Or in this case Young's prime cod fillets. Never have I ever seen anything look so fucking unlike the picture on the box in all my sorry fucking life. If they'd have had a picture of a very small grey flat thing wrapped in shit then it would have been a pretty fair representation of what the box contained. Instead, for marketing reasons I assume, they chose to adorn the box with a lovely sparkling white super flakey piece of cod wrapped in a succulent golden batter. So of course the ungrateful two legged lot won't eat the shit, so I have to have it for me tea. Me. A Border Terrier that happily eats other dog's shit in the park for fun faced with three and a half fillets of this excrement. I'd rather gnaw me own paw off thanks. A terrier turd on a stick is on it's way to these wankers. Look out for it inside a box marked "gourmet sheek kebab" in a frozen food aisle near you shortly.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.