Friday, October 31, 2008

A negligent shake off


Don't you hate it when you go the onesie in lav town and tuck Mr O.Fellah back into your PJs and realise with horror that you hadn't shaken the last drop off and it kind of bonanzas into your inner groin area and you get that horrible damp feeling?

Of course you do. Then you have to debate whether you keep wearing your PJ bottoms and accept the dampness or go and change them.

One of the advantages of a big waist line and a propensity to harry high is that you end up with a large groin flap of cloth that extends to twixt balls and knees. So if you do suffer from drop damp it's relatively easy to re-arrange until the damp bit is no longer touching flesh.

A problem not felt is a problem ignored.

Works for right wingers.

The Daily Show for 30 October 2008

You can get to the full ep via the links (see bottom left menu).

Stewart's zinging the Obama 30 minute special (I saw the first 8 mins or so on YT - pretty full on).

I'm paraphrasing here but this is gold.

Stewart - 'The informercial actually opened with waving amber fields of grain. Which presumably makes Obama the president you want to make beer with.'

Holy shit this show is funny. With learnin' and everythink.

Or as theWife would say '... and shit'.

Do you want to know more?

Tonight we watched Starship Troopers 3. It was actually pretty good. Lots of lovely mid-text (as opposed to subtext since they weren't very subtle about it) about fascism, this time with an introduction of some Jesus into the mix. There's this adage that fascism will come to the US in the form of a cross wrapped in the flag - and this movie certainly fit the bill. Great stuff. Except of course some people won't get it and be all like 'rah rah' about shooting 'evil doers' etc as a result of seeing it.

Speaking of fascism and the cross wrapped in a flag, check out this excellent article on the students at the Orwellian named Liberty University, the institution founded by the now fortunately dead "agent of intolerance" Jerry Falwell.

These white teeth cardigan wearing micro Pat Boones are getting the word out about John McCain and the dangers an Obama (cough Antichrist cough) presidency will wreck upon America.

Frankly, it's scary stuff. It's almost as if these fucktards have never actually read about what Jesus did and the message he preached of love and helping other people.

You know what? These Liberty U types are the moneylenders Jesus threw out of his father's temple. Do they honestly think Jesus would think what they're doing and what they believe is what he would want them to?

Here's a taste...

Metallo takes the class through Britain's government structure, at one point explaining how voting rights were gradually widened, and not always for good. "The expansion of the electoral franchise led to the growth of the welfare state," the professor says. "People are able to vote money out of your pocket and into their own." Before dismissing the class, Metallo invites everyone to his house over homecoming weekend for coffee and dessert.

Yes, that's right. Civilization went down hill when they took away the property restrictions on who could vote.

I say again. Fucktards.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Thank gawd for The Daily Show

Even when you feel complete shit, it can still make you laugh.

(hugs monitor)

Let's never fight again.

Fragile - Handle with Indifference

It's my birthday in a few days. But to those in real life no worries on calling/emailing. I think I will have the phone off this hook. This year - just another day. Not really into embracing another year gone to tell the truth.

Though, still fiercely proud of being a Scorpio. Even if it means three fifths of fuck all.

A fine day for a damn good fox po

Maybe it's my impending being transferred, but my ability, or desire, to hold in thoughts as they come to me has lessened of late.

Here's a Whitman's Sampler.

The Mornos. A/boss's wife was asked to get a cake from the Cheesecake Shop. Instead of getting a cake, she got a Cheesecake. A fair mistake given the name of the place it was purchased from.


'Oh no worries man. It's cheese meets cake. Two things - both delish - the hermaphrodite of the cake world. It's like it has bonus genitals.'

Then, for some reason, the topic of Manpower came up.


'Yeah, you know what I discovered? They don't like it when their male fans strip down and try and rush the stage. I mean, how do you manhandle a nearly nude stage invader anyway? What do you grab in order to hustle them off? Arm around the belly?'


Then, later, there was mention of boss+ coming down to hot desk while boss / a/boss+ was on leave.


'Wow, that makes it all sound so sensual. What is he going to be all Vaselined up and hanging out in his office looking all sultry?'

I meant in regards to those fantasy romance photo shoots that some couples spray up big on their homes but I can see why a/boss+ thought I meant more in the lubrication department. Last seen rapidly fleeing from the office.

Then, finally, the topic of Dita Von Tesse's collecting of antique lingerie was mentioned.


'Why would you want to do that? I mean they'd all be musty and yellowed from genital juices.'

Great stuff. Take that workplace that is getting rid of me.

UPDATE: Forgot about this one. J is leaving, and we need a new person to take over her role as am emergency control person. She was going to ask W.


'Oh don't ask W. He has a head like a toothpick. His helmet will just bob all over the place. Er ... what I mean is he's slender. Me? I look like a potato. You could stick artifacts in me!'

That last line was shouted down the work station avenue at W causing much ground hogging from occupants on either side.

The Weekend Australian

I was in the bus on the way home and cast my eye about - as you do. There's advertising on the roof where it slants from the walls.

One was for the Weekend Oz.

It featured some sort of cartoon silhouette of an office type person sitting at a desk with a window behind him. Now I don't know if you're a office drone like moi but to have both a desk - wooden - and a window is a big fucking deal. It means of the office cheese - you are the cheesiest.

In bigness terms.

Anyway, there was a blurb about how real office men who do manly things read the Weekend Oz for the jobs pages - best public sector jobs ads - and therefore one day may get that wooden desk by the window.

The Weekend Oz then made a bold claim. That it was in fact 'The Heart of the Nation.'

What. The. Fuck?!

The Heart of the Nation. Yes, the nation's heart is a business orientated pulpist platform for partisan pundits who have a lamprey like collocation to the bleached ahnus of the Liberal party. Shanahan, Sheridan, Switzer (though he's an ex - and presumably taking jobs for hire as the world's most sought after assassin) et al.

Seriously Weekend Australian. Only sad fucks on this planet would ever confuse your bigoted business embracing corporate shill (generic and specific) presenting as being representative of the Heart of this country. Saying it don't ever make it so.

Nice try.

I would however freely offer up the small intestine if you're still fishing around for bodily organs to link yourselves to.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Two possible titles for my auto-biography

I haven't led a life interesting enough to have an AB, and I suppose if I ever did it would be a moments in time style biog thing akin to Tony Martin's Lolly Scramble, except A) he's funny, B) I am not.

