- 10 Habanero Peppers
- 7 Ripe feijoas
- 1/3rd cup sugar
- 1/2 cup vinegar
- 2 heaped tablespoons natural hon
- 1 teaspoon chilli pepper
- salt/pepper to taste
- First of all, de seed and chop peppers
The blank document screen stared back at joe Williams, as he cracked open the first can of the last batch of 8 percent bourbons. Revelling in the first sip, the cool caramel liquid soothing its way through his body, he relaxed back in his chair and regarded the computer. Behind the document editor , his teenage collection folder was open, and two vlc media player windows blinked at him. He knew that this letter could save him a lot of hassle. Court ordered costs. Lawyer fees. Possible jail time? His life potentially stretching out in ruins in front of him, and all he could think of was the hours of filth he’d saved up over the years.
“Perhaps I should prepare for the hours ill be in jail.. by watching hours of porn over and over again , commiting it to memory” he mused, stroking his 2 day old man-urchin’s beard.
Taking another sip of bourbon, he clicked away from word, and clicked onto his internet browser. He drummed a little samba of excitement on the mouse pad, as his customised home page loaded into view. An RSS feed of various forums and blog sites streamed across the page, while his rapid share tracker flashed incessantly as new cam whore files were uploaded.
“where to start, where to start” he pondered, mouse poised on his bookmark bar. Facebook.. redtube.. various forums.. news sites.. reddit..
“Facebook” he muttered to himself, a coffee stained grin spreading across his face. What better way to while away a few hours then clicking through friends profiles, hoping to find that flash of flesh suitable for saving away for later hours. By now his apology letter was long forgotten, all thoughts of reparation for his misdeeds long forgotten. Besides, was he really to blame for using the mr whippy tune as a ringtone while walking past a playground? Surely it hasn’t been made illegal to receive a call while fondling oneself, he couldn’t be blamed . That’s how the judges would see it anyway. Clicking onto one of his favourite local uni girls, he noticed she’d uploaded a new album – “fun in the sun” . Heartbeat racing, he eagerly clicked, waiting for the page to load. Curse the new way of loading pictures, half the excitement is clicking through next photo, eyes being bombarded with flesh. Ah well, with an album name like that one could be sure a few pics would be making their way to the “local media” folder.
It was a hot summers day. Athletics day. A day I dreaded, standing in lines waiting to take my turn to jump a metre, or come seventh out of eight people , just managing to beat the guy in the wheelchair. A friend and I had managed to sneak a beer from his parents closet, and drunk it a couple of hours earlier. No-one was allowed to go to the quad to get a drink of water, in case some clever student tried to make a break from this state-ordered day of boredom. Finally I came to the long jump. The teacher in charge was a certain Mr Johnston, a man of short stature, with a pot belly and balding head. He also happened to be my English teacher, one who hadn’t made a very good impression on me. His monotone frustrated me, as he stood at the front of the class, droning away about sentence structure. As far as I was concerned, he was the type of teacher who kills the desire to learn. We shuffled in line , watching student after student run and jump, run and jump. Looking back on it now, I realize the teachers themselves must have been three times as bored as we were. My turn to jump came, and Mr Johnston had the nerve to tell me off for having the wrong coloured socks! “ It’s a disgrace to the house” he told me, shaking his head. I don’t know if it was the illicit alcohol, the dehydration , the boredom of the monotony of the day or a combination of all the above but something inside me snapped. “You call me a disgrace!” I yelled . “You’re the one who bores everyone in the class to death! No wonder we’re leaving this school as soon as we can. With teachers like you, who can be bothered!” “
The look of shock, disappointment, and hurt on his face sunk into my soul. I realised how much I’d hurt him, but instead of facing up to him and apologizing, I turned on my heels, ran down the short track and jumped. “One metre” called the bored looking seventh former.
The next day I woke up and remembered what I’d said. A mixture of emotions took over me, shame being the main one. Who was I to say such things to this guy, a nice man just trying to do his job. When English class came around, I made a point of getting to class early , as opposed to my usual act of turning up ten minutes late with some half hearted excuse. There were a few students in the class, but I walked up to his desk and offered him my apology . “ I don’t know what came over me, but I’m sorry if what I said hurt you , and I didn’t mean it.” He looked me over, small eyes hiding behind his glasses. Then came the surprise. A smile crinkled his little face, and he said “When I told your house leader, he couldn’t believe it. It’s the first time he’s heard of you expressing an opinion. If me being monotonous is what it takes to bring you out of your shell, then it cant be too bad a thing.” With that he stood up, and unlocked a cupboard up very high, higher then most students could reach. “These books are not exactly school sanctioned, but if you find yourself so bored by the curriculum, they could be just what you want. He picked out two for me, “, and the ass saw the angel” by