Thursday, September 30, 2010

Two strikes

We had a lunch today for L who's going on leave to go and get hitched. Peeps brought food from hither and thither to share, Jesus and the loaves and fishes style.

A good time was had by all.

Except ... well except for me. Partially because of the whole no dairy thing. I decided to risk a mini-sausage roll on the grounds that it might not be buttery pastry. But I ate it too fast. It got stuck as food tends to do when I eat too fast and at one point I had to leave the lunch and go yak up in the toot.

... yay capitalism ...

But prior to that we were talking as we do and, in my delicious gooey fat mind, I decided I was holding court. Only I was more George C than King E, as any goodness I uttered was "buried under a pile of gaffs and bad puns".

But I did get off a couple of self-assigned-as-pearlers pearlers.

The boss mentioned smoked oysters. Without stopping to consider both what I was saying and the demographic of the assembled listener-hood I said 'Ah, smoked oysters. Your aphrodisiac and your post-coital all in the one food.'

Which, patting my own back here, is a pretty quick thing to think of that had a hint of naughty. My boss groaned loudly and asked why is it was I could not be silenced.

A fair point.

Later, just before I ran away to join the porcelain circus, having disclosed I was no longer a man who indulged in liquids and their accessories as produced by the animal featured on the cover of Atom Heart Mother, the assembled masses were suggesting, nay commanding, I sup from the fruit platter instead.

There were a bunch of almonds in the centre of the platter. I expressed my hesitancy, mainly because they were not peeled and still had a woody grainy looking coating that reminded me of fake woodgrain wallpaper from the 70s. I tried peeling one, scratching it off with a thumbnail, but it was too laborious and I later lied and said it rolled under a workstation.

C, a reasonably important person in my area, said that the almonds were good for the body due to the fibrous powers they possessed.

Strike two is coming. Can you feel it? Fucking hell, I can.

I responded, a lightning quick combo of witty retort and repost - 'do you take it orally?'

Cough ... coughcough.

I wish S was there. He would have laughed. But he would have done that sneaky one he does where he looks down and hides his mouth because he doesn't want to be directly associated with my badness.

C thought about it for a while then said this.

'You remind me of a job I once had... in the psych ward. I'd hear something like that, and just smile and nod.'

Mega-epic-pwning of me.

Most of us like to think we're useful, important, funny, powerful, heroic, super. That we possess qualities that are welcomed, hell adored even.

But let's face it. When it comes to life we're more like George Costanza than pretty much any other character on the teev.

Well, in my case at least.


  1. It happens so, so often.

    I'm basically a rodeo clown.

  2. I love the joke about the smoked oyster. I'd never thought of that before! :)

  3. Do I do a sneak laugh? For shame.

    From this day forward I shall chortle in the faces of our Politically Correct colleagues.

    We can both high five eachother while lining up for the dole.


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