But if I did I have a couple of titles picked out.

Title one - Faeces in Gelato (thanks to the recent tales of woe down Coogee way)
Title two - The boy who cried truth (thanks to desk buddy A)

I think they both work well.

Of course neither's a patch on David O'Doherty's potential book title of Harry Potter and the Da Vinchi Book of Sudoku.

Every couple needs sad music

TheNoo has his own wheezy blaxploitation theme tune, thanks to narrow airways, and therefore his being a fat happy wheezer (according to the Doc). So we should horn in on his act and have our own.

We do in a way. When thwarted by the other person, most likely theWife, I hang my head and walk slowly and sadly off, singing the music from Arrested Development when George Michael did his Charlie Brown walk of sads.

Works well.

When we mock fight I sing the music from that old silent film montage show they used to have on the Afternoon show on the ABC back in the mid 80's.


An email conversation with the boss ... who didn't get it

From: Boss
Sent: Tuesday, 28 October 2008
To: Mikey
Subject: RE: morning tea

Please, please, please bring morning tea, Mikey.

From: Mikey
Sent: Tuesday, 28 October 2008
To: Boss
Subject: RE: morning tea

What about me? It isn't fair - there's a morning tea and I want to bring my share. Can't you see - I ... need ... to ... bring Morning Tea!

From: Boss
Sent: Tuesday, 28 October 2008
To: (staff)
Subject: morning tea

So far all the votes are for self-catering. Here's the menu so far -
Dips and crackers - P
Cakes - M
Pizza thingies - L
Devonshire scones - Boss
Probably one (or two) additional goodies? Or is that enough?


(UPDATE: I have to go get some Mornos now. TheWife offered up the packet of Arrowroot biscuits, no frills no less, from the cupboard. Like the world's most boring biscuit ever. Even more boring than McDonald's cookies).

(UPDATE2: TheWife offered to smear butter on them. Yeah, because that's more palatable. If I'd turned up with an arse with butter smeared on it the arse would more likely be eaten than the arrowroots)


This isn't a post about the awesome M.Night Shyamalan (does anyone else mentally swap out the Black Betty chorus for 'Woah Black Betty, Shyamalan?') film of the same name, though I fully admit it is post worthy as it is indeed, as previously referenced. No, this is a post more about signs - or symbols - in an omen sense.

Not Omen, the creepy movie with Satan's kid, a movie so scary that my older brother who read the novelization of the movie, not having actually seen the movie, burnt the book in the fire because it freaked him out much. But omens in general.

I've touched on this before - that seeing certain symbology means a certain thing in visual semiotics - such as a cross in film typically indicates someone is going to die. It's a human instinct. Our world is visual and symbols are an important part of that. So when nature throws up something by accident that looks like a symbol, we can think that's pretty freaky and a sign of something ominous. Indeed, if it involves the big V the next day heavyset Mediterranean in origin immigrant ladies tend to show up and ooh / ahh fireworks style at the imagery.

Last night I was having tomato soup - which I happily admit is more a cheese delivery system than anything else. I'd bought some cream to swizzle in it - and I like the cream to go in before I dump so much cheese in that the yellow pyramid - much like a fecal mound in a in-train toilet - crests the surface in the manner of a raised dairy themed R'lyeh.

This is what the cream did.

What. The Fuck? I mean seriously nature, what the fuck did I ever to do you apart from, being an Ozzer, having one of the world's larger enviro-damaging footprints?

Oh yeah - there was the Ant Game I had as a kid where I'd lie next to an ant patch in the drive, draw a square, then blast any ant that came into range with a water pistol - but you got me back when I was playing wars and decided to hit the deck by straddling a massive ant patch and having the fuck bitten out of me.

But seriously. I try and avoid magical thinking, be a reasoned person etc. But seeing a near perfect creamy skull bobbing up at you in a liquid that's akin to the colour of blood would likely even make Mr Spock have a momentary supernatural shudder.

On the flip side - the soup - delicious.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

The Love Boat

Mid last year the Bevester sent me the following link about right wing pundit cruises that could be had and enjoyed for the average far righty yank. Basically locked in a metal cocoon and stuck at sea listening to pundits punderise your brains out.


Richard Cohen in the Wash Post has new spin on this.

Here's a taste;

Until two cruise ships steamed up to Alaska two summers ago, the record for the silliest statement by a journalist had been held by Lincoln Steffens, in his time a famous American radical. Sent in 1919 to see how Russia was doing under the communists, Steffens supposedly reported, "I have seen the future, and it works." In 2007, several conservative journalists got off their cruise ships and met Sarah Palin. They saw the present, and she was a babe.

The cruises were sponsored by the National Review and the Weekly Standard, journals of significant influence in conservative circles. The ships disgorged some top conservative editors and writers, who on two occasions were invited at the governor's mansion. Almost to a man, they were thunderstruck.

What followed, once everyone returned to the lower 48, was a gusher of mush -- praise, love notes, sweet nothings and, altogether, the sort of mooning one does not usually hear from the likes of William Kristol, Fred Barnes, Rich Lowry, Dick Morris and my Post colleague Michael Gerson. In short order, important writers set themselves the task, in print and on television, of promoting Palin and, in the process, making perfect asses of themselves. They succeeded at both.

Unbelievable. No wonder the right is in such serious trouble in the US.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Oh please win

Obama's speech at the 2004 Democratic convention.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Jokes we all make - even though they suck arse hair

The classic workplace joke in the Public Service is when you are in the know of some need to know info. And someone asks what it is, you say you can't tell them since they don't have need to know, then they say 'I know, 'cos if you told me, you'd have to kill me.'

No, I wouldn't. But I would like to stomp you in your genitals for making that lame arsed fucked in the head same 'do you come with the car?' level joke that I heard at least 1,000 times in the last 10 years.

Tonight we played Trivial Pursuit - since we'd moved theWife's 'stolen from college when furnishing her first flat' coffee table from theNoo's room into the lounge so he could stand at it and do cute things - and felt it was an ideal opp to play a nice game.

When you're on one of the chip squares, and you roll a 1, you can only go to the same colour.

I couldn't help myself ... I wanted not to ... and in the back of my brain I screamed like possessed people claim they do when their demon / alien / gawd possessed bodies do something they don't want to do ... I actually said 'Green, Green or Green.'


