Advertisement
If you have a new account but are having problems posting or verifying your account, please email us on hello@boards.ie for help. Thanks :)
Hello all! Please ensure that you are posting a new thread or question in the appropriate forum. The Feedback forum is overwhelmed with questions that are having to be moved elsewhere. If you need help to verify your account contact hello@boards.ie

Ultimate Biscuit Tournament (Mod Note Post #1 and #984)

Options
1120121123125126135

Comments

  • Posts: 0 [Deleted User]


    Jaffa Cakes.

    I nibble all the way round it till I get to the orange bit. Then I lick the chocolate off it. Then lick and suck at the orange until my tongue gets tired. Then I swallow.


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 9,078 ✭✭✭IAMAMORON


    Jaffa Cakes … because if we all just stick together , if we all just really try, if we all just keep the faith , if we all just hold hope in our hearts, if we all just give it one big everlasting effort … all together ……. we can finally defeat Keith Barry.


  • Moderators, Social & Fun Moderators, Sports Moderators Posts: 51,293 Mod ✭✭✭✭Necro


    cjmc wrote: »
    i vote jaffas

    tenor.gif?itemid=9285159

    Give a reason you poor excuse for a splooge rag or fcuk right off out of here


  • Registered Users Posts: 22,259 ✭✭✭✭Autosport


    Necro wrote: »
    Hot chocolate? Seriously Auto? What are you like 5? :D

    Yea I am :P


  • Registered Users Posts: 332 ✭✭toffeeshel


    Jaffa cake- it’s chocolate and orange and classy


  • Advertisement
  • Registered Users Posts: 101 ✭✭Daithi101


    I nibble all the way round it till I get to the orange bit. Then I lick the chocolate off it. Then lick and suck at the orange until my tongue gets tired. Then I swallow.


    You were asked to vote not detail your average Saturday night in coppers


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 600 ✭✭✭Lil Sally Anne Jnr.


    Jaffa Cakes because I prefer cakes to biscuits.


  • Registered Users Posts: 16,755 ✭✭✭✭Leg End Reject


    Jaffa Cakes.

    I nibble all the way round it till I get to the orange bit. Then I lick the chocolate off it. Then lick and suck at the orange until my tongue gets tired. Then I swallow.

    This is like weird fetish porn ... keep typing.


  • Registered Users Posts: 35,024 ✭✭✭✭Baggly


    I nibble all the way round it till I get to the orange bit. Then I lick the chocolate off it. Then lick and suck at the orange until my tongue gets tired. Then I swallow.


    Keep going.....almost there....


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 12 nomad92


    Jaffa Cakes. Orange and chololate is delish.


  • Advertisement
  • Registered Users Posts: 18,592 ✭✭✭✭The Princess Bride


    Jaffa cakes, because full moon, half moon, total eclipse means orangey chocolatey deliciousness for ne!


  • Registered Users Posts: 26 KoolKluxKlan


    Jaffa Cakes FTW


  • Registered Users Posts: 101 ✭✭Daithi101


    Chocolate hobnobs mainly due to the fact they are actually a fcuking biscuit


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 109 ✭✭IIGeminiII


    Jaffa Cakes. Love that sponge.


  • Registered Users Posts: 22,259 ✭✭✭✭Autosport


    Jaffa Cakes FTW

    And your reason?


  • Moderators, Social & Fun Moderators, Sports Moderators Posts: 51,293 Mod ✭✭✭✭Necro


    Jaffa Cakes FTW

    Like I said to the last flutebag, give a reason or fook off you troglodyte


  • Registered Users Posts: 11,387 ✭✭✭✭Green&Red


    Jaffa cakes because they’re a biscuit


  • Registered Users Posts: 5,777 ✭✭✭Deebles McBeebles


    This is like weird fetish porn ... keep typing.


    Yeah seriously, keep typing.

    Hobnobs because death to Jaffa's!

    Did I just start Troubles 2: Electric Boogaloo?


  • Registered Users Posts: 9,985 ✭✭✭normanoffside


    I’ve thought long and hard about this. While chocolate hobnobs are a nice biscuit I have rarely bought them before.
    I eat loads of Jaffa Cakes and that must say something.

