Recipe for cabbage soup:
10 fat juicy, in the prime of their lives, slugs
1 whole cabbage
Slug stock (made a week before and involving the boiling of salted slugs)
Keep replacing the slugs' clothes with even bigger clothes so they think they're losing weight where in fact they're gaining weight because you keep adding a bit more slug feed at every dinnertime. When they're as fat as Fatty Arbuckle, encourage them to go swimming in the nearest saucepan.
Chop the cabbage, toss it into the saucepan. Add the stock. Cover boil, blend and serve. Slimylicious.
Slugs vs. Snails it'll soon be near,
Major wars coming, you will soon hear.
Nothing you can do, nowhere you can go
Just make sure you're far away otherwise you'll blow... up.
Inside this book you will find,
Funny nonsense from my mind.
Zany rhymes and slimy tales,
Creepy crawlies leaving bloody trails.
And a clever slug that shocks,
Tales about Cinders and Goldilocks.
Cabbages, slugs and Elias Zapple,
What rhymes with Zapple apart from apple?
Fun and craziness! (You'll have a good time),
There's even some that do not rhyme!
Read the book, there's so much more,
Or my slugs and I will go to war!
First, tell the slugs that they are long overdue for a holiday. When they start cheering and feeling all happy, provide them with some going away drinks. The drinks of course have a little something extra in them.
Once the slugs have passed out, toss them in the pot, add salt, pepper and water, bring to the boil and then blend with cream. Serve to the guests who believe it to be mushroom soup.
Whenever cooking slug, (I only ever cook disloyal slugs), make sure it's fresh and cooked immediately after guillotine. I however, seemed to have forgotten this and when munching on my grilled slug my face slowly turned as green as a cabbage then as purple as somebody else's cabbage before swelling up. I quickly dashed to the lavatory and emptied my bowels. The slug I had chosen to cook had been resting beheaded for a good few hours under the sun... Sun-dried slug is not as good as sun-dried tomatoes.
Four days later, after lots of sweating and more trips to the loo, my slugs finally got me back on my feet and back to peak condition. Mr Snazzy didn't suffer too much either, thankfully. Though he was most cross with me for eating that spoiled slug. Let this be a lesson to all of you!
Well, Slugland was a bit of a waste of time. Not much was achieved there. Yes, I learnt some new cabbage recipes, learnt new techniques in how to breed, modify and train slugs, and acquired some new killer slugs that are deadly by the touch but I felt that I could've achieved much more if I had just stayed home, pricked my finger, thrown cabbages at Dieter and gotten my current crop of slugs to infiltrate Dieter's home and steal all of his tins of soup. Oh well.
Went for a meal this evening with Bert the Slug. Bert obviously had to be hidden in my pocket otherwise we wouldn't have been allowed into the restaurant. I tried numerous times to coax him out but he refused believing that if he were visible then the staff and the patrons would throw a fit.
So, I ordered food for two looking like a real greedy guts and appearing to be a rather sad individual. I had to stealthily feed Bert his morsels, carefully putting bits and pieces of food into my pocket for him to eat.
Anyhoo, I got to the shrimp tempura when I was given a rather strange reddish-looking sauce to dip the tempura into. I did so and was revolted. I exclaimed, 'this tastes like vomit!' causing all the customers and staff to stare at me. I dipped a crumb into the sauce for Bert to try and he too agreed that the sauce did taste like vomit.
I alerted the waiter who refused to believe me and refused to try it. So naturally I did the only thing I could do which was to go home, get five cabbages then return and hurl them at the restaurant.
My slugs later returned contaminated the batter.
Never trust a slug with your laundry. This is advice I should've heeded before I let Gino the Slug wash my smalls. They were washed, folded and in a completely different colour. Naturally I had to punish Gino despite his protestations that it wasn't his fault and that somebody had put a rogue yellow garment into the wash. Now I'm forced to go shopping, which I'm loathe to do, to purchase more undergarments. Gino shall never wash my smalls again, I assure you of that. (He actually won't be doing much of anything at all now).