Geddit?! I could only go to the one colour, and yet I stated out loud my possible options! Which were effectively none! Since I had to move, yet no matter where I moved - the same colour!


I deserved to be stomped in the nuts for that.

So from then on, whenever I was in that position, I hooted in a mentally damaged voice a passably articulate rendition of the one colour on offer as a tribute to my crap joking.

Speaking of crap jokes, check out the John Kerry ruins your favourite Jokes CD on this bit of The Daily Show. I swear I nearly popped my uvula it was so funny.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Wiggles Wipes

This is circa 2006, so the Sam transfer has yet to take place, but still - hilarious. Especially if I had photoshopped out 'Toddler Wipes' and all the supportive statements referred to the Wiggles themselves...

Meme to HM

From EC.

Here's the instructions:

A) Answer the questions below. Do a Google Image search with your answer, take a picture from the first page of results and do it with minimal words of explanation.

(I chose no words of explanation)

B) Tag other people to do the same once you’ve finished answering every question.

1. The age you will be on your next birthday:


2. Your favourite place where you want to travel to:

3. Your favourite place:

4. Your favourite food:

5. Your favourite pet:

6. Your favourite colour combination:

7. Your favourite piece of clothing:

8. Your favourite TV show:

9. First name of an important person in your life:

10. The town in which you live:

11. Your first job

12. Your dream job

13. A bad habit you have

14. What you would like to do before you die

Tag outs to Uncle Bruce (you know who you is) and the Grods lads - if they bother that is. They're a bunch of picky cunts and likely won't deign themselves to sully their precious left-fest with such low brow memery.

Woden community fair - an HM post event review

Well it was fun. We were showbagged pretty early on - not like tea-bagging if that's what you're thinking - said showbags filled with promotional giveaways from the various stalls present. Including giant neighbourhood watch stickers you could presumably stick on the street facing wall of your house. Pretty much the equiv of free fishing lures for pederasts I should think given the complete absence of a suitability check for using said stickers in that manner. Good one community policing unit.

The petting zoo was kewl - theNoo clinging to mum more than anything else - but the animals were V friendly. TheWife suggested I should have a feel of the goat to which I then mock shouted 'yes, I will feel up that goat - Buckawowow' ... which went down like a lead balloon.

The funniest thing was that the SES lads, complete with a dude in a Platypus In SES Clobber suit, were standing at the front of the zoo with their white bucket meets coin slit. So people were dropping money in to enter the zoo. Only upon noticing did I see a big sign saying free entry! The SES lads had simply let people assume A+B and loitered with charity inducing intent!

Very sneaky. Very, very sneaky.

Some belly dancers with large bellies then entertained the crowd while I headed to the food row to get a Chicken skewer. I had been singing 'ethnic food, ethnic food - I is going to eat ethnic food' since I had arrived, since the local hyphen Australians often turn up to these things to flog delish from the homeland cuisine. Alas - no Indons or SEA types with chicken Satay. So I was forced to go to the Spanish stall and get said skewer.

When we first moved to Canberra a decade ago we discovered how each suburb had these micro centres made up of an IGA supermarket, typically a video store and/or a restaurant, a hairdressers, and maybe a chemist. And a dodgy greasyspoon take-away. They'd have these skewers for $2 sitting in their warming tray for god knows how many hours, absorbing surrounding fat via osmosis. They were sort of nice, but let's face it artery hardening cholesterol tubes.

The skewer I got, from the "Spanish" stall, was exactly like that. I got half way through it before good sense prevailed and I chucked it. So to get the taste out I went and purchased some dutch pancakes. These look like Yorkshire Puddings or patty cakes - and are cooked open air on hot trays. Then covered with powdered sugar, a syrup of your choice, icecream, and straws. Delish? Well, yes.

However dutch pancake lady undercut the 'talks for itself qualities' of her merchandise when she squirted a dead ant from the maple syrup nozzle on to my pancake array, made a yuck noise, then removed the dead ant via her piercing skewer.

Still, they were nice. But the chicken was festering in my belly so I only hate a few before alas that also got chucked due to the unsettled tum.

We hung out at the little park as theNoo went down the slide (with mummy holding) which he seemed to enjoy. Then back to the car for home.

As we reached the carpark I saw one car had a back window sticker that said "Protected by Angels."

I thought this would be an awesome skit


(Ext) Carpark, day.

CRIM approaches a car that has a 'Protected by Angels' sticker on it. CRIM snorts at sticker. The CRIM goes to the passenger window and feeds down his tool between the window and doorframe. Suddenly holy discordant music fills the air. The CRIM staggers back holding his ears. Blood pours from his ears and the car windows explode, the frames buckling. The CRIM disappears with a wet splat, seemingly exploding into a shower of raw meat. Smoke wisps from a splodge of CRIM sausage on the ground. FATHER, MOTHER, SON, DAUGHTER arrive.

FATHER: Look kids, an angel of the Lord came down and smote someone trying to break into our car.

SON/DAUGHTER high five


MOTHER, with winsome smile, shakes her head.

FATHER: Hey kids, let's celebrate with milkshakes!

SON: Can they be Vanilla?!

FATHER: Is there any other kind?

Next shot is of them sitting in their window missing frame buckled car singing, shaking their heads side to side in unison, singing a pleasing Christian ditty.

Well it made me laugh. I tried telling theWife my idea and she wouldn't look at me. So I kept chanting 'look at me look at me look at me' until she did then gave her a power thumbs up.

She laughed.

Ergo, I won.

It's a guy thing.

Bush endorses the heck out of Palin and McCain

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Area russian a level jumper

In Australia there are grades of friendship. Babysitting kids, helping move house, pickup or drop off at the airport usually means you're pretty good friends. Like on a call for a chat just for the hell of it level.

Which is a good thing. But it doesn't just happen. You don't go from 'Gidday' to agreeing to go around every 2nd day to feed their pets when they're away. It just does not happen. It takes years of socialising.

Maybe it's an Oz thing? Maybe in other parts of the world then asking for these things, or expecting an offer from a friend when they know you're in need, happens earlier on in a friendship?

Perhaps that's the case in Russia? Someone once told me in Russia friends often walk hand in hand and go the lip on lip kiss - no matter what sex or sexuality they are. In Oz, well, that would not happen. As I proved at work today when I hugged P, you have to hit when you hug if it's a dude. Any lingering means you want to see them in lingerie.

