Archive for the ‘rant!’ Category

The notice boards in the corridors here are used as some sort of Orwellian method of brain washing and for communicating propaganda to the masses. Anyone stupid enough to stop and read them will either immediately fall into a bullshit induced coma, or in rare cases assume the identity of a chicken and have to be talked down from the bike shed roof. This has always been the case and I would imagine will always continue to be so until the end of time or total financial Armageddon, which ever comes first. This topic has so far slipped below my blogging radar because I try my best to totally ignore it, if I can possibly help it, but it’s fast getting to the point where their campaign of puerile patronisation and pedantry is even beginning to burn through my shield of cynicism and world weariness.

Usually I embellish these diatribes slightly to try and make my banal work existence seem interesting but I am going to let the following announcements stand up and speak for themselves – remember reader, someone out there gets paid for creating these genius Goebbelsesqe pieces of propaganda gold!

Exhibit A – A poster showing an elephant with 5 legs emblazoned with the question ‘What do you see?’

Well, I see a 5 legged elephant the same as anyone else from planet earth who looks at it. I suppose if I stood and stared long enough maybe a metamorphosis into something useful would occur, maybe like a 4 legged elephant. The worst thing about this is it’s supposed to be something to do with disabled people in the workplace, personally if I were down on my personal quota of 4 limbs a poster showing an animal with an extra one could be construed as rubbing salt into the stump!

Exhibit B – An order from the third directorate, thought Police.

The football world cup was somewhat of a damp squib (which is an excellent description of Wayne Rooney) but instead of using the opportunity to improve staff cohesion and morale by giving into the inevitable and allowing staff to watch / listen / swear at the football, it was decided to send around a very tersely worded email to the effect of anyone caught even thinking about football would be taken out into the car park and personally introduced to three very real and very hungry lions. The email, which I will not be quoting because it would give away my employer and more importantly because it was a crime against grammatical sentence structure, essentially encouraged all staff to only watch world cup football games using the facilities provided by the company, the rub…… there were no facilities provided by the company – genius!

Exhibit C – Random emails about people I don’t care about nor will ever meet. If my career was any more stagnant I’d appear on maps as a pond so I do not appreciate this newly emerging trend of mailing every man, his dog and his dogs vet to congratulate some arse kissing salesman in the Guatemalan office and laud his pointless accomplishments to all and sundry. Frankly it’s the corporate version of spam although if I am totally honest I have far more use for penis enlargement creams and cheap Prozac than I will ever have for Juan and his impressive quarterly sales figures! Bottom line is no one apart from Juan and his mum could give a shit.

Exhibit D – Begging Letters
Some genius somewhere upstairs has decided that sending what amounts to begging letters to the staff extolling them to apply for current vacancies and using such words as ