Friday, March 02, 2007


Cap up my ass

When you're a hard-hitting drug slinger in the projects of Baltimore sometimes you need to drop a nigger. That's the rules of the street I'm afraid. I didn't want to do it; I still don't.

The same rules apply when it comes to baked goods. I once had to fuck up Asher and Kipling with a pick-axe handle 'cos they stepped on my territory (all Morrisons stores North West of Glastonbury to the Welsh border). Unfortunately the pick-axe handle was made of fondant and caused a little less damage than I might have wanted. They did look funny though. Ha-ha!

As the years went on in our cake war all sides took hits. I lost a shipment of flour to Mary Berry, Mary Berry lost 1000 gallons of icing (Mr. Icing to our American friends) to Jacobs. Oh the humanity.

Over the last few years there has been an uneasy truce observed bewtween all parties. I stepped out of the sweets racket and moved my cash into another altogether more difficult arena - soft drinks. If you hear of a missing Dr. Pepper this weekend, don't say a fucking word.

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?