It’s here. D-Day is here. Today Chicken Boy, Mr Murderpint and I test the stress limits of the human liver and kidneys. We’re talking destruct-testing. This afternoon is going to hit my system like a wrecking ball hitting plasterboard. New liver on standby please… Can we exhume George Best? I’ll have his second one (he hardly got to use it anyway). Mmm. Is there anything better than Friday afternoon with good Yorkshire Beer and whisky with friends? I suppose I ought to say something about Mrs Moosehunter here, but she’s included as she’ll be joining us later.
This morning I got cornered by the Fat Sack of Lard while trying to make a coffee. I almost cried (while reaching for the butcher knife.) It was this morning that I realised you can say anything you like to it because it doesn’t listen to what you say. I thought it said “Have you been sleeping here?” (This would have been a reasonable thing to say as sarcasm, since this was 8:40 am and I was already installed at work.) I replied (curtly and briefly) with “No… I just get in early.” It smiled (a creepy look that reminds me of killer clowns and House of Wax) and said “well it’s been sleeting in Harrogate.” As it rattled off about the history of weather in Northern England and the probability of eight foot frogs falling out of the sky or something (I don’t know – I try not to listen to it either) I realised that it’d been talking about the weather all along. I should have realised this as it is its SOLE GODDAMN TOPIC OF CONVERSATION!!!
Flash news: Fat sack of lard found dead in company kitchen, suffocated with old newspaper weather reports.
Incidentally, I’d like to remind you that I’m a nice person. Honestly. It’s just some people/creatures/Satanic buttholes are sent to push my patience beyond it’s limits.
We’ve had an email from the world’s most boring Grey One this morning, telling us that he’s coming round to audit our ‘training folders’ and make sure they’re up to date. Hmm. Probably time to try and find mine then. I’m pretty sure I was using it to hold the printed lyrics of the last four Rammstein albums in our back bedroom at home. I do know that there is nothing in it. I mean nothing at all. In five years with this company, I had my first proper course late last year (see entries in November) and other than that a one day Retard-a-thon in Communication Skills. Do I SOUND like I have trouble communicating. Much the opposite I’d say. Other than that, my job is “Assistant I.T. Manager.” Can you guess what my degree is in? Go on… I’ll give you three tries.
So far off the mark.
The answer? Our survey says: Classical Civilization. I have no formal training in IT. I can, on the other hand, rattle off a three hundred year list of the Roman Emperors and their legacies. My friends know this as it’s something I tend to do without mercy after a lot of beer (watch out, Mr Murderpint.) Anyway, the point it, I think I can get away with writing about three lines in this fabled Training Folder’ and it’ll be up to date. The question is… Do I leave the Rammstein lyrics in for fun and see what McBoring the Grey One says? Tempting.
I’m not listening to music right now, but every night this week it’s been Blue Oyster Cult. I know for you young ‘uns that sounds like a gay bar, but they were a great band in the 70s and 80s. I’m on a nostalgia trip.
Yeehaw. See ya.