512,000 ounces

typed for your pleasure on 25 April 2008, at 11.34 am

Sdtrk: ‘Old man’ by Andrew WK

from the ‘Work is a four-letter word’ Files:

MRS BESMERTNIK: [I can’t turn my donation in,] I’m just getting deeper and deeper in debt. Do you remember that song?
ME: Yes! ‘Another day older and deeper in debt / St Peter don’t you call me cos I can’t go / I owe my soul to the company store.’ Tennessee Ernie Ford, ‘Sixteen Tons’.
MRS BESMERTNIK: That’s me, that’s where I’m at. So yes, you’re…
ME (interrupting): ‘One fist of iron, the other of steel / If the right one don’t getcha then the left one will’! Actually, thanks for bringing that up, I have to see if I can hunt down a copy of that for my .mp3 player! Great song.
MRS BESMERTNIK: You should! That’s a good song! But that’s like how I am, I can’t go until I’ve paid my debts…
ME (interrupting): Have you got one fist of iron, the other of steel?
MRS BESMERTNIK: Well, I don’t know about all that…
ME: Perhaps you should look into that, that’d be pretty impressive.

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typed for your pleasure on 31 January 2008, at 1.58 am

Sdtrk: ‘Narco Martenot’ by Stereolab

Right, I fully admit it: I’ve been a lazy tosser. So lazy! Between the bizarre weather (literally, close to 50°F one day, close to 20°F the next), fighting off yet another supercold because of the aforementioned weather, finally finishing off Half-life 2, Monti and I finding out last Saturday that Nippon kai, our favourite Japanese restaurant, has apparently lost their lease, and voraciously reading David Levy’s encouraging ‘Love and Sex with Robots‘, I’ve been slacking off on my duties as a blogger* in a major way. It’s not like I have absolutely nothing to write about — for instance, right this minute I’m peering at my bookmarks folder for potential subjects for the ‘This was the Future’ series, and there’s like twenty-seven candidates — I just haven’t felt compelled to sit down and write. This is due to the fact that I am an indolent sack of ordure. So lazy!
The upshot of it is, I will get back to writing soon enough. Well, typing. Doing this now, I feel like I’m returning to a more writerly mode, so that’s reassuring. So don’t panic!

In the interim, have another Ribald Tale from my Saucy Workplace!
ME: Okay Mrs Porpyruptup**, we’ll send you out a reminder card; you should see it in about three to five days.
MRS PORPYRUPTUP: That’s fine. Be sure to make a note on it that it’s a reminder, to give me a kick in the shin.
ME: Ha ha! We wouldn’t do that! It’d ruin your chances to win the, err, shin-dancing… competition.
MRS PORPYRUPTUP: Oh no, I never learned how to dance. My parents didn’t allow it.
ME: They didn’t allow dancing? How is that even possible? Were they Quakers? Did they arrive on the Mayflower?
MRS PORPYRUPTUP: Well, it just wasn’t in the environment.
ME: Well that was then, but what about now? What do you do when you hear a song you like? You just kinda lie down on the floor in a cold sweat, wishing the song would end? *starts giggling uncontrollably*

*Yeah, ‘duties as a blogger’. It’s okay, I’m snickering too
**her name wasn’t so much changed to protect the innocent, as it was me completely not remembering it

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That’s what his name was, alrighty

typed for your pleasure on 18 December 2007, at 8.10 pm

Sdtrk: ‘Dead plane’ by No age

ME (blinking at name on screen): Hi, err… Mr Ponce?
ME: Mr Ponce?
LUCKY CLIENT: …I’m sorry, I’m not understanding you. Mr Potts?

Yes, my cubemates were staring at me laughing like a madman. Yes, I’m ten years old

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typed for your pleasure on 12 October 2007, at 1.08 am

Sdtrk: ‘Able bodied’ by Subliminal self

So I should be back online in the next couple of days! No, I’m serious; Comcast is sending one of their finest agents round to mine this Friday, in order to throw the enormous knife switch labelled ‘Inter Net’ into the On position. Which’ll be nice, as I’ve got some tidbits of negligible interest that I’ll nevertheless be writing about coming up soon.
In the meantime, lookit:

Looks like crap, tastes like shite. Such value!

Management actually went up and down the aisles a couple of nights ago at work and passed out cans of luminous intestinal bile Vault, in an effort to get us all whooped up to make more sales. No, I’m serious.

I have a question: who habitually drinks that swill? In my mind, I’m picturing people with lobotomy scars, dribbling rivulets of Vault down their hospital gown shirtfronts… and even they’re wincing at its extreme ‘citrus’ ‘taste’.

Hours later, I passed the can, which was only 2% empty, to our janitor. He probably naturally thought it was completely drained, as it slipped from his grasp and landed on the open end, dumping most of its lurid contents onto the carpet next to my cubicle. About a minute later, I couldn’t stop smelling Vault.

Clearly, management has it in for us

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typed for your pleasure on 31 August 2007, at 1.16 am

Sdtrk: ‘Romeo’s distress’ by Christian death

ME: Hi, Mrs (muddling through impossibly over-syllabic Russian name)?
GLORIOUS SOVIET MATRON: rrrrRussian. English. No.

I laughed like a drain for like three solid minutes

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typed for your pleasure on 16 July 2007, at 8.06 pm

Sdtrk: ‘Mass riff’ by Stereolab

Finally: a name worthy of a Benny Hill character.

*chortle chortle*
She didn’t pick up. Which was disappointing, as I’d really wanted to reply to any and all statements she made with a saucy ‘Ooh matron!’
And another heartwarming scene from my workplace…

ME: Hi, I’m Dave [horrid last name], calling from [Blazing Shithole Industries]. How are ya this afternoon?
AGEING TOSSER: I just got back from the doctor.
ME: Heh, is that Good or Bad?
AGEING TOSSER: Good and bad.
ME: A little bit of both, eh?
AGEING TOSSER: I have to go change my clothes; I just peed my pants.
ME: Aaah… *hangs up quickly*

Brilliant. Yet another reason to not get old

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typed for your pleasure on 8 February 2007, at 5.44 pm

Sdtrk: ‘Stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before’ by the Smiths

Saw this on my monitor at work, and as it references one of my favourite films, I couldn’t stop giggling.

Strangely enough, he didn’t answer the phone

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