I defy you to spot the difference, hospo kids, between these two tales of horror.
"The army came early in the morning, we were all asleep. They took all my three sons who were at home and did not let me follow them outside; every time I tried to go out they pushed me back. When I was able to go outside, after a couple of hours, I found my boys burning in the street. They had been piled on top of each other and had motorbikes piled on top of them and set on fire. I could not approach their bodies until evening because there was so much shooting."
“They come at me in the night sometimes, those sudden, frightening flashes of horror meals once placed in front of me in all seriousness. The Toorak restaurant that served a "scaloppini Marsala" that looked more like something scooped from a cow paddock and garnished with a sprig of parsley. The beachside joint in South Australia that believed the combination of (half-frozen) prawns, cream and coffee beans was a good idea. Or the once-hatted country restaurant that dished up a pile of stinking, rancid scallops in a room that would be a shoo-in for the most forlorn, draughty and depressing dining room in the world award (dead, just slightly stinking, fire included). But the one that really brings on the silent scream was a meal in suburban Melbourne, the highlight of which was a soggy risotto with (really) smoked salmon, coriander, semi-dried tomatoes and banana. The horror, the horror.”
I sure couldn’t!
If you have sufficiently recovered from the trauma of finding a banana in your risotto (oh noes!) read more about the situation in Syria, with ways you can help here.