Tonight I got an offer. From Lena. I'll let her tell her own story.

Greetings from Russia to you dear friend!!!
I hope, that this letter will cause you interest.
It is possible this letter will change our destinies... I ask you to give some minutes and to read my history.
For the First! This letter from agency of dating of the internet.
I have given them this letter and to me has told, that they will send it to the Australia.
My name - Elena. I - from Russia, Saint Petersburg.
I'm - 27 years old woman. My Birthday July, 10 1981.
I want to tell you that was happened with me. Some time ago I have got acquainted through Internet with the man. His name is John from Sidney. We began to correspond with each other. Shortly we had sympathies to each other. I would not tell that it there was a love, but the sympathy was big. We have thought that our relations should leave on a new stage and both wished a meeting. I have collected all necessary documents, and in November I receive the visa.
But that there was further it awfully. John has written to me that is not ready to serious relations with me and would not want that I came.
It has very strongly shaken me, I did not expect that he can do it... I cried and did not know what to do, I was deceived.
I want to forget this awful liar faster. And to use the chance which has dropped out to me.

The purpose of my letter: I shall receive the Visa of the Visitor of the Australia on November.
I want to arrive to the Australia, but I have no any friends or familiar who can meet me on airport. I really hope, that you can do it for me.

But if you will answer to me I will write more about me and about my life.
Probably we can develop our relations also.

So, please, write to me on my personal E-mail:

I hope, that you will have interest after reading my letter.
Also I have interest too. Please inform me:
1 - your name?
2 - your city?
3 - your age?
4 - to send me your photo also?
5 - would you like to meet the woman for love?

Ok, I will close for now, but I will wait your answer so much!!!
I really hope that you will give me chance to have meeting!!!
Waiting for your answer,
Yours friend Elena from Russia.

Lena, lena, lena. Or rather Elena. Or rather Ollie Call [], since that's the email address you used.

You're a very pretty woman. And your broken English laced story of woe saddens me. Clearly you have been fucked around.

But I don't know you - hell this is the first time we've talked.

So I will burn my cock off before I meet you at the airport, you level jumping bitch.

Who the fuck do you think you are? Keith Hernandez?

Two steps forward, one step back

Today was like that. I think a few things have landed at once and it's been hard to deal with. It's especially hard when your first instinct is to simply go into a room, shut the door, and be by yourself in order to get over it. If you can that is. Trouble with depression is people don't know whether to leave you alone or not. And you can give off mixed signals. Kind of like a dog that was never trained that barks all day 'come here go away come here go away.' And when you're depressed your ability to empathise, to care about how others are feeling, gets reduced. You do still care, it's just that your showing it becomes almost muted. Which is not fun to be near.

I dunno. Could be talking out my arse. Some days it's like you're in a fog. Just ... drifting. This well of sad pain sitting in your gut. Almost like that nagging I'm in trouble feeling you get - or you forgot to do something. You're unsettled. Then you remember why.

Getting sad when your older is like being injured when you're older. It seems harder to bounce back. Maybe it's because when you're younger all that possibility of the future is so rich that you can easily see yourself as being happier. When you're older ... reality says no.


Anyway, that's pretty maudlin. To The Daily Show! That always perks me up.

Happy Birthday Mate

I still can't believe you're holding in there.

You're like a Timex. Take a licking, keep on ticking.

Well there you go

Yes, I am watching Make Me a Supermodel. It's like a fucking car crash that you rubberneck as you drive past. You can't but not watch.

They just showed one of the 'sculpting techniques' used in the trade - specifically lads modelling underdaks and how to make the package beneath look better.

Turns out they pad out the area ... with sliced bread. Seriously. Bread. Not sure how - wrapped around the cock maybe?

Anyway, Spinal Tap eat your heart out.

Holy snapping duckshit

I know politics is an expensive game. And when you're out and about at meet and greets, with cameras present, you have to look your best. And I know also that female politicians also have that issue about appearing in the same outfit because snarky fashionistas will belittle them for doing so ("she wore than 43 days ago! What a cunt!") - much like they did with Theresa Ryan when she was doing the PM wife thing last time in the public eye.

However, given the Republicans sheer delight in outing John Edwards as a rich Liberal prick because he dared to both give a shit about the poor and experience a $400 haircut, the hypocrisy of them is especially hilarious given that Palin has had $150,000 spent on styling.

That's right. In US dollars. 150k.

Here's what Guy Rundle of Crikey said about it

"Nevertheless, it was the Chequers speech compared to Sarah Palin. My God, that woman has been the greatest single disaster for the McCain campaign bar ... anything. Anything. She is now, at around 40%, the single greatest reason why independent voters will not vote for John McCain, way ahead of McCain's "approach to the economy". And that was before recent revelations that she had rorted government spending to get travel for her kids (including five days in an NY hotel for her daughter Bristol, while Governor Palin was on a one-day visit to the city), and that the RNC had spent a hundred and fifty grand on clothes for her.

The hundred and fifty grand tells you all you need to know about the McCain campaign. Obviously a female candidate has to have a bit of money spent on her, and always look first rate -- but a hundred and fifty Gs? For eight weeks? Thirty, forty -- more than a year's income for a quarter of the US population -- yes, but 150 large is a measure of the standards of the sort of people McCain has surrounded himself with, the inner-circle Republicans, who've never been able to craft a winning strategy because, deep down, they've never really understood how most Americans live. "

Seriously. How the fuck can the Republicans, who have seemingly cast themselves as the protector of the battler Joe the Plumber (to the extent that according to Rundle you can download art for your lawn to make a sign that lets you indicate your first name and profession and therefore show support of McCain), have been caught spending 150k on Palin's outfits. Esp given she makes less than that a year as governor.

It's especially galling because McCain is getting public funding for his campaign. As much as he bleats about accepting funding - and damning Obama for not - I doubt he would have got much more - as as much - given the current anti GOP feelings in the states at the moment.

Palin. Her story just keeps getting better.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Socialists - the new scare

Over in yank land the repubs are getting desperate. So much so they are reviving the reds under the beds. Well - the pinks in the banks I suppose since socialism is lighter in hue than communism and it's to do with money. Check out this wash post article here.

I read a recent forum post about Palin. When she became governor she increased the bonus cheque - the oil dividend that was taxed from companies - up to around $3200 per Alaskan. Presumably this was passed on to the consumer through prices and so forth.

