Cooking tips for twats

An explosive mixture of boredom and gluttony (bluttony) got me thinking the other day. When you've got a hangover, there really is no substitute, at all, to a Full English. The only problem you have here really is the fact that when waking with a hangover, the last thing you want to do is fuck around with the annoying task of actually cooking it.

Here is where the humble greasy spoon comes into its own. I fucking love those places. As a rule you can multiply the amount of minutes you spend in there by 3 and that is the exact number of days chalked from the end of your life. The food is that bad for you.

So what happens if you wake up with a hangover so bad that you find yourself praying to God, despite the fact that you don't actually believe in him, to take the pain from inside your head. There is no way that in this state that you could traverse the disgusting route of getting clothes on and getting to your necessary Valhalla. Would there be some way to make the Breakfast of Champions the night before?

I think I might have cracked it my friends. I gladly present to you this masterpiece:

The Full English Pie



A layer of fried scalloped potatoes, some fried mushrooms, five well cooked sausages, 8 slices of the crispiest bacon and then finally 4 beaten eggs poured into the cracks and left to settle and then topped up again. 30 minutes at 180 celsius and you shall reach salvation.