Tomorrow I venture out and off to Slugland - land of slugs and other slug-related things. I quite often visit Slugland to stock up, find more slugs, learn new slug techniques, slug recipes, visit slug friends and just do all things slug. It's an absolutely fascinating time full of slime, broths and games of chess with the wise old slugs of Slugland. Slugland is just off the A2, if you fancy coming along.
Why hasn't there been a movie about slugs? Not necessarily about them but starring them. You've had Antz, Bugs, Bee Movie and a bunch of other movies featuring many insects and yet never anything about the all mighty, all-conquering slug. Slugs are slimy, slugs are obedient, slugs are attentive and slugs make excellent cups of tea and, best of all, when a slug's life-cycle comes to an end you can fry them and use them as an alternative to chips.
It really has. It's been a week, almost a week, since my last post on this infamous blog. Where does the time go? Does somebody hoover it up? Does it fly by like a Concorde did until New York got them abolished? Seriously, what happens to time? Many days have passed since I hit Dieter with a cabbage, he may think I'm going soft. I'm sure it was only yesterday that I hit his noggin and yet it has been a week. A week since anything of note happened. One minute I was a little bud then I was a performer on Broadway and then I found my way to commanding an army of slugs. What happened in the intervening years? Were they stolen? If so, who would steal my years? Can I report them to the police? My years have been stolen and I demand them back. It is all quite disturbing and I'm feeling rather flustered. I need to lie down and take a breather. Perhaps I can get one of my trained slugs to make me some tea. However, last time one of my slugs made me tea he accidentally fell into the cup and boiled himself. He tasted like a mushroom. No, I shall have to do it myself whilst I work out what has happened to the past few days, week however long it has been. I want my time back and I demand answers. Anyway, let this be my blog post while I gather my thoughts and write something much more coherent soon... you'd be so lucky!
I do enjoy listening to the odd tune when hurling cabbages, setting the mood for my slugs to procreate or pricking my finger so that I may write another glorious sentence in the stunningly funny Duke & Michel saga. What kind of music, I don't hear you ask? Well, depends on what I'm doing. If it's to help my slugs go to battle then something like a Beethoven fused with Rage Against the Machine seems to do the trick but if it's for them to help them make their own kind of music then I find Marvin Gaye to be splendid. When I hurl cabbages, it needs to be something with a bit of fire and I quite enjoy a little Metallica on some days and Nirvana on others. Now, when I write, well nothing beats The Beatles for true inspiration. A most innovative band, as innovative as I am with my prose and the tactics I employ when targeting Dieter. How about when I'm grooming Mr Snazzy? Well, he's a gentle fellow and he prefers more calming, chilled tones so I stick on a bit of Sigur Ros or Massive Attack. That sort of music seems to put him right in the mood to be groomed.
Readers often ask me if I have a special someone in my life. I tell them that I have many special someones - my slugs, my cabbages and Mr Snazzy. They then continue with their persistent questioning until I'm forced to unleash a barrage of cabbages at their heads. However, I can confirm that there is a certain somebody who does indeed share my life, my philosophy, my love of cabbages and my love of hairy upper lips. Shall I say who? First, let me enjoy smoking my pipe, relax in my comfy armchair and consider whether to tell you or not... No, I won't. However, I shall dedicate the song below to my favourite moustache, Mr Snazzy.
Sometimes you just have one of those days, don't you? I had mine today - one of those days. I don't know why I get one of those days. Not the one of those days as in one of those days I'm going to get you and turn your head into a flower pot but one of those days where you just feel ugh, you know, one of those days. It had started off perfectly normally. I had woken up feeling almost as fresh as a trampled daisy, spotted Dieter watering his rose bush so I nipped out and launched a cabbage at the back of his unsuspecting head then went back inside, joyously before feeling deflated and knowing I was having one of those days. Despite my best efforts, it still remained one of those days. Nothing productive happened, my slugs were evidently having marriage problems, my finger was dried up and unable to write down a single word and my pipe remained empty. It was just one of those days. Even Mr Snazzy, my famed moustache, seemed to lose his sheen. So I crawled back into bed, literally crawled as I was moderately intoxicated, and went into an eerie slumber that didn't refresh me at all, naturally. I say naturally because I knew it was one of those days.
In Maputo I am known for my love of tinned tuna.