Clowns are not funny.

15 Apr

 

Clowns are extremely evil.  Not breaking news, but true and extremely unnerving.

Fortunately (perhaps because I do not own any children and choose to stay well clear of any I know)I hadn’t seen a clown in the flesh for years. Until yesterday. There he was standing on the corner of the street, white-face flaking away. He flashed me his giant red-lipstick coloured smile, somewhat resembling a drag queen with a Botox addiction, followed by a psycho cackle and customary offering of a balloon.

Reminding myself to breathe and that I am now meant to be a grown-woman, I should somewhat act like one, I frantically dismissed his balloon offering and attempted to pass the evil creature. This was the crucial moment – he reached out for my arm. And as I’m sure any reasonable person would, I turned and ran down the street,screaming with my arms flailing in the air. Yes. I’m a pretty cool cat.

Despite the fact my co-worker said the painted freak was merely trying to give me a pamphlet, I am not embarrassed to have taken extra-caution around this so-called ‘Children’s Entertainment". Speaking of which, there is this fucking insane Swiss guy who decided that young children would love to have an Evil Clown at their birthday parties; as if the generic, creepy types aren’t bad enough. Dominic Deville promises to "scare kids senseless" as a birthday surprise. For the parents that aren’t content with only screwing with their kids heads at their parties, do not despair. Dominic promises to stalk their children for weeks leading up to the party including psycho txt messages, phone calls and booby-trapped letters. At least he’s thorough.

How many of those children will end up with a chronic case of Coulrophobia?  This is the psychological term for an abnormally extreme fear of clowns. Completely understandable. Apparently there was not surprisingly an influx of cases reported after the release of Stephen King’s film ‘It’. Also, in July 2006, a 3-day music festival in England had to withdraw a request for festival-goers to come dressed as clowns. This was due to the unexpectedly high rate of festival-goers doubling as coulrophobes.  Oh. My. Lord. Can you imagine a field full of thousands of dancing, most probably drug-induced clowns? This image would be amusing if it wasn’t so goddamn terrifying.

I’m not over-exagerrating here. Clowns are killers. Serial killers in fact. Meet John Wayne Gacy Jr. who was arrested in 1978 for murdering at least 33 young men and burying them underneath his basement. He became known as "Killer Clown" because of the parties he would throw for the neighbourhood children dressed as "Pogo the Clown". Well I’m sorry if that put a dampener on this post, but I felt it necessary to get the point across. Clowns are fucked-up. 

So next time you see a clown and you happen to have a weapon on you(I would recommend flamethrower, AK47 or rocket-launcher), do not stop to think. This part is crucial and where most people hesitate – ending in an untimely death caused by a smiling face painted killer. Don’t stop to wonder if it really is a cute, old man under that cracked face, KILL. And if you are unarmed, there is absolutely nothing wrong with running away, screaming and arms flailing. We have more than enough heroes on this planet, and by-standers will most probably say " Oh look at that cool cat running past".

PS Is this not single-handedly the most disturbing poster you have ever seen???

Turtle Urine & the Wild

13 Apr

I watched the film “Into the wild” last night for around the 25th time.

Self-portrait of Christopher McCandless (AKA ALEXANDER SUPERTRAMP)

This film is the true story of Christopher McCandless. In short,  Christopher donated a large chunk of his college funds to Oxfam, adopted the name “Alexander Supertramp” and hiked into the Alaskan wilderness with little food, money or equipment. He craved solitude and quietness from the world and hated societies obsession with material items. Not surprisingly, he was majorly influenced by those writer’s who were infamous for their views on society –   Tolstoy, Thoreau, and Jack London. For the record, I love Leo Tolstoy for the unfaltering compassion shown in his writing towards peasants (me) and hatred of upper class rich folk (not me).

