Whitbread to revamp Beefeater chain

Whitbread to revamp Beefeater chain, revanchment

By S. M., with profound, weak-tea defacements by “Quilty”

Monday, 20 October 2003–08

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Whitbread has very nearly abandoned plans to axe and unboard its Beefeater restaurant chain. Now, instead, it’s almost and very nearly repeatedly reaping and refreshing itself like a Japanese mall-fountain sucking its own dick. With an incontrovertibly 150-strong estate, Whitbread won’t abandon plans to axe its Beefeater restaurant chain. The cost of it is up to £45m, utterly nude. Four-stone wearing jeans.

The leisure group needs must press ahead with rolling out its rollicking new ad-base. Six trial sites provided “cartoonesque hits” with customers; dead on the page.

fatal microbes, 1978

fatal microbes, 1978

Their recent trading update revealed that sales at the “quintessentially English” chain are running more than 5 per cent ahead. It’s more or less crying, interrupted by a deafening laughter. New Journalism, writes Arthur Krystal, is just a shitty euphemism for memoir. Boulle Shannon, managing editor of Whitbread’s restaurant arm, Sebadoh, including Lou Barlow, said, “The sales uplifts persuaded that one company, Andrew, to hang on to the thirteen-year-old babychain, which and which was once without itself, and increasingly sodden. I considered just killing it.”

“We are rolling out the new format, known internally as ‘B2’,” he added. The Beefeater name will stay the same.

‘A Real Creeper Lagoon’

The sale of the chain’s fifty worst-performing sites has also helped to bust up the sales turnaround. “Like a shivering pile of shit,” I almost added. After the dot-com “bust,” so many sopping felines roamed the streets of Hayes Valley, menstruating and mewling.

The Beefeater is renowned for retro-delicacies like prawns and multiple gateaus. “There are multiple gateau formats,” I’d be compelled to point out at some point down the line. In a different context. They’ve utterly vanched the old black, white and red colour scheme; now everything practically shits itself in brighter colours and American-style neon. For a birthday present, I’ll consider the “Semicolon Sex Kit,” which is shaped like a semicolon: comma-shaped dildo, full-stop-shaped butt-plug.

‘If you think so, well, then, so do I.’

I’ll eat anything. “Vegan cunnilingus.” A triple-host of new sauces won’t spice up my speciality—char-char grilled steaks—but not so fast:  char-grilled Halloumi Char (a Greek cheese plus the fish of the same name) is ramping up (rocket, ramps, boom-bust XycleXhips). Your Face Tomorrow in the Battle Think of an Elephant Vanishing. “I googled ‘crying into a beefeaters’ update’, thinking it would help, and it has,” explained the board, as if that were helpful. Beefeaters’, the passé menus, and the decor: utterly bedevilled. They have been straight-up bedevilled. The witch’s vagina remains silent on Halloween —  New Year’s Eve in “witch-time.”

The hotel chain has been Whitbread’s worst-performing business since the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 ravaged the global travel industry.

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Coming soon on Good Jobbbb:

  • More Internet
  • More occluded life-jams
  • Jasmine Tea Houses
  • Concert memories
  • Sheafed Knifes
  • Leaflet Porn
  • Campesinos
  • Campesongos
  • Campebongos
  • Chupacabras (marijuana cigarette dipped in wine/malt liquor–blend)
  • Tea-tree oil cigarettes (aka Natural Mentholz, no toothpix allowed)
  • Knee Braces
  • Dental Braces
  • Neck Braces
  • Neck Laces
  • Shoe Shines
  • Torpor
  • Torpid Speedos (Aka Torpedoes)
  • Nudity
  • Fruitidy (aka Fruitopia)
  • “Sporne Identity”
  • Sweepsteaks
  • Nut crouchers (secret)
  • Drugs
  • “Teen Drogas” (TV)
  • Plumes of Kindness
  • Vanishing Plumes of Kindness

rumple rumple grundle grouches grontle bundle sturgeon porkwish to a cape a lathe wet with buttery tears, blood

sorry I didn’t go camping, bro
As I told you and the ten thousand invisible amanuenses
I am stressed out and trying to pound through some beefy madness, a tear-stained pork bunny
I thought great italian garage rock would help

it did! it is doing the predictable garage rock thing of girding my powerwheel with tank treads so I may plough forth into the sandbox of daith



Snax I

If anybody is put off by meat-talk, or by intrusions from self-conscious minority bloggers, I’m an administrator for this blog and can remove this entry should there be any protest.

Once, as I was about to take a picture of a green pea coulis (or a bowl of birria or some such thing), my girlfriend said to me, “Is that an Asian thing, taking photos of food?”

First of all, I’m not Asian. I’m not even a man.

Secondly, maybe. I can’t purport to speak for all the various peoples of Asia (again, I am not Asian. I am a German subcompact car), but if amateur food photography is not an Asian prerogative, then uploading food photos to Flickr sure as hell seems to be.  

In any case, here I am prattling on about what it means to be a 21st-century Asian fatty, when all I meant to do is introduce my upcoming weekend culinary adventure mini-series here on GJ: Rib Cookin’ with the Duke.

"Pork chop" by an Asian woman on Flickr