    Vote Jaffa Cakes


  • Registered Users Posts: 390 ✭✭StillThinking


    I'm going to have to go with Chocolate hobnobs. They are great dunkers, have a bit of substance till them and are mega tasty


  • Advertisement
  • Registered Users Posts: 11,387 ✭✭✭✭Green&Red


    Jaffa were 10-1 down, turned it around to 12-14

    Knew all you hob nob c**ts would blow yer load early


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 600 ✭✭✭Lil Sally Anne Jnr.


    3r1xf


  • Registered Users Posts: 4,957 ✭✭✭Liamalone


    Jaffa Cakes because they can fit in my mouth in one go.


  • Registered Users Posts: 16,755 ✭✭✭✭Leg End Reject


    3r1xf

    How sweet, did you make that in big school you fcuking tragic, sagging ball sack.


  • Registered Users Posts: 16,755 ✭✭✭✭Leg End Reject


    Liamalone wrote: »
    Jaffa Cakes because they can fit in my mouth in one go.

    That's not always a good thing Liam, ask dweebs.


  • Registered Users Posts: 4,684 ✭✭✭Pretzill


    Jaffa cakes because they never grow old, just soggy


  • Banned (with Prison Access) Posts: 600 ✭✭✭Lil Sally Anne Jnr.


    Loving the Jaffa Cake fight back.


  • Moderators, Category Moderators, Politics Moderators, Recreation & Hobbies Moderators, Society & Culture Moderators Posts: 81,310 CMod ✭✭✭✭coffee_cake


    Hob nobs because they're oaty and the best


  • Registered Users Posts: 8,986 ✭✭✭Gregor Samsa


    My humble vote is for Chocolate HobNobs.

    I should just leave it at that. I've said some terrible things about Jaffa Cakes in earlier rounds. Untrue things. Things I'm not proud of. But as we end this contest, I feel that I must be straight with you. I should come clean, and bear by soul. And tell you the terrible truth.

    Christmas Eve 1983, we had a happy home and a happy life. I worked as a doctor. My wife and three girls (9,7 and 4 at the time) had everything they wanted. We spent the evening preparing the food for the next-day meal together, singing Christmas songs, surrounded by decorations and treats of all sorts. As was the tradition, at bedtime, the girls hung out their stockings for Santa, and were to leave him a glass of milk and some biscuits. They always squabbled about what biscuits to leave, so we said they could use a plate each. I got a sudden call to say that a long-time patient of mine was dying, so I rushed out to that house in a nearby village, leaving my wife to handle the biscuits and get the excited children to bed.

    The patient unfortunately passed around midnight. I stayed with the family for a short time, then headed home exhausted. I got home to a quiet house. Everyone was wrapped up in bed. Before I headed up myself, I had to put out the presents from Santa. The eldest was getting a bike, the middle girl a pair of rollerblades, and they youngest a Furby. I put the presents under the tree, and started heading to bed. Half way up the stairs, I remembered that I'd forgotten about the milk and biscuits. Obviously I couldn't leave them out, Santa was supposed to have them. So I headed back down and drank the milk and ate the first two biscuits - a Custard Cream and a some kind of chocolate chip cookie, if I remember correctly. The youngest girl had left her plate up on the mantlepiece, so I had to reach to take it down. I took the biscuit to my mouth, and took a bite. Soft base, with dull, tasteless chocolate on top. But what's this goo in the middle? It's not jam, and it's not marmalade. It has the texture of the bits of EvoStick that gather on the nozzle and lid when you leave a tube unused for too long. I dropped the plate and spat. It couldn't be? It is! A Jaffa Cake.

    I had long instilled a strong sense of right and wrong in my children. Obviously, I could not let this stand. If they were bad, they would get a lump of coal from Santa. Everyone knows the rules, right? It was time to enforce the rules. In my panic, I immediately looked for the coal bucket - forgetting that we'd switched to gas heating many years prior. We did have a gas fire, but those little lumps of fake coal would not do. They're too light, and not dirty. It wouldn't send the appropriate message. So had to think. It was 1am on Christmas Day at this point. Where would I get coal? It seemed hopeless. Was my 4 year old to get away with this?