I’ve often thought about following in Alexander Supertramp’s footsteps. Just picking up and going into the wild…I would gladly donate my total savings(currently $3.86 + assets consisting of one snowboard and a large collection of pirated DVD’s from Bali) to Oxfam. I would then pack my backpack with the bare minimum amount of items required to survive. 

  • Instant Coffee (catering sized tin would be ideal)
  • Cigarettes x 10,000 + Lighter
  • Scotch (preferably the oversized bottles seen in Duty Free stores)
  • 400 tins x Spag-o-saurus

Ready to take on nature, I would venture into the wild to fight tigers and lions and bears – oh my! Though because I am in Australia, I would more than likely come across snakes, spiders and the odd camel. Also I hope that Eddie Vedder would extend the same courtesy he did for Alexander Supertramp, and write a number of songs depicting my inner thoughts and feelings. (The soundtrack is so good in Into the Wild, that it’s hard to choose whether to focus on the gripping storyline or the brilliant music crooning away.)

I’m fairly confident that my skills are up to scratch after watching continuous re-runs of “Man vs Wild”. Pee in a rattle snake, then drink it. Eat bugs, lots of them. Turn a dead sheep into a “sheeping-bag” (my personal favourite).  Wrestle a crocodile-then eat it. Drink fecal liquid from elephant dung. Field dress a camel carcass.

Yep, I’ve got all that down pat. Though I must say, Bear Gryll does seem to have an unhealthy obsession with his own body fluids.  Drinking urine is all the rave. But what do you do if you get too hot? Say if you’re walking in the Sahara? Of course! Simply pee on your t-shirt and tie it around your head. Tada! A urine soaked sun-visor per se. 

The funniest story relating Bear Gryll and urine is one he told numerous media sources.

Seriously guys, it's just like a coconut

Firstly- Bear cites the case of 3 Mexican fisherman who whilst stranded in their little fishing boat in the middle of the ocean,  survived solely off turtle blood and urine. 

Next- The 3 Mexican fisherman retaliate to the media by stating they simply ate fish and drank rain water. No turtle juice.

Finally- Bear eats some humble pie, accompanied by a round of warm, salty urine.

My lord, I can get off track easily. One moment I am talking about a wonderful, inspiring film and the next we’re talking about turtle urine.  So after all this urine talk, I’ve decided to stay in society for awhile longer. Whilst talking about this with my old friend she said sagely,  “You are going into the wild Alis. Have you forgotten that you have no idea how to study or write assignments anymore? Uni is going to be a rude awakening for you after living the high and almighty corporate life”. Thankyou for the advice, I shall file it with all the other pieces of  advice you people feel compelled to bestow up me in the frontal lobe of my brain labelled “Stupid Wanker Comments with no merit”.

Now go home and watch Into the Wild. And maybe drink a Pee-na Colada to get into the spirit of, you know, the wild and stuff.

Lyrics and Kebabs

8 Apr

Group gaze longingly at the giant choc mudcake, donned with so many sparklers it looks like Sydney Harbour on NYE.

A loud, boisterous Happy Birthday erupts and since we’ve all had approximately 24 too many drinks, we think we sound awesome. In fact, we are pretty sure we’ll be asked to sing for the Pope on his next visit. 

 It gets to the point where everyone looks around anxiously. ‘Fuck, whose gonna start the ‘HipHip Hoorays’?”. Finally someone steps up to the plate,  followed with relieved HOORAYS…

Girl 1: Bravo! I thought no-one was going to  Hip-Hip!

Girl 2: Thanks, it was my first time but quite invigorating.

Girl 1: That’s what she said.

Girl 2: What?

Girl 1: Nevermind…

Boy 1: Yeh, good Hip-Hipping! For a moment there I thought you said ‘Habib hooray!” Hahahaha

Crowd joins in with laughter. Girl 2 looks confused.

Girl 2:  What’s with you fuckers? I did say Habib.  Isn’t that what it is?

Girl 1: …….

Girl 2: What?! Oh is this one of those things you’re going to give me shit about for the next 10 years of my life?

