Wednesday, 10 July 2013

AMERICANS DON'T HAVE A CLUE WHAT TIMBITS ARE

OH, HELLO, IT'S ME AGAIN. MARIE'S DAUGHTER. 
At Langdon Hall. Because I don't know, I just don't feel she sufficiently humiliated me with yesterday's post about Langdon Hall.



I must start off today's blog post with an apology to my American readers. Or is it just reader, singular? I can't really tell but I know Brattus Rattus is reading the HELL out of this blog and calling me out when I fail to post the required minimum photos of Man Candy or when I am culturally insensitive. Which, aside from calling Rihanna a slut and Amanda Bynes crazy, is kind of my specialty.

So what I did yesterday was I assumed that everybody and his dog has heard of Timbits. Because, hello! Timbits! We here in Canada grew up on the goddam things. They're what you bring to every office meeting, every soccer practice, every family picnic, every anything where people are gathered against their will and you know you have to bring something but you don't want to A) cook or B) spend too much, so, here you go: Timbits!

BEHOLD, THE TIMBIT
Ask any Canadian to name one of these bad boys and they will, without fail, pick the chocolate glazed. It's practically a citizenship test.

Except that Brattus Rattus, who is American, or Armenian, or something that starts with an A and ends with an N, (Editor's note: Wait, I know: ALIEN!)  immediately followed up on yesterday's buggering of Langdon Hall with this comment:


What a lovely outing!  I have no idea wtf a timbits is or why you paid that much and no men got naked.  I digress.  However, next year, naked men.

To which I replied:
A million apologies, Brat Rat (you don't mind if I call you Brat Rat, do you?). Allow me to explain. Timbits are what Canada's Paula Deen would serve for every meal, if we had a Paula Deen. Because although they are technically referred to as "donut holes," what they in fact are is greasy, sugary doughballs of diabetes. Which I would totally be fine with if they were served to me by naked men. So yes, next year, Timbits and naked men for my daughter's birthday. But without the Timbits. 
P.S. Consider yourself invited!