    A revelation came to me. The patient's house had a roaring fire in the very room he lay. I jumped in the car, and sped back though the snowy night, taking the Furby with me to discard in a ditch en-route. The family were still up, grieving over the body. Neighbours had joined them. I burst in to the house, loudly declaring that there was something wrong with the Death Certificate I'd issued - the wrong date, and we had to do it again. Can't it wait, they asked? No, this is serious. I produced the form, and as they reluctantly gathered to sign it, I backed towards the coal scuttle. I reached back and took a large lump, and tried to squeeze it into my pocket. It was too big and I dropped it. Bang! Everyone stopped and looked? What are you doing with the coal, Dr. Samsa? I picked it up and ran, knocking over brooms and bags of cattle feed to thwart them following me.

    At home, I placed the coal under the tree with the bike and the rollerblades, and went to bed. I did not sleep. It was only a couple of hours later that I heard the children get up, giggling. I went down stairs to them. The eldest loved her bike, the middle girl was in the process of lacing up her roller blades. The four-year old was standing in the middle of the floor, tears welling in her eyes, holding the lump of coal. “Why did I get this, Daddy? Where’s my Furby?” she whined. I knelt down to her, and placed my hands on her trembling shoulders. I looked her straight in the eyes. “Santa hates you.” I told her bluntly. “You left him a Jaffa Cake, and now you’re on his bad list forever. Look at the floor. Look at where he spat it in disgust. You ruined Christmas for Santa.” She burst out crying. Screaming. My wife came down to see what the commotion was. I explained, as the child roared. ”Daddy says Santa hates me! I’m a bad girl!”. “Give her the Furby!” my wife kept screaming at me. “She’s only 4! It was only a fúcking Jaffa Cake! GIVE HER THE FÚCKING FURBY!!!”.

    “It’s gone!” I told her with my head in my hands. “It’s all gone!”.

    I slept in the car that night. I tried to go to friends the next night, but my wife had told them what happened, and they wouldn’t let me in. That's repeated itself for everyone I knew. When I reopened the practice the day after Stephen's day, all my patients had cancelled. My receptionist walked out. A couple of weeks later, I got notice from the Medical Council that proceedings were being taken against me for theft from a patient and inappropriate behaviour unbecoming of a Doctor. My licence to practice was suspended. The lease on my surgery was withdrawn. Soon, I had to sell the car, and I was forced to take to the streets.

    I’m rambling now. I’ve drink taken. I roam from town to town, village to village. They’re always welcoming to me, until they hear my story. Then I have to move on. Winter is closing in. I’ve never taken part in one of these food tournaments before, and I’m certain I won’t be around for the next one. The streets are no place for an old man.

    I’m not looking for forgiveness, that ship has long sailed. I’m not looking for charity or pity. But all I ask of you, dear boardsies, it to spare a thought for a man who lost everything standing up for what he believed in. Please don’t let my sacrifice, and the suffering of me and my family be in vein.

    Don't let that cursed four year old be right. Don’t vote for Jaffa Cakes.


  • Advertisement
  • Posts: 0 [Deleted User]


    My humble vote is for Chocolate HobNobs.

    I should just leave it at that. I've said some terrible things about Jaffa Cakes in earlier rounds. Untrue things. Things I'm not proud of. But as we end this contest, I feel that I must be straight with you. I should come clean, and bear by soul. And tell you the terrible truth.

    Christmas Eve 1983, we had a happy home and a happy life. I worked as a doctor. My wife and three girls (9,7 and 4 at the time) had everything they wanted. We spent the evening preparing the food for the next-day meal together, singing Christmas songs, surrounded by decorations and treats of all sorts. As was the tradition, at bedtime, the girls hung out their stockings for Santa, and were to leave him a glass of milk and some biscuits. They always squabbled about what biscuits to leave, so we said they could use a plate each. I got a sudden call to say that a long-time patient of mine was dying, so I rushed out to that house in a nearby village, leaving my wife to handle the biscuits and get the excited children to bed.