As a poster pointed out how much more socialist can you get than direct taxing corporate profits and giving it - as cash - straight back to the poor punters?!

The mind fucking boggles at the crap spewed forth from righty land.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The "Opportunity"

Today I was told that later that morning there would be a meeting. A meeting involving acting boss+ (who is really my boss), the actual boss+, and the boss++.

A meeting with me ... to discuss ... an "opportunity".

Now, I don't know about you lot, but I have worked in the white collar world some 10+ years. And I know spin. And I know that the O word is oft used to disguise, much like glitter on a turd, something unpleasant.

So naturally I started freaking out. Like Homer in the Land of Chocolate Episode.

Horst: Homer, could we have a word with you?
Homer: No.
Horst: I must have phrased that badly. My English is how you say...inelegant. I meant to say may we have a brief, friendly chat?
Homer: No!
Horst: Once again I have failed. (Reading from a German-English phrasebook) We request the pleasure of your company for a free exchange of ideas.
Homer: (Yelling) No!

Yep, pretty much like that. Acting boss tried to talk up the O part, including gesticulations at photos of my child with advice along the lines of 'you need to embrace the O ... for him.'

Anyway, I headed into said meeting with trepidation. Needless to say my spider sense tingle went up a notch when they closed the door (never a good sign in the office environment).

The end result was that they'd had a think about my role in the org and decided my role didn't belong to them.

So ... I've been traded. Me, my job, the stuff I need to do the job, gets uplifted, moved within the agency, and dropped like a bastard baby in a basket at someone else's doorstep. They offered to let me stay, but the job I love would go without me. The stuff that remains in the current workplace is all boring arsed policy reporting time business, so no thanks to that.

In the new year I start over thar.

The worst thing is am no longer working with A, my awesome co-worker who shares the same leftist tinge as moi, and will happily co-rant about fucked things right wingers do. He's good value. Probably one of the best people I've ever had the pleasure to work with in my time in the workforce. I will also be working with unknown types, and I have a feeling that despite my mid 30's status, I will be one of the younger people there.

I will also have to walk to the shops to catch the bus in the morning :( - which means less sleep for me. Yar boo sucks the hairy hun on that one.

But ... the stupid thing is. Way back when boss+ was here I had told him that in reality my job belonged elsewhere. And after percolating that idea, he activated it. And I bet my shiny fucking unlost groat that he dressed it up as his idea.

Well ... these things happen. What can you do? My agency is spread across a couple of different localities. I have never, until now, worked anywhere but the place I work. So it's a different environ for me.

I hope I swim and not sink.

On a side note I discovered something that amused me. Buckwheat, my Neanderthalish baby with the one eyebrow from a year or so past, has moved sections herself. Buckwheat has issues with people who are not of her anglo culture and/or sexuality.

She's now working in the personnel area... in minority recruitment.

Tee hee hee

End result is - of course - it was not an opportunity. I mean there was "choice" in what they were offering, but an opportunity is a positive thing. Not a sideways lateral transfer.

Oh - just remembered another bad thing about the move. My filing in the past X years has consisted of opening a cupboard, chucking paper in it, then slamming the door before it cascaded back out. I will have to file it properly before I go.


A word string never before encountered on the inter-web

Garlic rimmed glory hole.

Does it exist?!


I rule intensive care.

Monday, October 20, 2008


I was photocopying a big fattie of a doc*, and reading my Sunday Times, when I came across an ad for Westpac that proudly declared you could 'SAVE WITH CONFIDENCE'.

I showed it to L, the woman whose odor I insulted last week, and as she was leaving said 'I don't know about you, but when I see CONFIDENCE in an ad I assume it's for a hygiene product.'

Just as Boss++ walked in ...

So I lamely added ... 'Um ... maybe I should keep that thought to myself.'

Today we had Outlook issues. Emails went off without fucking text in it. When I re-sent then the attachments didn't go. I ended up recalling and resending the fucking email four times. It made me look like one of those people hired under a special assistance program.

At one point I was seeking volunteers to light up torches - the flaming kind - and assemble mob style and descend on the IT building.

*UPDATE: Dear office drones like me. Don't you fucking hate it when you fail to take out all the staples before you stick a doc in the feeder?! R-I-I-I-I-P - grindgrindgrind. Stupid me.

Take that into your back face

Colin Powell Endorses Barack Obama for President

Colin Powell today became the most prominent Republican to endorse Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama, crossing party lines to declare Obama a "transformational" figure who would "electrify our country....and the world."

For the rest of the article go here.

Area baby is horrified to discover he is a nerd

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Random notes from just before boodles

In my girl pajamas, when sans shirt I feel like one of those Victorian era boxers that would stand there circling their fists vigorously before advancing and pounding the snot out of their opponent while neglecting to avoid being hit.

Like this guy.

In case you're wondering RE Boodles - it's couple-shorthand for Beddy Boodles for Little Poodles - an inter-relationship announcement of an intention to retire for the evening. And why girl PJ's? Two words - cock hole.


Don't you hate it when your baby works out that the noisy toy's hideously jangling 'Here we go round the big red barn ...' chorus will re-start if he keeps pressing the button ...

I know, I could resolve it by taking out the batteries but well he did learn to do it so good for him.

Stupid noisy toys. What's wrong with the fucking paddle with the ball attached on the stretchy string we had when we was kids!

We was lucky to even have that!

And so forth.

SNL Goodness - the 90s and Normie

Saturday, October 18, 2008

McCain finally called on Liddy

McCain has finally had his long association with the Ming the Merciless of right wing talk back radio, G Gordon Liddy, called out. Someone in the media has directly asked him about it and demanded a response.

Who? Was it Katie Couric? Was it Hannity? O'Reilly perhaps.

No ...

Dave Letterman. You know, the late night variety comedic talkshow host.

Go Dave.

McCain Palin racking up endorsements from corporate cartoon characters

While the Obama / Biden ticket is winning the war of newspaper endorsements, around 51 to 16 at this stage, the GOP presidential candidates are victorious on another front: Corporate cartoon endorsements.

