ah well.
Anyway, that’s enough from me – here’s the real star of the show today – the beastburger!
I wasn’t sure how to go about giving this a title – I was going to go with “I’ve never had so much meat pressed between my brown buns” but even I blanched at that. But look at it! It’s a thing of beauty.
Now I know, it’s ridiculous. Ridiculously tasty! The syns come from the Heck burger (1 syn) (swap for a chicken breast for a syn-free alternative) and the cheese (Low Low Slices – 2 syns each) which you could very easily leave off, making this giant behemoth syn free! Use your breadbun as a healthy extra. Served with sweet potato chips if you’re feeling especially piggy, this will really fill a hole.