Soup Wars IV : A New Piece of Shit So here it is; a new soup review. I am back after this shit exploding on something called ReadIt (or something like that). This soup is trinity college’s dining hall potato and leek soup and don’t even get me started on this. This soup represents all the oppression us Irish people have faced since time began. For those of you that don’t understand where I’m going with this, clue the fuck in and keep reading this review for an important history lesson. Back in 1916, a crowd of unbridled English bastards roamed the plains of this country and pissed all over our potatoes and caused them to contract leprosy and no one could eat the potatoes and us Irish lads loved our potatoes so we’d nothing to eat for ages. This period became known as the Famine, or the Irish Home Rule Movement of the 1870s if you’re from Dundalk. This meant no mashed potatoes. No chips. No Tayto crisps. No BirdsEye potato waffles. So naturally a billion or so Irish lads died or fucked off to America where they got their fill of hash browns and now spend their days wearing comically over-sized green top hats and other paraphernalia to advertise their loves of potatoes. Writing this history lesson about how our lovely land was metaphorically, philosophically and literally defecated on is so upsetting that I’m listening to Leonard Cohen to cheer myself up. That is what the English did to us; pissed on our spuds and made the Americans all fucking idiots. Now, flash forward (that was the name of a terrible short-lived abc drama(and now you know)) and the English(or Protestants as they’re now known) are at it again. This time taking our spuds and making this god-awful liquid excuse for asbestos and passing it off as a soup and feeding it us from awkwardly shaped white bowls that remind me of a hospital (or Sunday lunch at my aunt’s house in the early 2000s) at the costly price of 2 euro something or other. I can only compare the taste of this potato soup to the bile my cat coughs up when it’s eaten too many Murray Mints (don’t ask). This soup was dreadful and has properly emotionally scarred me. All I can say is that I can’t believe Eamonn DeValera marched on Rome in 1922 for this to become of his beloved tayters. This disgrace shouldn’t have the privilege of being associated in any way to Ainsley Harriott. As for the leeks, I am indifferent. I give this 8 out of a baker’s dozen. Follow me on twitter, @MrJamma, for other ramblings on things. Particularly how Amy Adams and Isla Fisher are the same person and it’s a government plot to cover up the Cuban Missile Crisis.

It’s nearly 2AM and I’ve got shit to say So it’s Wednesday night, or Thursday morning whatever fucking way you want to look at it. I don’t know if you’re an optimist or a pessimist so fuck off. I’ve got some thoughts on my mind, bitchez. I finally decided to give this Tinder shite a whirl and I have been very disappointed. It will not let me add photos of myself so I’m stuck with merely two: one where I’m doing my best De Niro impression which is a photo I’m quite proud of, and the other is me in a crowd of friends in a pub where I look like a spastic. I am more proud of this photo. So I find myself “Liking” every photo that appears on this bastardization of online speed-dating/human trafficking hoping to get some form of meaningless validation in return, all the while listening to Justin Timberlake sing a cover of The Old Triangle which exists for some absurd reason to fulfill a weird fetish someone had somewhere. Tonight is quite different from the past two days in that I haven’t drank a bottle of whiskey in the last few hours. That’s correct, in the last forty-eight hours, I have drank two bottles of whiskey. I don’t know where my newfound alcoholism has presented itself from but perhaps it was when (a week or more ago) I decided to try and write an entire musical (in one night) based on the events that transpire between OJ Simpson and a glass of sentient orange juice which, spoiler alert, convinces him to kill his wife. Or maybe the orange juice killed his wife, I don’t know. It isn’t fucking written and that’s because I got very drunk and spent the night speeding around the virtual world of Grand Theft Auto and stabbing prostitutes with a bowie knife. Speaking of prostitution and human trafficking (which has appeared in this piece more than I intended when I initially set out to write this. Funny how “creativity” works, right?), I have decided that I shall write an essay about pornography for my Film Studies module in college. I chose to do FIlm Studies a long time ago because (in my ignorance) I thought we would spend the semester watching modern classics and epics of cinema such as Iron Man 3 and anything with Val Kilmer. Sadly, this was not the case. I’ve been assigned to write an essay by the end of January discussing some films we’ve watched under a certain topic, an example being “Why doesn’t the mot in that Alfred Hitchcock flick wear a bra? Discuss this in relation to the trade embargo placed between the USA and Cuba in the 1960s”. Cracking stuff right? Well I’ve decided to write my own essay, based upon films I have chosen and centered around a topic I have chosen. Naturally being the young man nearing the end of his teenage years (now I have just realised how old I am), my essay will be centered primarily around pornographic films. Why? Because I can. My title, as of right now, will be “Why don’t the maids clean or cook? How the porn industry is promoting prostitution”. Think about, there are maids in all of these films (so I’ve been told…) that do nothing but simply do some light dusting around house. Nothing more, nothing less. They don’t cook and they don’t properly clean. Naturally if you’re paying a maid, they should make some attempt at cooking a meal or at least do something more labor intensive than light dusting. How will there be any cleaning to do if the place cannot get messy from cooking or whatever. It really takes me out of immersing myself in the plot of these films. Then to top it all of, after the “cleaning” (I use quotations because I clearly don’t agree that it even remotely resembles cleaning), they go ride some lad. Let’s get this straight: this woman is being paid to enter a house of someone she doesn’t know to clean (which essentially consists of some light dusting) and then goes on to participate in acts of the sexual nature with the patron who has hired her. That, tell me that doesn’t resemble prostitution? It does and it is terrible. These films are demeaning to women simply by suggesting that they are unable to accomplish a task to a reasonable degree so as a result, must perform varying acts of sex with the person who is paying them. Disgraceful. And now we come to the conclusion of this rant. I didn’t write this with the intentions of entertaining anyone. I wrote it merely to log my thoughts at this moment in time. I leave you with a picture of Haley Joel Osment whose head is too big for his face.

