Lungworm. Can you make a viable soup from them? Discuss
I am still attempting to but it’s not that tasty even with lashings of paprika. I will not, though, be defeated.
Do you gut them before cooking or is it all grist to the mill, so to speak?
No time for gutting Mic. I do slow cook them to ensure that all of the ‘goodness’ remains within the liquor but I’m not sure I would recommend this meat to Heston.
Mmm, I think I know what you mean. I’ve been given a half ton of the little buggers – well they were flung over the rear garden wall sometime during the night, and am thinking of stuffing them with mushrooms, garlic, fatty pate and a smidgin of proper, real toe jam. (I still have some of the proprietary brand of ‘Sweaty Palmer Toe Jam Preserve’ ©™. I’m having trouble finding a suitable funnel though, that’s my main problem today. They’ve got such small mouths – and arses. We’ll see, I suppose.
I wonder if it is worth force feeding the little bastards before dispatching them. Save on the stuffing. Just a thought…
You’ll not believe this: the little f*ckers have formed a circle and are fighting back. I’ve been squirted with some foul smelling fluid as I tried to smear them with brown sauce (non faecal) and when one or two hundred died they got shitty – so to speak. I’ve called the police but they’ve refused to get involved and told me to try worm powder. I didn’t know you could get powdered worms. If I had I’d not have bothered with this rig-ma-role I can tell you. Hang on, some of the little bastards are trying get into the knife drawer, I’d better go.
I am so sorry. I should have warned you about this. A similar thing happened to me some years ago. A group of the little bastards took control of my Kenwood Chef and used it as a weapon against me. I was alone and cornered in the kitchen. Imagine my fear. In the end I distracted them by turning on the radio. Steve Wright In The Afternoon was on. For some reason they all threw themselves into the mixer simultaneously and met their mortal ends. I am certain to this day that some of them had a little smile on their faces. I shall never forget that day…
I’ve only time for a quick note while the Fire Brigade are mopping up and the ambulance men have finally accepted my refusal to go to the local Casualty Department. Richard it was all out war, nothing less. Unbeknownst to me, and hidden by a worm shield they fashioned with their own little repugnant bodies, one of the little f*ckers had burrowed through the keyhole of the knife drawer which I keep locked due to being married, as you’ll no doubt understand, you being in a similar sort of circumstance and what-knot (know what I mean when I put ‘knot’ and not ‘not’?) Anyway a surgically sharp knife was quickly gotted and I was threatened with it, I’ve been up the sharp end before having, as you’ll readily understand, been married before. I had to act decisively or lose my life so, like a Springbok gazelle, I turned a neat pirouette whilst at the same time turning on and igniting the gas ring,
‘Come on then’, I screamed, ‘if you think you’re squidgy enough. Come and get me you furrocking shite bags!’
I uttered this challenge in a high pitched sing-song voice because I knew they’d be infuriated by that and sure enough they were incensed and made a very slow rush, well more of a sludgy, slimy ooze across the work top and, just as I’d planned, straight into the fierce heat of the gas ring where, I’m happy to report, in seconds they were toast!
I was victorious and elated, of course I was; I had vanquished mine enemies in the face of death. That was why I did the arabesque and leapt upwards with such force. It was this action that caused me to puncture the plaster of the ceiling and rupture the gas pipe which feeds the upstairs. The resulting fire has utterly destroyed the kitchen and half of next door’s penguin, though to be honest it never, ever looked happy in my humble opinion. I was severely lacerated by exploding glass and ceramics and have sustained quite painful injuries to my nether regions. I was naked, as I tried to explain to the police (who now were more than happy to get involved) and the firemen, because clothes in a war zone can be constrictive and impede one’s free movements, not recommended when fighting a pitched and seriously deadly battle with lung-worms or other nematodes etc. Happily the end result means I am free of these vicious little bastards and even as the men are smacking me around the arms and buttocks with their rubberised truncheons and wrapping me in a stiff blanket festooned with various straps and buckles and making shushing noise as I struggle to bite them, snapping hungrily at their noses and ears, I am firmly resolved never again to have lung-worm on my menu! I must go now, it seems I have absolutely no choice in the matte…