Peeny’s big mistake

As you will recall from the last post I recently hired a new apprentice at the Bistro named Big Peeny.

Well, I have some sad news… Peeny was killed in a horrible execution yesterday. It’s a long story, so I will try to explain it to you.

It was another late night at the bistro, and, as usual, every customer had ordered the gumboot sirloin. I had Big Peeny running to the fridge and grabbing the sirloins and I was roasting them up in the big gumboot pressure cooker. Finally, Peeny came up to me looking like he’d just stepped in a piece of poopy and eaten it accidentally.

“Err boss… we’ve run out of gumboots”

I looked at Peeny for a moment.

“Run out? But that’s impossible! We only have one more to go!!!”

We both pondered what we could do. I spotted a packet of jelly crystals nearby and had a great idea.

“Ok then Peeny, here’s a plan”

I explained the plan the Peeny, and he headed off to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I started to prepare the jelly. It was a strawberry jelly, one of my favourite flavours.

Peeny returned carrying some fresh faeces in his hands. He plopped them into the jelly mixture. Then I added some kidney beans and corn kernels from a can. Peeny added some chopped spinach. I added some sour cream. Peeny added a frozen turkey.

I stirred this mixture together and poured it into the pressure cooker. In a few moments, the fake gumboot was ready.

“Ok Peeny, take this to table 65″

Peeny grabbed the plate with one hand. With his other he held a spotted kerchief to his nose to avoid the foul foul odour of rotting turd.

Sadly for Peeny, he tripped over on a banana peel and landed head first into the awful fake gumboot liquid. The bowl attached itself to his head perfectly. I heard a desperate sucking noise and Peeny tried in vain to pry the poopy filled plate from his face!

“I’ll save you, Peeny!” I cried, grabbing my trusty .45 magnum. I shot the plate 4 times. It shattered and fell to the ground, along with globs of Peeny’s brain and cranial matter.

I decided to head home.

Job Interviews

I arrived at the bistro at 4:00am to prepare for the job interviews. As you may have read in a previous post, I was advertising for the position of apprentice chef, after our previous apprentice Pooba McPooby died at the hands of a gay blind man.

 The amount of applications for the job was tremendous, a total of three people applied. I immediately discounted the first applicant as he was a gay blind man, possibly even Pooba’s killer. The other two applicants sounded like honest chaps, so I called them in for an interview.

The first interview was at 8:00am, so I started to prepare the bistro. I removed a couple of dead patrons from the corner table and disposed of them in our furnace. I removed some dog faeces from the snack bowls on the bar which were meant to contain pretzels and beer nuts. Finally, I brought out our finest stirling silver cutlery stolen from a rival restaurant and laid every table with these prized implements. The bistro had never looked so good!

 I decided to conduct the interviews using the longest table in the bistro. I set up my seat at one end of the table, and the interviewee was to be seated at the opposite end, around 12 metres away. Running underneath the table was a hollow pipe. Inside the pipe was an invention of mine, I call it the ‘Testicle Grabber Deluxe (TM)’. From my seat, I could operate the two buttons on the control pad, namely: ‘Squeeze’ and ‘Squeeze harder till popped’. The interviewee would be strapped into the device at the beginning of the interview, just in case I decided they were too crap for the job, or looked blind.

At 8:00am sharp a tall, well dressed man entered the bistro. Sporting a stunning 3 piece grey pin stripe suit ensemble with a dashing aqua-marine tie, the interviewee shook my hand and introduced himself as Mr Macca Roney. I seated Mr Roney at the end of the table and attached the ‘Testicle Grabber Deluxe (TM)’ onto his rather peanut sized balls. He seemed a little bit worried at first, but I brandished a steak knife against his anal opening to show I meant business. He passed me a copy of his resume rather meekly.

“So, Mr Roney” I began as I sat at my end of the table. “Which university did you study at?”

“Well, I did my bachelor’s degree at Havard, My master’s at Oxford, My Docotor of Philosophy at Gaybridge, my Lower Docotorate at…”

“Yes ok, we get the point, you love to wank off” I said, cutting the smart fuck short. “I’m interested in your work experience, could you tell me about your last place of employment?”

Mr Macca Roney looked somewhat pale. “Well, sir, I used to work at a supermarket…”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I realised where I had seen this arrogant piece of horse shit before… At the Poopquick Supermarket! I had seen him in one of the aisles, pretending to fill stock, but I had caught a glimpse of his hand pumping away at his pathetic little excuse for a cock.

“I know who you are, wanker. I’m now going to squeeze your balls”

Before Wanka Roney could start to cry, I pressed the “squeeze” button and held it for 5 seconds.

“AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhHHHH” came the cry. The maximum you can hold the squeeze button for before the balls pop is generally 10 seconds. Wanka Roney’s poor little balls would be quite tender right now.

“So, Wanka Roney. You want to get a job at THE BISTRO! You work at the Poopquick Supermarket… You are delusional… Do you have anything else to say in your application, or should I do the world a favour and castrate you know?” I asked.

Wanka Roney looked at me sadly. Then a light bulb turned on above his head and he began to talk:

 ”Well… a long time ago I used to be a waiter. I even had this blog which I kept anonymously. It was called Waiter Rant. It was quite a famous blog, very popular and well read. Then one day I quit my job, and the only job I could get was at the Poopquick. Ever since I’ve been looking to get a new waiter’s job. So I applied for your Bistro, sir.”

I mulled over this for a while. Could Wanka Roney really be the author of Waiter Rant? He seemed to be gay enough. After a while, I decided it really was him.

“Ok Wanka Roney, I believe you” I said. Then I pressed the ‘Squeeze harder till popped button”.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“POP!”

…

I gave the job to the second applicant, named Mr Big Peeny. Peeny helped me dispose of the body of W. Roney in the deep fryer.

We served him as the special of the day: Deep Fried Waiter with pop-ball sauce.

How did you find this blog?

I was looking at the search engine stats for this blog and found that people have been searching for some sick sick things on google. Here is a collection of the most disgusting and filthy search phrases that you have used to get to my blog!

frypan handle up anus

balls pop scream agony

male poopy pants

karlos is gay

cleaning my arsehole

raped by 2 men in the alley

my balls out of scrotum

my dick smells like cheese

i hooked my pant behind balls and entere

And my personal favourite, which defies any possible explanation:

make love wearing waiters testicles

You people are weird. Keep reading my blog though…