May all your horrible family members gather around your house and eat their own faeces from a fondue set in the garden.
May your stocking be full to the brim with goatse cookies, pube infused speculaas and a beautiful black calculator.
Saucemaster wishes you all, a very merry fucking Christmas.
Brewen:
Is it just me, or does bobby flynn, “superfreak”, closely resemble eric stolz’s “lionface” character in “the mask”, cult film starring songstress cher?
Saucemaster:
Actually are you sure that’s Lionface? Cher looks very similar to that also, it’s an easy mistake. I think Cher is possibly the ugliest transvestite I have ever seen.
On a side note, if you are like me and find the virginal karate kid pretty boy on Australian Idol too much to stomach - vote for Bobby - our own creepy looking idol! If you don’t believe in voting, at least support Bobby by denouncing the virgin back flipping freak at work to all the middle aged women who will hopefully rub it off on their ten year old daughters who gyrate and scream “impregnate me!” to the tommy hilfigered middle class try hard.
Considering this title, Delicatessen 2: mr miyagi’s sushi train, one is first digusted and then one comes to a realisation: it all explains the disappearance of Daniel in Karate Kid 4. Was Hilary Swank fed long shanks of Daniel’s calf on a bed of rice and vinegar in Karate Kid 4? It’s possible, after all, Miyagi-san only hints at the fate of Daniel in the film. If nothing else, it would definitely explain why Hilary Swank’s face looks that way.
Amended KK Timeline
Few of you would remember ralph macchio’s days of struggle as a little known amateur on pinoy radio. Before his rise to fame as the karate kid, ralph was known affectionately as ‘little happy ralph boy’, on the underground fillipino american live radio circuit.
This official saucemaster version patch of the macchio radio station based in Manila, is an ideal patch for any jacket, be it an eastern german green or a leather bike chapter - carry sauce with you.
This stamp didn’t really require much photoshopping, as it already contained an over-sized dutch speculaas, a little black kid that looks a lot like sausage sizzle did when he was 12, and a bearded priest. This is a rare find indeed. Is the bearded priest offering sausage the cookie in an attempt to convert the little bastard or is the priest wracked with penis-envy even after growing out of his chester kid habits? Sauce doesn’t know, but thanks Brewen for this fabulous find!
The official Saucemaster Postage Stamp®©:
Does anyone else remember this?
Times are rough now, how can I continue without the Schonell?
If I had more than fifty cents in my pocket, I would fund it myself.
Nowadays late night films on a Sunday can never happen.
I am Jack’s complete sense of delayed disappointment.
Fuck you Australian Government.
The Saucemaster has spoken.
Set this piece of crude as your home page and search through the sauce, who knows what you’ll find - possibly an old sausage sizzle post somewhere on usenet.
Fuck working at work.
Try reading a classic instead:
Chapter 1
1984 - by George Orwell
Part One
1
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The entire book online at:
http://www.readprint.com/chapter-7600/George-Orwell
I’m counting down the seconds until I can’t take it anymore this morning and walk out or go postal.
It’s fucking boring here, that’s the bottom line.
I have no one to talk to that resembles a human being with normal thoughts and emotions. PB and McChicken talk about so much terd encrusted nothingness that I hate to even look at them. Sherry annoys me just by sitting there like a deaf mute at an opera concert, smiling with no clue as to why she is. MP isn’t in today - she would probably be the only person who I could find some interesting banter to have with.
My own cubicle is decorated with two tards that would make a conversation with Timothy the orang-utan on level 9 look more inviting. MJ this morning realised that a PDF document she’d tried to print last Friday afternoon has all but destroyed the printer and corrupted it’s memory.
It takes me some time to get the printer working again, which had a piece of half printed paper jammed in every possible receptacle and orifice, plus it’s job memory was in a fucked state. I get the printer working again, and like a rabid fucking alien with no concept of how the universe works, she immediately attempts to print the same document again, which with the cause and effect theory in hand, causes exactly the same thing to happen again. Whilst up to my elbows in a printer orifice, not unlike a James Herriot episode, I pull out a sheet of paper that had no business being where it was. On it is the half printed title ‘Rental Assets for Tax 2005′, of which caused my brain to concave and pulsate like a diseased set of gonads. One question I need to ask is, why aren’t you here to share this world of depressing pain? Perhaps you have your own to contend with!
Everywhere I look I see sad old bearded man gathered around and talking about their weekend in terms of how many litres of petrol there fucking stupid cars used when they drove to their awful mother’s house.
Hearing
that, I know I want to die. Women sit in groups wearing lifeline fashion and gossip about how their teenage kids did something cute and funny on Saturday. I know in all likelihood those teenagers would no doubt be the biggest arseholes on the face of this planet . I know I want to die when I hear this. Yet I can’t leave my seat, I’m surrounded by and invaded with tards and depressing work people - oh what can I do?
Actually I feel much better now. Thanks for listening.