    The patient unfortunately passed around midnight. I stayed with the family for a short time, then headed home exhausted. I got home to a quiet house. Everyone was wrapped up in bed. Before I headed up myself, I had to put out the presents from Santa. The eldest was getting a bike, the middle girl a pair of rollerblades, and they youngest a Furby. I put the presents under the tree, and started heading to bed. Half way up the stairs, I remembered that I'd forgotten about the milk and biscuits. Obviously I couldn't leave them out, Santa was supposed to have them. So I headed back down and drank the milk and ate the first two biscuits - a Custard Cream and a some kind of chocolate chip cookie, if I remember correctly. The youngest girl had left her plate up on the mantlepiece, so I had to reach to take it down. I took the biscuit to my mouth, and took a bite. Soft base, with dull, tasteless chocolate on top. But what's this goo in the middle? It's not jam, and it's not marmalade. It has the texture of the bits of EvoStick that gather on the nozzle and lid when you leave a tube unused for too long. I dropped the plate and spat. It couldn't be? It is! A Jaffa Cake.

    I had long instilled a strong sense of right and wrong in my children. Obviously, I could not let this stand. If they were bad, they would get a lump of coal from Santa. Everyone knows the rules, right? It was time to enforce the rules. In my panic, I immediately looked for the coal bucket - forgetting that we'd switched to gas heating many years prior. We did have a gas fire, but those little lumps of fake coal would not do. They're too light, and not dirty. It wouldn't send the appropriate message. So had to think. It was 1am on Christmas Day at this point. Where would I get coal? It seemed hopeless. Was my 4 year old to get away with this?

    A revelation came to me. The patient's house had a roaring fire in the very room he lay. I jumped in the car, and sped back though the snowy night, taking the Furby with me to discard in a ditch en-route. The family were still up, grieving over the body. Neighbours had joined them. I burst in to the house, loudly declaring that there was something wrong with the Death Certificate I'd issued - the wrong date, and we had to do it again. Can't it wait, they asked? No, this is serious. I produced the form, and as they reluctantly gathered to sign it, I backed towards the coal scuttle. I reached back and took a large lump, and tried to squeeze it into my pocket. It was too big and I dropped it. Bang! Everyone stopped and looked? What are you doing with the coal, Dr. Samsa? I picked it up and ran, knocking over brooms and bags of cattle feed to thwart them following me.

    At home, I placed the coal under the tree with the bike and the rollerblades, and went to bed. I did not sleep. It was only a couple of hours later that I heard the children get up, giggling. I went down stairs to them. The eldest loved her bike, the middle girl was in the process of lacing up her roller blades. The four-year old was standing in the middle of the floor, tears welling in her eyes, holding the lump of coal. “Why did I get this, Daddy? Where’s my Furby?” she whined. I knelt down to her, and placed my hands on her trembling shoulders. I looked her straight in the eyes. “Santa hates you.” I told her bluntly. “You left him a Jaffa Cake, and now you’re on his bad list forever. Look at the floor. Look at where he spat it in disgust. You ruined Christmas for Santa.” She burst out crying. Screaming. My wife came down to see what the commotion was. I explained, as the child roared. ”Daddy says Santa hates me! I’m a bad girl!”. “Give her the Furby!” my wife kept screaming at me. “She’s only 4! It was only a fúcking Jaffa Cake! GIVE HER THE FÚCKING FURBY!!!”.

    “It’s gone!” I told her with my head in my hands. “It’s all gone!”.

    I slept in the car that night. I tried to go to friends the next night, but my wife had told them what happened, and they wouldn’t let me in. That's repeated itself for everyone I knew. When I reopened the practice the day after Stephen's day, all my patients had cancelled. My receptionist walked out. A couple of weeks later, I got notice from the Medical Council that proceedings were being taken against me for theft from a patient and inappropriate behaviour unbecoming of a Doctor. My licence to practice was suspended. The lease on my surgery was withdrawn. Soon, I had to sell the car, and I was forced to take to the streets.

    I’m rambling now. I’ve drink taken. I roam from town to town, village to village. They’re always welcoming to me, until they hear my story. Then I have to move on. Winter is closing in. I’ve never taken part in one of these food tournaments before, and I’m certain I won’t be around for the next one. The streets are no place for an old man.

    I’m not looking for forgiveness, that ship has long sailed. I’m not looking for charity or pity. But all I ask of you, dear boardsies, it to spare a thought for a man who lost everything standing up for what he believed in. Please don’t let my sacrifice, and the suffering of me and my family be in vein.

    Don't let that cursed four year old be right. Don’t vote for Jaffa Cakes.

    TLDR


This discussion has been closed.
Advertisement