Girl 1:  Shutup and get me a kebab with extra hommus.

Girl 2:  Oh, for fucks sake. Now I’m kebab girl?

Girl 1 : And a side of tabouli, snap snap.

I smell Skank

6 Apr

Did you know that scientists are worried that men are becoming an endangered species? The cause for this worry stems from alarming trends in male fertility rates, birth defects and disorders. Bollocks! I know why male numbers are decreasing rapidly –  Skank is back.

Well it never really left, but I have noticed an overwhelming aroma of skank in the air recently. It was particularly formidable on our recent Easter trip to the lake. The hot sun was out, water sparkling, boats purring through the water. Now I’m ninety-nine percent sure that those sounds reacted with the universe and sent a call out to all long-legged blondes within a 100 km radius. Similar to the zombie movies (but far more hotter), they crawled out the ground and started parading towards town. An army of amazon women, spray-tanned and ready to pounce.  Cougars have copped a flanking in the media lately, but I have strong suspicions based on nothing but a hunch; the Lake Skanks are chomping their way through the male population.

Commonly witnessed forms of Lake Skank:

Malibu Barbius Extremely common. Only breeds with Malibu Kenitis that own expensive boats (preferably painted in fluro colours and glitter or other homosexual decor). Can be found lounged on back of boat tanning, generally bopping their boobies to Dizzee Rascal, 50 Cent or Pink. Although their brains are quite tiny, they are extremely capable of dazzling prey with their orange tinge, and sparkling white teeth.

Rock Skankitis Instantly recognised by large amounts of ink work on their arms/legs/breasts. Piercings, coloured hair and bad attitude are also key features for these little deviants. Whilst they initially seem to be extremely dangerous and/or related to Satan, they are generally washed-up band groupies who are simply angry at the world. Therefore Rock Skanks offer no immediate threat other than the odd case of chlamydia as a result of sleeping with one too many B-grade lead singers. NB: There have been 2 documented cases where a male has had his penis bitten off, however it is believed that this was intended as an offering for Satan and not a meal.

Amazonites If it seems as though the Lake Skank you are watching has legs that reach the moon, chances are you’ve found a Amazonite. With shining hair as long as their legs, this breed is scarily beautiful. Apart from the constant  ‘Jesus, that’s a huge bitch!’ and ‘Woah dude, she must be a swimmer’, they recieve an influx of positive attention from young suitors hoping to bed the enormous beauties. For the few males that have actually secured an Amazonite, congratulations. And commiserations to the many who died trying and got stomped on with a size 13 foot.

Vaginasaurus A long-standing breed; sightings have been increasing every year. This classy strain of Lake Skank enjoys wearing tightly bound, barely existent materials, designed purely for maximum skin exposure. If you do not get a chance to view their vagina throughout the night, wander down the street after closing time around the areas nightspots. You will almost certainly find one residing within a gutter, or sprawled across the street surrounded by brightly coloured vomit. This is where the predator not so surprisingly transforms into the prey. However, remain alert at all times, as the vagina can transform into a man-eating monster at the drop of a hat.

Jailus Baitus Cougars have been known to eat Jailus Baitus for snacks. They look legal. They’re not. Enough said. 

So for those of you unfortunate enough to bear the Y chromosome (this is the MALE chromosome for any Malibu Barbius’ reading), you have been warned. Keep flocking to the Lake Skanks like moths to a light, and you will become extinct. I also hear the death is horrible. And for the record, I am not a bitter. 

 

Scurvy; an uncertain death

30 Mar

I’ve been eating oranges for days now. Why you ask? Well my liver-bellied bilge rats, I think I have scurvy. I feel like I am on my death-bed and since I have numerous pirate traits – elite sword skills, rum-guzzler, yelling ‘Arghhhh you Scurvy dogs’ at my colleagues – it only seems fitting to die with a pirate disease. Oh wait, scrap that. I just googled Scurvy and it’s not nearly as mysterious and seductive as it sounds. Oozy spots, spongy gums, loss of teeth. Ok, I don’t have Scurvy.

