It’s been a while since I’ve posted so I’ve got a week’s worth of vitally important KAF commentary to pass along. I’ll be covering topics as diverse as Scottish tourism, our new breakfast DFAC, how to use Excel like you’re not an idiot, weight loss tips and more! Perhaps most exciting is the premiere of a new video demonstrating irrational spoon usage. But first, here’s what an end rotation party looks like in KAF. Sure, the beer was non-alcoholic but we had BBQ’d lobster tails and you didn’t.
The Tao of R
Me: “My town is the Apple Capital. I don’t know exactly how that was determined but I assume the World Apple Parliament voted on it. We even have a giant apple to prove it”
R: “Well, Glasgow is the knife crime capital of Europe.”
Me: “Wow, you should work for the Scottish Department of Tourism”.
R: “Aye. If ya like stabbin’ and coronary heart disease, visit Scotland”.
R: “What was life like before the internet? It must have been awful.”
R: “Deep fried is good. Everything should be deep fried. If you don’t like fried food and stabbin’, we will not be friends”.
M: “I didn’t used to need a belt.”
R: “Oh, you mean you used to be fat.”
R: “Those little fatty strips they serve at the Northline are not bacon!”
D: “Are trying to lecture a Canadian about bacon? Because you aren’t going to win that one.”
Me: “In fact, it was a Canadian who invented bacon.”
R:” Oh, don’t give me that. Canadia didn’t even exist then”.
S: “That’s a lot of breakfast”
R:”You’ve made me sad. I have to eat my feelings”.
Me: “I’ve considered buying an apartment building.”
R: “In South Africa, there are some abandoned apartment buildings in the city centres that have squatters in them. People hire thugs to go in and kill all the occupants so they can take over ownership of the building. You could do that.”
We all thought this story was going somewhere else…
What’s In A Name
My brother once gave me a can of Pocari Sweat as a Christmas gift. It was in keeping with the nose hair trimmer, can of eel and VHS tape with 2 hours of aquarium footage he had given me in previous years. As the name implied, it tasted quite vile. I don’t really care what a Pocari may be, I don’t want to drink anything’s sweat. Well, imagine my surprise when I saw this crap on offer at the Lux (or was it the Cambridge? Ah…who gives a shit?) It tasted slightly less vile than the canned version but I still can’t call myself a fan of perspiration as a beverage.
Ok, who are they trying to kid? I’ve sardonically wondered before what the hell kind of fruit the Multivitamin Juice can possibly be wrung from although it is clear from the taste that it is really just flavoured sugar water. How then, does it differ from Multivitamin “Squash”? Squash is a ridiculous British word for juice, water, sugar combinations. I, therefore, conclude that the Multivitamin “Juice” and “Squash” are the same fucking thing. I really don’t think you need to offer both at once, Cambridge. What’s next? You gonna have “chips” and “fries” available?
Fast Breakfast Break
In the 3 or 4 years since the Monti opened I’d never gone there for breakfast. I guess I was just too enamoured of the fried eggs at the Cambridge and the bacon that used to be at the Northline. Last week, however, we all finally tired of D’s whinging about the line ups and shitty ass bacon at the Cambridge, so we tried out the Monti and we’ve eaten there any day one of us has
shopping business on the south side of the airfield. It was a hit albeit not without its flaws. Here’s the scorecard:
1. French toast puffs – deep fried sweetness with hot syrup that taste nothing like French toast or anything else, for that matter.
2. Awesome, fresh baked bread.
3. Toasters that actually toast on the first time through…unless some jackass has fucked with them.
4. Staff seems friendlier and happier than at other DFACs.
5. No line ups at our regular breakfast time of 0800. In fact, it’s almost deserted.
6. Non-segmented plates.
7. Comfy chairs.
1. Eggs are rationed. Only 2 per person. This is insufficient to maintain my cholesterol at its standard level.
2. Egg-Frying-Man only cooks 4 or 5 orders at a time and, unlike the Omelette King, doesn’t remember my order.
3. Breakfast service ends at 0830 rather than 0900 as at Cambridge.
4. There’s no juice. Just Tang of various vile flavours like Mango and Pineapple.
5. They have a policy of running out of real bacon 14 seconds before I get to the steam line and then they put out turkey “bacon” in its place. That’s not cool, man.