'McCain Palin are much like caricatures,' said enthusiastic GOP publicity shill Melanie Gapinghole, on leave from Fox where she bobs up and down like one of those plastic spring head thingies in the back window of cars. 'And as such can easily be read by ordinary Americans like Joe Six Pack and Jane Winebox. In this complex day and age, Americans are too busy supporting America by watching Fox on their oversized energy draining TV's than to peruse political policy statements that inevitably point out that soaking in debt is likely a bad thing. So they're looking to ease their burden. Crusty old shaky man grandfather with bright eyed gun toting sexy grand daughter, with a kind of will they won't they tinge, is just what your average American needs right now in order to avoid thinking about the issues.'

'Also, with cheap food providing both comfort and sustience, troubled times means more fast food is eaten,' she added. 'And the GOP stand for troubled times. And of course corporations.'

The latest corporate cartoon endorsement for McCain Palin has come from the McDonald's corporation icon, the Hamburglar. The stripped and masked identity indicating his support by fronting a recent rally.

'Robble robble robble robble,' declared the Hamburglar, angrily denouncing the Democratic party as being bad for the brain, adding 'Robble robble robble Hussein robble.' - placing direct emphasis on the Democrat's middle name.

Crazy McCain Palin rally lady, trucked in especially for the occasion, said that Obama would have an all black cabinet and the lights would have to be left on all the time in the Whitehouse because otherwise you couldn't see them in the dark.

'Also he's a Muslim,' she added. 'And Arab. And spent 20 years in a Christian church listening to that Wright fellow go on about the white man.'

When Crazy McCain Palin Rally lady was informed that Obama would hardly be both a Muslim and attend a Christian church for 20 years her brain blue screened and she had to be re-set.

Friday, October 17, 2008

A technical term

As you may be aware, the medical profession, like all technical professions, embrace jargon. Which we the public experience courtesy of medical shows like ER and House.

In addition to latiny this and organy that, they have more run of the mill descriptives they like to annotate with. Such as the acronym DFO ("Drunk, fell over"). Hilarious stuff. In fact - check out this website for more.

TheWife took TheNoo for a check up with the pediatrician. TheNoo was born small, and will likely be short. He's also quite raspy in the chest - irrespective of whether he has a cold or not. However he's quite energetic as well. The doc explained that theNoo has a small chest so the rasp is a function of narrower airways. It doesn't mean he has trouble breathing though. Just that he's accompanied by his own biological equivalent of 70's blaxploitation hero theme music.

The Doc said we shouldn't worry, and that theNoo was in a common category of children.

'What's that?' asked theWife.

'Well ... he's a fat happy wheezer,' said the doc.

Kewl. What an awesome DJ name.

Cough ... coughcough

I was in the local chemist when I noticed they had one of those big signs saying X number of cents per Nurofen pack sold went to prostate cancer research.

Highly commendable.

Anyway, as I was having my script processed I nonchalantly mentioned that I thought nurofens were taken orally.

Huh? responded chem woman.

'You know,' I said pointing at the sign. 'Cos' I think it would hurt going in the other way.'

'Oh no,' she said. 'It is orally. That's just money going for research. It doesn't mean nurofen is taken ... er ... that way.'

I kill me. Still, I was laughing (in my head). And in the end, isn't that the most important thing?

Remedial Massages

So what ... would that make it a therapeutic ending?

Second wind - weeeeeeeeee -

- eeeeeeeeeeee

Normally I don't have caffeine after six 'cos it will fuck up my ability to sleep.

When I got home tonight I had three diet cokes.

Area sleep ... fucked up.

Still, I am watching Colbert / DS goodness so it's productive.

I once saw this comedian talking about how awesome you felt at 1 in the morning ... then how shit you felt when you woke up. So, so, true.

Clever move hopalong

The other day theWife and I were entertaining theNoo, via abstract playing, when we found this suction thingy (the end off an aspirator I think). We found if you pressed in the rubber end to expel air, stuck it against your flesh, then let vacuum do all the sticking to work upon release, it proved to be an excellent humorous blue face growth.

TheNoo, delighted, reached up to pull it from our face(s). Then, hilariously, would try and stick it to himself without any luck (since the mysteries of vacuum was unknown to him and he failed to press in the rubber).

It was only until the next morning, as I looked at myself in the mirror whilst brushing teeth pre-work leaving, that I noticed I had given myself hickey marks all over my forehead...

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Five stages

Apparently grief has five stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance. When I asked a counsellor about it so many moons ago (I am scared to go back), I asked about how long you're supposed to be in each stage. She said it varied. Not only that - you can flit back and forth!

How fucked is that?

So pill companies. How about a five stages pill. You take it, then experience all the four nasty stages - Homer ate the blowfish style - in a minute. Then ... acceptance!

Yes, yes, I know. Grief is part of the rich tapestry of life. Only we, and well most mammals, feel it. Of course we're the only ones that have a self help industry. I never saw a 800 lb mountain gorilla perusing the Dymocks SH section and looking for 'So your mate was made into bush meat; get over it' style tome. Of course, should an 800 lb gorilla enter a Dymocks, well that's his prerogative. Apparently they can go wherever they want.

So okay, you copped a massive, massive fucking grief hit. But when you're in those stages all you want to do is reach the end point of acceptance. I mean ... fuck the rich tapestry. Seriously, that bites the fat one. With hair in it. Ashtray style.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind is an awesome flick. I can't be fucked linking to it - but see it. SPOILER - the main concept is of course creative noggin tinkering is on offer for those who want to scrub painful memories from their mind.

When I saw it, I was all like 'but ... rich tapestry! Won't someone think of the rich tapestry!?'

Now ... well I can see how someone embroiled in grief would take such an option. You know those amnesiacs who get the 'can't remember X years of their old life' and think they are really Y-X years old? I bet the grief laden envy that sometimes.

On a side note, today I was told by the next tier up from me emergency warden person he was transferring out. So would I take his place. I said yes. Apparently, He man style, I have the power to evacuate chunks of the building during an emergency.


Do ... chicks dig saps that don't take a step back and avoid "volunteering" for the no-extra-pay-extra-work-people-hate-you-when-you-do-it inter office jobs like this?

I bet they do ... the saucy minxes!

This barely coherent stream of consciousness post was bought to you by 12, 6, B, and an apricot.

Oh - mash ups. Do they work for jokes?

The pope and a rabbit are taking a shit in the woods. The pope turns to the rabbit and asks, "Mr Rabbit, do you ever have trouble with shit sticking to your fur?" The rabbit replies, "Why, no, your holiness!" So the pope picks up the rabbit and wipes his ass with it.

'Cos ... the pope has a really hairy ring.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

Make me a super model

Models help people. They make them feel good about themselves. They also show them how to dress cool... and wear their hair in interesting ways.


Derek - So why male models?

J.P. Prewitt - Think about it, Derek. Male models are genetically constructed to become assassins... They're in peak physical condition... They can gain entry to the most secure places in the world. And most important of all, models don't think for themselves. They do as they're told.

Derek - That is not true.

J.P. Prewitt - Yes it is, Derek.

Derek - Yeah.

J.P. Prewitt - Think about any photo shoot you've ever been on.

(Flashback of Photographer screaming "You're a monkey, Derek! Dance, monkey, in your little spangly shoes! Mash your cymbals, chimpy! Dance, Derek, dance!")

Derek - Good point. But if this has been going on for so long, Mugatu...

J.P. Prewitt -
He's just a punk-ass errand boy... working for an international syndicate of fashion designers. You do a little background check on your Mr. Mugatu. You'll find he sold his soul to the devil for a shot at the big time.

Derek - But why male models?

J.P. Prewitt - Are you serious? I just... I just told you that a moment ago.

Derek - Right.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Speaking of Fox Pos

I was at a colleague's desk when I noticed she had on her drawers a spanking new potted lavender plant.

So I asked 'What's that for?'

She said E and J had given it to her. Before she could complete the reason why, I cut her off and presented my own theory.

'Oh,' I said, nodding with faux concern. 'Is it 'cos you smell?'

Ho ho.

She looked at me, a little sadly.

'Actually no. My dog got put down.'

She then pointed to a fucking picture of Santa Claus, with an Xmas theme clad costumed dog balanced on each knee, indicating the deceased was the cutie white furred one on the left.

Ho ho indeed. I challenge anyone to top that for Office place fox pos.

UPDATE: She has a great sense of humour. She forgave me.

UPDATE 2: I ran with breathless joy to share my Fox Po with colleague W. Half way through the story he was confused. I asked him why. 'Um, what's a lavender plan?' Yes, he heard plan. Completely ruined my tale telling. What did he expect? A descriptive of a lilac flanking manuever to the left?

A kewl term as heard in the workplace

My colleague L is awesome value. Earthy ladette with a wicked sense of humour. She was describing an impending Xmas with the parents with the new boyf in tow.

She said 'P will have to have his patience pants on' during the visit.

Patience pants! I had never heard that term before. Area term, duly embraced.


I am gross. Well, gross in size yes. But gross in conduct as well - on occasion. However I am biologically enhanced in that area. Is it my fault all of my toe nails can be easily ripped out? No, of course not. And is it my conscious effort to be as phlegmy as I am? No.

So I honk up goobs. Most of the time, honked harmlessly in the shower and left to slide with grace down water slicked tile to embrace mother earth via the drain.

See how I green washed that? Ha - green washed. Snot. I kill me.

On occasion, alas, I do honk up goobs outside of a watery washable away environ. Like today, in transit from bus stop to work door.

I honked ... and got blowback. The wind blew it straight against my pocket.

So naturally when I arrived I went to register my disgust with P, a co-worker from across the way.

'Hey P, don't you hate it when you honk up a goob and it blowbacks onto your shirt. Look, it left a stain!'

Needless to say, that little number rippled across the audible area of the local work station corrals and probably annoyed more than one person.

Open mouth, insert foot.

McCain and Liddy, sitting in a tree...

As numerous forum posters and bloggers have pointed out, McCain's relationship with the world's most sinister baldy and former treasonous western rightie, G Gordon Liddy (the G stands for Great!), is far more troubling that Obama's hanging with Bill Ayers.

Check out Carl Bernstein's article in the Huff Post here.

Not only did McCain not repudiate Liddy's views, which including offering advice on where to shoot federal agents should they invade your house, he said the following;

'Well, you know, I'm proud of you. I'm proud of your family. I'm proud to know your son, Tom, who's a great and wonderful guy. And it's always a pleasure for me to come on your program, Gordon. And congratulations on your continued success and adherence to the principles and philosophies that keep our nation great.'

Wow. If Obama had said that of Ayers ... well ... there would be fucking T-Shirts on the genetically suspect at Rallies, likely waving toy monkeys around that have Obama bumper stickers on them as head bands.

Oh wait, the latter has already happened ...

God bless America.

PS The over fed white man who performed this tasteful act fully looks like the sort of man who'd spend his retirement years gazing wistfully from his windowless van at the primary school playground across the road.

Spam Goodness

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Yes, that's right. Aas Inc ...

Monday, October 13, 2008

Cover bands

What would a cover band of The Pretenders be called?

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Just took one for the team

TheNoo's been a bit of a vomit boy of late. Unfortunately when he gets a bit fluie, he coughs and this triggers his reflex.

He woke, and since he's been firing liquid from the south end, I checked his nappy. I foolishly gave him a bottle at the same time.

He started purpling and gagging. So with a heavy heart I braced him against the shoulder ... and let him spew all down my back.

Tonight's flavour and consistency was ... yellow clag. Gross. So loud was his vomiting he awoke the sickened wife who, thank gawd, came out to commence triage.

Vomit. It's the worst part of regular baby care issues. I can handle shit - though today's effort was gag worthy. Tears and hysteria are likewise able to be handled - even if they are tough to handle.

But the vomit ... dear gawd ... it's horrible, every time.

Fox News - still pulling it for all they're worth

I just caught the 'What's on at Fox News' montage on the Daily Show (9 October), where the response of 'Fair and Balanced' Fox was to splice in footage of some country yokel inbred fuckstick bleating about drilling here, drilling now, and fanning the non existent flames of the over-scrutinized Bill Ayers issue. Much focus on the Wall Street meltdown, which Faux in part assisted with their pro-business ideology?

Er, no.

How do you people at Fox live with yourselves? Seriously? Do you look in the mirror at night and revile yourselves? How could you not?

Thank the fates that your ratings are starting to slide as people see you for what you are.

Except that is amongst those small people in small towns with their guns and hyper allegiance to religion - which is somewhat ironic given Christ would likely have nothing to do with them.

He Man

If you were a kid in the west in the 80's you knew of and likely enjoyed He Man and the Masters of the Universe. Some of us were even lucky enough to have the action figures and/or playsets. Some of us were unlucky enough to have a dad who deemed the net in snake mountain as too loose and cut it in half meaning it no longer worked properly (not me, Beve).