But I probably do have Myxomatosis. It took my best friend’s rabbits life back in 1992, and I never told anyone but I kissed Floppy goodbye. Even after Mum said if I did, I would be infected and die too (just one of the touching moments we’ve had). Now years later, I can no longer outrun my fate. Oh. Only rabbits can carry the infection? Really? Weird.

Remember Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge? I know I’m not exactly a beautiful and seductive dancer called Satine from Paris but well… she did have a cough. And I have a cough. So odds are, I have consumption. What? Have I coughed any blood? Well no, but Satine was just an attention-seeking, glorified whore.

Black death perhaps? It is a respiratory disease. Christ, it also had a 100% mortality rate, things are looking gloomy. Cause? The Black Death was primarily spread through eating fleas and rats. I am so screwed. A medieval death would be a romantic way to die though. And when I finally pass away, my loyal and handsome lord will be overcome with grief and vow to never bed another lady.

My ignorant Doc: Alis, you’re not dying. You simply have the flu. Go home and rest. Drink lots of fluids (not Scotch) . And stop chain-smoking.

Alis: Bollocks! I am dying, I have this overwhelming sense of calm which tells me I am ready for death. Don’t be upset, I’m not scared.

My ignorant Doc: I’m not scared. You’re fine, now go home to bed.

Alis: Oh, so you’ve just given up all hope? I know death looms on my doorstep but you could at least pretend to want to help me.

My ignorant Doc: It’s not even a virus, you don’t need anything except water, rest and a hot cup of tea.

Alis: Call the priest for me, so I can have my final prayers.

My ignorant Doc: Seriously, get out my office.

Alis: No drugs?

My ignorant Doc: (Sigh) Here’s a script for antibiotics, and another one for Valium. Knock yourself out.

Alis: Cheers.

Wanted: Raconteur/Bon Vivant

29 Mar

When the idea arose to get another housemate, questions were flying around my head. Would we still be able to run around the house in our underwear? Would he be accommodating to our love of mid-afternoon cocktails? Sure, it would be nice to have another housie that we could drink copious amounts of beer with but where would we play ‘Drunk Ball’ ? Our Gladiators-inspired game involving nothing but pitch-blackness and a large exercise ball missiling around the spare room, ruthlessly breaking noses and light fittings. This rates pretty highly on our ‘Brilliant Alcohol Inspired Ideas’ list. Nonetheless, it was decided to recruit a new housie and we placed an ad first thing the next morning.

“Housemate required for large 3 Bedroom House. 2 professional females wanting one human male that likes to drink beer and have BBQ’s. Must be able to kill spiders/snakes/dragons, as previously stated we want a male not a girl. Must have full-time work, students we like you but we don’t want to live with you.Also nothing against kids, but we don’t want them in our house as they are loud and whiny. Extreme sports skills in the areas of dodgeball, twister and squash will be regarded highly, but not essential. Must appreciate but most definitely not overuse the word ‘radical’. If this sounds like you, contact us asap. ”

Let the games begin! People actually wanted to pay cash to live in our humble abode. The replies were coming in fast and steady however as I waded through them, I noticed a disconcerting pattern.

I think I would be a perfect match however I am currently a student and therefore would not be able to pay the amount mentioned. Would you consider cooking/cleaning as a form of payment?

House sounds great however I do have a Siamese cat named ZuZu and a snake called Roy. They can stay in my room the whole time though so shouldn’t be an issue.

I would love to be considered for your room, however I should tell you that I am part of a jazz band and we would require the house to rehearse in two nights a week.

I think your house sounds wonderful, please consider my application. However I do have 3 children who might stay over if my bitch ex-wife decides to let me see them again. Last time I saw them they were pretty well-behaved but who knows since that whore has probably brainwashed them and influenced them with her neurotic bitch traits. Call me!

Then Phil sent a nice email through, complete with perfect grammar and punctuation (10 points right there). After a few emails back and forth, I was happy to confirm that there were no strange pets, estranged children and he had a fulltime job. Plus he liked to write and act in his spare time, perfect! We set up a meet and greet and eagerly anticipated meeting our new housemate, donned Phil the Man.

I’ll cut to the chase – Phil the Man was strange. AND he was scared of spiders, what a douche. Phil had failed to specify that his full-time gig was his own coaching and mentoring business for actors called “Ultimate 9 because no-one is a perfect ten“. If we’d known this, perhaps we would have been prepared for the numerous hackneyed phrases Phil felt compelled to bestow upon us. His parting words – “We’re all in this game called life together girls, lovely to meet you”. This was the “final nail in the coffin” for Phil.

Hmm, we’d have to improve our telephone/email scanning skills and weed out the freaks more thoroughly. This meant not offering an interview to the guy who sounded like he was in a time machine when he called. “Uh I can’t really hear you, are you on an airplane runway?” “Oh sorry, I have a lot of electronic equipment in my room, it sometimes interferes with the phone signal”. Well mister, you can monitor alien movements in someone else’s house. Or ‘Rico’ who wasn’t prepared to leave his shitty old ute out on the street. We sent a nice email kindly letting him know that we perhaps it wouldn’t work out, but thanks for contacting us. He replied and coyly asked if I would like to meet him for a coffee. You have to give the guy points for trying, but tell me Rico – if I couldn’t stand the thought of living with you, what would make you think I would want to date you?

After 2 long months of wading through the hoards of homeless freaks and weirdos, we found Dan the Man (far better sounding than Phil the Man). Dan kills spiders, listens to good music, drinks beer. I’m yet to ask him if he enjoys Dodgeball but may throw a ball at his head tonight and see how he reacts.

Home is where the heart isPhil – Ultimate 9 Director and Ultimate-wanker.

Nerd on a Wire

25 Mar

Don’t tell anyone, but I’m getting really excited about returning to study. You know what I’ve been thinking about? All those freaks at school.

My school was like a vortex for strange beings. I’m still amazed that we never got a visit from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I’m almost certain most of my class escaped a wormhole situated somewhere nearby the school. Pity none of them looked like Angel.

Here a some examples of the specimens that entertained us during our education:

Doug: Curly haired red-head whom we decided to sing happy birthday to everyday for 6 years. People would be yell out “Happy Birthday Doug!!!”. Every. Single. Day. The poor little ginger ninja now lays in foetal position under the table every time it’s his actual birthday, somewhat resembling shell-shock as soon any singing begins… Currently employed by McDonald’s to entertain at all Children’s Birthday Parties.  Doesn’t even need his own wig, fanta pants.

Lewis: Sci-fi geek commonly recognised by the large holographic ‘H’ posted to his forehead and occasional cape. Apparently his idol was a character from Red Dwarf named Rimmer. The name says it all. Provided re-enactments of Red Dwarf sketches outside the canteen whilst we waited for sausage rolls. Never understood what the fuck he was on about, but watching a large-sized male in a cape jumping all over the place(character swapping) was priceless. And Lewis’ big fuck you to the world? He married a smokin’ hot female. Apparently chicks dig capes.

NB: I had to google “Strange H on forehead man” to find out what the character’s name was and guess what?! There is a whole forum dedicated to people who want their own Rimmer forehead H’s. Many hours spent giggling at comments such as ” You can use foam sheets, as long as you’re not allergic” and “I have one that’s made from holographic craft foil, it got lot of comments at a recent swap meet” and “I made mine from mirrored acrylic on the laser cutter at work” and ” I made “You’ve been H’d kits” to take on a catfishing holiday in Spain”. Who the fuck are you people??  Moving on pleeease.

Karl:Baby hit me one more time! When you hear that do you imagine a slightly overweight, pimply high school boy in lycra performing highly limber, choreographed moves? I do.  Karl was our School President, and hysterical Britney fan.We were lucky to view many performances over the years, sending us into a lycra and sparkle-induced frenzy.  Some facts: He was not gay *cough*. He wanted to study politics and one day be Prime Minister of Australia. *cough* (This says A LOT about politicians, I’ve kept a video of his rendition of  ‘Oops! I did it again’ to sell to New Idea)  Karl is now President of the Official Britney Fan Club of Australia *oh dear*

Ok,  so I’m not a bully. Really! I embraced these people because it was these freakoids that made up the rich tapestry of our little twilight zone. I may not have learnt much about Arithmetic but I most definitely how to traumatise redheads, who the hell Rimmer is, and just how most politicians become Prime Ministers.  Plus without those weirdos, I would have lost hope that Buffy was gonna have to come to school and kick some demons ass’.

 See? We all have a little nerd inside us.

Oh like a nerd on a wire,

Like a drunk in a midnight choir,

I have tried in my way to be free

Bird Nerd on a wire – Leonard Cohen

Beetroot & Port Toffee

22 Mar

aka DeathI know…. sounds delightful, doesn’t it? Well let me tell you from personal experience that Beets, Port and Toffee should never be put together. Ever.

Sunday night, candles, excitement in the warm autumn breeze… It was our annual girl’s dinner. An annual occasion when I stupidly decide to produce a 3 course meal for 6 eager and high-pitched females. There were a number of odds against me last night, all undeniably self-inflicted.

Day-long winery tours are unimaginably wonderful. Glass after glass of holy grape juice, party buses with loud music and even louder occupants. And the best bit? The looks from well-bred wine connoisseurs looking down their noses at us; the uncouth rascals of generation Y. What?! You don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do a drunk walrus impression on the tasting counter? Bollocks. It’s a brilliant idea. What?! The bus has left without us…. Oh no, scrap that, it’s just moved around the corner. Quickly, call all the troops I just txted saying I was stranded in the Yarra Valley. Crisis dissolved. As I said, winery tours are amazing. The next day is not so good. And so, when I decided to cook the meal the next night, well my hangover decided to kick my ass. Physically, mentally and spritually (OH GOD !!Why the fuck did I say I’d cook dinner??? That’s about as spritual as I get).

Oh yeah, and the recipe I decided to cook? Never cooked it in my life. But it was on MasterChef, so surely I could master it? Right…? Wrong.

Me: Hello Mr. Cute Butcher. May I please have one lamb saddle please?

Mr Cute Butcher: Sure sweetheart, flank on or off?

Me: Flank? That sounds hot… Umm, I’d like to say take it off, but unfortunately for this recipe, the flank must remain on. I think.

Mr. Cute Butcher: Flank on for the lady. So what are you exactly cooking? And what does the recipe ask for?

Me: See that’s just the problem! I reallllly don’t know, and it just says Lamb Saddle! (sweet, naive girly voice in full swing and roping cute butcher in)

Mr.Cute Butcher: That’s ok darlin’, we’ll sort it out. You just show me the recipe and I’ll handle the meat.

Me: Oh I bet you will!

Mr.Cute Butcher: Now, how long are you going to cook it for?

Me: Oh you! Hahaha. (cute girly laugh now working some magic)

Mr.Cute Butcher: Errm, yeh. So I think you should cook it for around 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Me: Really? My recipe said 15. Crap this recipe is going to be a fucking disaster. God, I’m an idiot….(Head hitting on bench repeatedly in time with hangover migraine)

Needless to say my cute,pathetic,naive girly voice transformed to panicky, helpless, hopeless case who desperately needed some sedatives. I’m pretty sure feminists around the globe would have sneered at the irony.

