There’s so much I could tell you about my new job.
I could tell you about the pikies who are camped around a burned-out car on the corner near my office.
I could go on for hours about my daily commute, but we don’t need more train-ranting than we have already.
I could tell you how quiet my office is, and yet so conversely filled with such tat items as keyrings that bleep when you clap [or cough, or the phone rings] that it does resound with noise and movement despite the no-talk work ethic bollocks that they haven’t snapped out of yet.
I could ask your advice about how to ignore my moments of guilt, that everyone else is already at their desks when I arrive, and still at their desks when I leave, despite the fact that I work my full 37 hour week.
Or I could regale you with the anecdote about how my minion and I had a brief meeting with a senior quality person today, to find out exactly what function testing and safety instructions were required, under british law, for the manufacture of vibrators.
November 3, 2004
The last buzz home
I’ll go with the vibrator story please …
Me too. It may take my mind off of the fact that the entire world is doomed.
I’m thinking of defaulting to Al Qaeda.
Now there’s an idea. Al Qaeda could possibly destroy themselves if only we sent a large supply of unsafely manufactured vibrators to their hideout in the Afghanistan mountains. And then we wouldn’t have to have a war Against Terrorism.
As you can see, I am available to solve all the world’s problems. Who needs George Bush? (That’s a rhetorical question, by the way)
Can they be adapted, like “Transformers in Disguise” into electric toothbrushes?
Suitably depilated first, of course.