Are you Heston Blumenthal? What’s that? No, you aren’t?  


It’s bad enough that some self-righteous cunt has spent four hours in the kitchen plucking and steaming two dozen quail that they caught (whilst on a gourmet foraging afternoon on Bruny Island, no less) as part of an intricate gastronomy taste-plate inspired by a similar dish on last nights’ episode of Masterchef. Further compounding this abhorrent waste of everybody’s fucking time are the self-indulgent pictures that follow after, where the architects of this ‘epicurean delight’ (you fucking cunts!) deliver the completed product to an unsuspecting and unwilling group of social media friends and acquaintances via artsy snaps from a variety of angles (and at various stages of the consumption of the meal).

I really don’t give a fuck that you feel a sense of accomplishment for completing what is considered (by many sane people) to be a required skill in order to sustain life, placing closely behind the whole inhaling/exhaling oxygen caper which, coincidentally, sits just in front of the ability to obtain and imbibe sufficient quantities of water. In fact, have a dinner party with some of your equally inane friends and feel free to engage in trite conversations (like how your boss won’t give you the creative control you think you deserve…) but don’t ever, EVER think that I want to see your pitiful attempt at increasing your social standing via the culinary arts on my wall/feed/whatever. This is the digital-age (arrgh, not the digital-age again!) equivalent of being house-proud, which is bad enough… and at least those people had a fucking house to be uppity cunts about (more on self-indulgent, self-congratulatory home-owners later on.)

What drives these people to share this information? It’s upsetting to think that those perpetrating this heinous crime are currently aware of just how fucking pathetic this practice is. We are fast approaching critical mass regarding the aspects of our lives that we choose to share via social media. Driving this increase is the need for instantaneous sycophantic gratification and acknowledgement of even the most menial or insignificant undertaking. This is becoming more prevalent in society with every passing year and in future is undoubtedly going to lead to some significant breaches of personal privacy as unwilling participants are dragged into this net of ‘emoting’ by people with no sense of class or dignity (see: Lara Bingle).

Lastly, think about the reason that Coles, whose marketing campaign is headed by every 50-something womans’ favourite dreamboat chucklehead, Curtis Stone, struck a major sponsorship with Masterchef?  Coles’ market research team actually knows that there are shitheads out there scooping their thinly-veiled product-placement-propaganda horseshit masquerading as television directly into their mouths. Not only are they swallowing the metaphorical equine wastage, they’re going back for seconds…

A note to avid foodies and religious followers of cooking shows – Next time you’re purchasing your weekly ration of gourmet wholemeal tagliatelle from the international section of your local Coles, look down at your shopping basket and take stock of what you’ve got in there. Now, reach behind you… a little lower… feel it? Yep, that’s the arm of the Coles Marketing Department controlling you rectally like the consumer drone they indoctrinated you to be. Go get ‘em, meat puppet!

/end communication