With the odds against me, my dinner actually wasn’t too bad. Sure, the lamb was slightly undercooked, border-line ‘baaaaaaing’ and the spinach ball looked like a combo of a gallstone and a cat’s hairball. But the real ‘piece de resistance’ was most definitely the Beetroot Glaze. Iraq’s been developing a weapon of mass destruction- I can guarantee it shall be no match for our Beetroot Glaze. This shit could kill nations.

I tried and tried and just couldn’t get the fucking glaze to work when my bestfriend Kate stepped in and took the reins. I was relieved to hear she’d been hiding her masterchef skills for the last 25 years, and was indeed a gastronomical genius. So she set to work boiling the glaze (in her words – “If everything else fails, just cook the shit out of it!”) and it actually started to resemble an edible sauce, rich in colour and thick in substance. So thick, it started to resemble toffee like my mum made for my school fairs when I was a kid.

The exact moment I became suspicious of Kate’s culinary skills was when she nervously whispered to me that we would have to put the sauce on last minute before serving and run the gauntlet to the table as fast as we had ever moved in order to give everyone their meals before the toffee-like substance sets on everyones plate’s. Masterchef-in-hiding, my ass.

The beetroot glaze set rock-hard on everyone’s plates wayyyy before we reached the table.. From now on when we have guests over, I will have to explain why there is a deep crimson lump on each of our 6 dinner plates. Someone claimed to have broken a tooth, but I suspect they were stirring poor Kate. Another victim- the fork whose prongs were badly injured and deemed futile. A possum may or may not have been killed as a result of someone frisbeeing the beet-toffee into the trees…

And so, I repeat. Beet, Port and Toffee should never be put together.

Language blunders #456

19 Mar

Me: So I’m now in the blog business.

Dear friend: What!? I don’t get it, you are so weird.

Me: Uh ok, I’ve taken your comments on board. Thankyou for your frank honesty.

Dear friend: I just don’t get it, are they even on the radar these days?

Me: I’m led to believe millions of people love them. I may even go so far as to say a huge phenomenon.

Dear friend: You are clearly on crack.

Me: Yes, I am. Are we still friends?

Dear friend: If you explain this wooden shoe business.

Me: Ermm… What?

Dear friend: The clogs man, I don’t get it. I don’t know who your sources are but wooden handcrafted shoes from Holland are most definitely not a phenomenon.

Me: You are by far the stupidest person I have ever met.

Dear friend: And you are a crackhead.

Me: Touche

Ode to the Office

18 Mar

When it’s comes time to leave my corporate office surroundings, I shall miss the environment I take for granted everyday.

I’ll miss the fluro lighting that provides a daily tanning session complete with extra lashings of Vitamin A. Who needs sunlight when you have 500 watts glaring on you? It’s like being on a sunny tropical beach. Or stuck in a nuclear plant. One colleague actually wears sunglasses at his desk, he’s a pretty cool dude.

I shall miss the song of the office. The constant ringing of phones, typing of keyboards, the printer spitting out 10,000 trees a day, the coffee machine producing enough caffeine to be deemed a drughouse, the occasional whimpering from stoked-to-be-here employees. It’s nearly as lovely as Michael Buble. NB Ocassionally I hear a faint BANG in the distance. I am still undecided on whether this is one of my esteemed colleagues parting with the world, or someone’s brain accidentally exploding.

I will most certainly feel amiss without 400 emails a day, every single email containing highly confidential, red-hot, FBI-like data. For your information my trusty little colleagues, I am so thrilled that you feel I need to be FYI’d on everything. FYI, keep them coming, and don’t forget to CC every single member of management you can think. Even on the nudie ones.

But most importantly, I will miss you, my little 2×2 area. With your cute vomit blue felt-lined walls, decked for a queen. Your walls are just tall enough to block me from the world, ensuring I am never distracted from my work with nuisances such as human life and oxygen. You are my home away from home. Actually, I spend more time here than at my real home. What an endearing thought.

Sigh. I really will miss this place.