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TOURNAMENTS, COCOA & ONE WRONG MOVE by Nancy Rue | Kirkus Reviews
Media reporter, reviewer, producer, guest booker, blogger. Chocolate Hobnobs, like you, are fine for one night, but fundamentally unloveable long-term. Even finer as a cheesecake base! Keep getting banned from Airsoft forums for starting threads asking "mod rig more velocity? Flinches whenever someone mentions dodgeball. Best friend was a dinner lady, that sort of thing.
Good if you like having an uncomfortable tongue for an hour, or shagging your grandma. Bad for everything else. Did I do something wrong? Am I being punished, for something? I get it, but… mm. Fine on a two-week package tour but, in the confines of real life, so wrong that everyone gets mad about it.
Bit like Jim Davidson: probably quite acceptable in the 80s, but now society has moved on and we have more than 1 million superior options, and as a result both are now less than pointless. For some reason, this video of Natalie Imbruglia doing this with Graham Norton was one of the most formative memories of my early adolescence — is this… my sexuality? Am I… horny for biscuits? The only biscuit that could feasibly unite the two opposing forces of Brexit. The Jammy Dodger has out-exceeded its birth. Because think: the Jammy Dodger is just two soft discs of shortbread sandwiched together with a resin-like circle of chewy jam.
Little heart-shaped hole and a splash motif baked into the top biscuit. The Jammy Dodger has all the base ingredients of a low, scum-like, working class biscuit. But here: it comes served in a little packet with a cardboard sleeve insert. Look: the Jammy Dodger comes in a careful little serving of six to eight biscuits, as if it is premium, as if it is luxury. Jammy Dodger has powered itself out of the hole it was dug into and become — not the everyday biscuit of Emmerdale and a go through the TV guide! Not your Tuesday night biscuit!
The Jammy Dodger was born in the dirt and raised in the rain and has fought, fought, fought to the top. The Jammy Dodger used to wear its sister's trousers and had three stepdads in two years and now it has a Porsche. A fine biscuit, a pleasant biscuit. For the digestive biscuit. The most exquisite biscuit. A prince of a biscuit. Biscuit 1. On its own: best biscuit. Dipped in tea: best biscuit. With cheese: inappropriate, still probably quite good though. The C. You are sent to the shops with two hot pound coins.
You decide. No person on earth can resist it. The best commercially available biscuit on the planet. Absolutely no competition. It is simply Too Much Biscuit.
Digestive: almost enough biscuit. Chocolate Digestive: the exact right amount of biscuit. Caramel Chocolate Digestive? A simply psychotic amount of biscuit. A car revving over your hometown roundabout with two spoilers and some pulsating under-lights. Manchester United buying Alexis Sanchez and never playing him. A gaudy, cheap expression of excess. The Caramel Digestive does not behave in tea and the base is too crumbly and dry to enjoy alone. It is a liminal biscuit without a home inside or outside of the water.
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The Caramel Digestive deserves to have its skeleton displayed in a medical museum. It cannot — does not — fit comfortably into our world. The digestive was invented in The chocolate digestive was A gap, then the caramel digestive in By my calculation, in the year , a new, fourth digestive layer will be invented — edible glitter? Nobbles of honeycomb? The digestive is Charmander and the choccy dige is Charmeleon and the caramel digestive is Charizard.
One day, the biscuit version of Mega Charizard X will be born, and that is a day we should fear. We will know, then, that civilisation is on the ropes. A nice biscuit! A fine, pleasant biscuit! They dump the same silent boy called "Scott" once every eight days. They are called fingers , for a start, in a way that is laced with innuendo and filth.
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They are thin and bony like the clawed hand of a witch might be. Chocolate Fingers are stroking your thigh with their odd little hand. Chocolate Fingers are nice to you with an intensity that verges on being appalling, and you feel wrong for the shudder of revulsion you feel from them. Maybe that means him asking you over for dinner will stop. Where did you meet her.source link
A woman with stumps for teeth and the reflection of her computer monitor on her glasses stares blurrily back at you. There he is again. Engine idling outside. Five minutes before you want to leave, as always. Three little beeps, bip—bip—bip. We can play it on the way to work, if you like! Fuck off, now. Nice but forgettable, like that guy at work drinks who corners you every Friday to tell you about "equity for punks".
Rich Teas are the answer to the question "what if we contoured a digestive", and should be treated as such: the harder, more robust cousin to the biscuit tin classic, a Rich Tea reminiscent of hospital visits and coach journeys and other British away-days where the air is warm and stale and your mum has bought a lunchbox. They are incrementally, by one atom, happier than ours. Can weirdly eat a whole packet of these in one go, though. Biscuits fit into an odd niche in the dietary pyramid — technically a sweet or "treat", as close to a food sin as anyone who prescribes to the idea might get, but also very much a self-forgiving one.
You can treat yourself to a biscuit and feel absolutely zero guilt. You can get halfway through a packet of them — one-handed, mindlessly, dunking — without really noticing at all.
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Do you feel good? Also no. You have just consumed 2, calories without having an emotion. No other food on earth does this to you. Though admittedly a fan of the Wagon Wheel, I do also fundamentally feel that, as a biscuit-cum-lunchbox treat, it is trying too hard. Shortbread discs in a chocolate envelope: sure, gimme, put it in my gob. The ones with jam in them?
Forget about it. There was a kid at my primary school who everyone hated, so he used to show up in the morning at the school gates with a full-sized chocolate bar — remember as a child that an actual-size Mars was one of the most thrilling and illicit treats you could possibly get your hands on, like waiting outside work with a gram of cocaine would be now — and he would hand out the bar to whoever turned up first willing to be matey with him that day. Twirls, Snickers, Double Deckers. Sometimes it was a Wispa Gold. Stop crying!
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