On Belgian Chocs and Being Un-American.

I was given a box of Belgian chocolates this Christmas and they’re quite small by the standards normally expected of that excellent breed of confectionary comestibles. A whole one fits easily into an average mouth without risk of imitating a Texas redneck eating two whole burgers at once so as to stop the right side of his mouth being jealous of the left. Let’s face it, nothing in the whole world does gross and uncouth better than the good ol’ boy from the South.

(Hey, it’s Christmas so let’s have a go at Americans. Yeah, why not? If they can put a brain dead albino warthog into the White House, they can hardly complain. Although I will admit that Lisa Edelstein does have remarkably sexy eyes, and New England accents, at least when employed by young women, are pretty damn cute. But on the other hand, they did invent Walt Disney…)

But to continue my point about small Belgian chocolates:

What’s interesting is that, despite being only about five average chews big, a single chocolate has the remarkable capacity to demolish my appetite for several hours afterwards. And that makes me wonder whether Belgian chocolates should be recommended to those undertaking calorie-controlled diets.

(If my last trip to New Orleans was anything to go by, I’m guessing that Americans never submit to calorie-controlled diets. I assume they’re deemed unpatriotic and banned under some sort of Un-American Activities legislation.)

This is an example of British humour. And it is Christmas, so nothing harder than snowballs please, you Yankees. And I wanted to make fifty posts for the month in case I die tonight. (I was going to mention those middle aged American women with blue hair who spend the day comfortably ensconced on a florid couch, surrounded by lapdogs and sugary things and watching endless re-runs of TV-shows-from-the-basement, but decided against it. Besides, they’re not exactly unheard of in my country.)