number 3: rte canteen leek and potato soup so its day 2 and im still in rte trying to track down joe duffy so i can firmly ram my boot into his arse and use him like some kind of foot puppet. in the meantime, i visited there canteen again to investigate had much changed since my blog yesterday properly handed their arse to them on a plate, i shall not excuse that pun. it was good. anyway, sorted out the chef this time and called him a cunt when he tried to put that crouton stuff in my soup again. he was lucky i didn’t throw a chair at him (dats why im banned from papa johns pizza). de soup today was leek and potato witch i new i h8d but got anyway becuase rte werent gettin nymore of my cash. some prick bumped into my tray again and split more soup. rte r pricks. sat down next to dome cunt eating chocolate and crisps(proper helthy lunch) and he was on about some bitch in london that died in er apartment and wasnt found for 3 years and that she lyk turnd 2 liquid in er apartment. cheers prick, im eating soup right next to you. today’s soup was just as shit as yesterday and brace yourselfz 4 anuder pun. it gave me da leaks. then another lad at the table asked me would people sneak into rte canteen to get the cheap lunches. i firmly answered him with “this lunch is shit. why wud any1 want to do dat. fuck off.” so i left rte and can confirm they r shit at doing soup. wont be back. 6/10 wud not bang

number 2: rte canteen’s vegetable soup so today i was in rte and being the bastards that joe duffy is, they only gave us sufficient time for lunch that we could only go to their canteen to steal our money. pricks. so there i was queuing for soup. who in the fuck should have to queue for soup?! then when i get the soup, they put that crouton shit in there. dis is soup, not some kind of liquidated sandwich shit. then when i get to the till to pay, they fleece for this shit! a whole €1.10! this isn’t the boom tymes anymore you bastards, we can’t all afford this apparent “liquid gold” soup because we’re not all earning 9000 million pound a year like pat kenny. then some bitch hit my tray and spilled some soup, thanks rte. anyway, onto the soup. it was shit

sauce special: passata is a prick this guy has been getting on my nerves for a while now. what’s its deal? it’s not fuckin’ dolmio and it’s not ketchup, what the fuck do i do with it?! can’t make a sandwich with it, i’ll use ketchup. can’t make spaghetti bolognese with it, i’ll use dolmio. sort yerself ou pissata. prick