I highly recommend you try the Monti for breakfast…before 8 am.
I fucking love spreadsheets. Is there anything they can’t do? Well, yeah, but only if you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. I’d really like to provide basic lessons in Excel to COMKAF’s Office of Fucked Up Reports and Forms, an agency that, based upon the evidence, surely exists. I’m particularly incensed by a new report that fails to take advantage of the most basic spreadsheet function of adding a column of numbers together. Sure, it only took me about 3 seconds to add the missing formula but, seriously, the guy making the form didn’t know a spreadsheet would do this for you? Maybe I’m expecting way too much to also wonder why it doesn’t use the count function either but, come on, if you don’t know what the hell a spreadsheet is for, don’t volunteer to make the goddamn form. M, overhearing my bitching in the office, summed it up perfectly, “Some people think a spreadsheet is just graph paper on a computer”. I’ll be automating my form so any of you that can discern which report I’m talking about and would like a defuckified one…use the Contact page. And don’t even get me started on the forms that use bastardized MS Word Tables…fuck.
Fad Bad Diet
I skipped my treadmill cardio workout to attend a meeting last week. Luckily, it turns out that having the Cambridge DFAC Turkey a la King is a much more effective weight loss strategy.
Several days ago, M returned to our table in the Northline with his usual gluttonous serving of ice cream but this time he had a spoonful each of the vanilla and the chocolate. “I asked for some of each flavour. The guy grabbed one of the two spoons out of the rinsing tub and scooped up the vanilla. He then replaced that scoop into the tub and grabbed the other one…from the same tub…to scoop the chocolate. Apparently, there are specific spoons for each flavour?” Yeah, rinsing the spoons in the same soupy mix of water, chocolate and vanilla ice cream will certainly prevent any flavour cross contamination…as long as you don’t mix up the goddamn spoons! I thought this was an awesome display of riKAFulousness. When, the next day, M said the guy had done it again I knew I had to capture this on video and despite my on-going half-assed effort to eat more healthily, I went up and asked for both flavours just to collect the video evidence. I don’t care if R found my “child-like glee” amusing…I love the nonsensicality of this shit. D wondered if they had hooks labeled “Chocolate” and “Vanilla” in the kitchen upon which to hang the spoons after washing to ensure they don’t get mixed up. I bet they do.
Ice Cream Updates
The dude at Lux intuitively understands the importance of the cake:ice cream ratio. He got it perfect on the first try.
Monti had Mocha soft ice cream tonight. It was awesome. M declared that he didn’t like it after downing a heaping bowl while D, upon finishing his bowl and being asked his opinion, offered “I didn’t know I had Mocha ice cream”. Well, I loved it and I’m right.
The ice cream at Cambridge no longer defies the laws of physics as it now melts at room temperature and tastes and looks like proper fake ice cream.
As you know, the paper towel has been removed from our bathrooms because some people were plugging up the toilets with it. When this occurred, there was such a mass of it lining the bowl that it looked almost intentionally designed to plug it up. As someone once said, “never ascribe to malice or conspiracy that which can be explained by ignorance or stupidity” or something like that. Well, GC has come up with a theory to explain the phenomena which surely abides by this mantra. While I don’t know and don’t want to know how he conducted his investigation, GC claims that the pluggers are first placing a layer of paper towel into the toilet. Why? Well, you see, they are squatting upon the toilet seat in clear violation of the signage and, as such, splashback would be severe problem due to given their poo’s increased height of excretion. The layer of paper towel mitigates this problem. Then, after rinsing their nether regions by splashing a bottle of water on them (and the floor and the walls), they dry their bits with a further piece of paper towel (toilet paper rips if wet, you see) and deposit that on top of their splashless poo. The resulting shit sandwich, as it were, is, of course, impossible to flush, the toilet overflows and the floor gets covered in poo water. Unfortunately, there seems to be an illicit trade in paper towel (or they’re just grabbing them from the stacks in the shower room) as the mystery cloggers have continued apace their mission to make my life a disgusting mess.
Let’s end with a poem:
What the hell is with the two spoons, for fuck’s sake?
Or maybe a haiku:
Poo descends, splashless
Water pooling on the floor
You fucking asshole
“I think it would be very foolish not to take the irrational seriously.” – Jeanette Winterson