The action figures sucked balls. They were not balanced for standing unless you had their arse poking out and the figure partially bent over like the mid way point of a clean and jerk (have I got that right body builder fans?)

Here's a YT of the opening theme.

I super love the line 'Fabulous secret powers were revealed to me the day I held aloft my magic sword and said by the power of Greyskull.' Just loaded with lots of lovely subtext that. Especially being prefaced with "fabulous".

I also especially love this comment on the YT theme.

I was a skinny under-eater when i was a kid thanks to HE-MAN I began eating my vegetables and drinking milk. I used to shout "I have the POWER!" before meals.

Who am I to criticise? I used to dance to the Four Corners theme music...

PS My favourite character was Skeletor. And also, Evil Lynn fully looked like an aerobics instructor.

The Breech

Parents of babies know what I am talking about.

Man, that was the worst one yet. It was all over his groin. Like muddy underpants. I woke theWife up when I kept shrieking 'Oh my god ... it's shit!'

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Magic books

As an avid reader all my life, and having been deemed a fringe dweller in school, books were my friends. Yes, I was pretty much Bastian from Never Ending Story - except for the kewl bits.

There were book series that were magic to me. That sucked me in into their worlds, and I'd spend many happy hours reading.

Raymond Feist's Magician series - when I was older is one such series of books.

But the stand out for me was David and Leigh Eddings' series the Belgariad.

I believe at several points I actually air punched at the good bits. They were that good. And I'd read them again and still love them.

The good thing about books is, unlike TV you watched as a kid, by and large the books are still good. If you watch the A-Team now you can't but want to yell 'SHOOT STRAIGHT YOU BASTARDS' at the TV.

Or my name isn't Edward Woodward.

Friday, October 10, 2008

What happens when they run out of days?

I noticed that today is apparently "Black Friday" for world stock markets. Monday was also labeled black. The '87 crash was a Black Monday back then too. How can they double up? Do they have to quote the year after it? Black Monday '87 (that was a fucked year)? Why can't they use other colours? Why can't they use the pattern fill from microsoft office? How about Diamond Patten Tuesday or Hash Marks Wednesday? Or Sorta-looks-like-golf-balls mid-Thursday?

Come on economists. I know being creative, unless it's how to pretend what you're doing is valid, is not your thing. But labelling every super bad day 'Black' is confusing and stupid. It's like adding the word 'Gate' as a suffix to a scandal. Like Igaunagate or Troopergate.

You make the world poorer for your bland choices.

UPDATE: Hang on, it's not brokers that name these things. It's the media - and they're the arse-hats that stick gate on the end of every fucking thing like they're fucking smurfs. Media! I blame you!

Trough moments

When you're battling the sads, you can have trough moments. Moments - minutes - hell hours of acute apparently unending despair. Wailing, cursing yourself and others, walking funny because you're so emotionally wrought - the whole nine yards. Then ... you start to pick up and this utter blackness lightens back to a dull grey.

I can see why people take their lives when they're in the trough. I read A Long Way Down a little while back, a Nick Hornby classic. The premise was four people bumping into each other at a popular drop off for those seeking an exit, then deciding to go to a party instead. The book ended (SPOILER) with no dramatic reversals of fortune but at least a decision amongst the four that you're better off still playing the game in the hope of it getting better, than taking your bat and ball and fucking off home.

Trough moments suck. And at the lowest point you can still be rational as the tears are coursing down your cheeks. Almost like you're stepping out of your mind for a second and you ask yourself what the fuck is going on in there.

It bites the big one. Those grappling with it, you have my understanding and my sympathy. I give you a big e-hug. Also, I wear deodorant, so my hug isn't accompanied by that unpleasant sweaty tang that chubbos can flare off when they lock arms around ya.

I'm a fan of hugs. But, if you're a dude, I have to slap you a couple of times. As Dr Katz wisely once noted 'I'm hugging ya ... but I'm hitting ya' - which means it's not gay*

*Not that there's anything wrong with it. Just that I'm not. Enjoy the boat you chose to float in, there's no judgment from me. Rock it into the tasty groove my gay brothers (and sisters).

K-Tel doco on SBS

It's on now, examining the past of K-Tel - the ubiquitous proto-Reject shop of the 60s to 80s.

They showed the hair care set.

Oh. My. Gawd.

That horrible hair care set was the thing my mum used to cut my hair from when I was 11 through 16. These hideous cut throat razor blade things with a plastic comb on the end that you scraped through the hair, effectively thinning and pulling it out all at the same time. Pretty much the accompanying sound effect to each 'yank' was 'ow.'

Wow. What a memory. No wonder I loathe having my hair cut. I'm like Bart seeing the cupcake and going fetal.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Gross out chasies

Guys never really grow out of chasing girls around whilst in the possession of a gross out. Well, I never did.

I am still recovering from being sick. So still pretty snotty. I got one of those stupid blocked noses where if you close off a nostril and blow, some snot comes flaring out. But, if you don't pinch it off, it gets sucked back in.

TheWife hated the noises. She even tried to blank it out by pulling on her jacket hood and closing it's aperture so she looked like Kenny.

It's not my fault I'm sick. But then it was my fault when I chased her through the house, closing off leftie nostril while honking out the right - causing much snot flaring.

In my defence ... I'm a guy.

The goodness grows

And not in an erectile way!

I had a meeting with the boss+++, yes boss+++ who I had toilet squished earlier this year. And with two boss++. I had to give them mandatory training and they were too important to do the online stuff that us plebs do. It was meant to go for 30 minutes.

It went for an hour.


Area man went off script. In fact off the reservation as far as off script went.

Left: Me, in bot form.

I don't know what it is about senior people, but I get nervous. Kind of like fatbot when he ate the dean's model ship in futurama. Only instead of ingesting scale shipware, I blather.

I shit you not, and let me say this is - all in context, I mentioned the following must haves as part of any mandatory HR required training.

"Tripping with the green fairy"


Manpower pants ... complete with a demonstration. Me, turning in my chair, then pulling imaginary pants away from my groin whilst making an 'pfunt' noise to indicate their quick release.

At one point boss++ asked, in relation to a subtopic, how the hell I knew so much about it. I said 'practiced amateur'. Then nodded in that porny 'just delivered a pizza' kind of way.


It should be pointed out Michelle has indicated I'd be a fun person to work with. So what does that say about her?!