It’s long been a bone of contention between the world and I about the proper order of things. Take, for example, chippy menus.
Feel free to order chips and anything. Chips and peas, pudding, curry, sausage, gravy, more chips, fishcakes; anything in the whole fucking world. But not fish. No, the fish have to come first. What’s so special about the scaly little pricks that put them at the top of the pecking order?
My problem with this is threefold. Firstly, they’re outnumbered. If it came to a physical encounter the chips would overpower the sea-bound bastards through sheer numbers in a heartbeat.
Secondly, if it came down to a logical “what-has-the-greater-mass-should-be-first-on-the-list” argument, chips would take the title again. There’s a massive discrepancy in the fish-to-chip ratio. If I sat on your chest with my 18 stone of lard while holding a spaniel, you wouldn’t wheeze “Erroll, put that fucking spaniel down” with your terminal breath, would you?
Lastly, look around you. You’re in a fucking chippy, not a fishy. In a chippy, chips are king dingaling, not some dirty, big-lipped turd that’s been dredged out of Whitley Bay.
Seriously, people need to get a sense of propriety about their food. This is what’s wrong with this country.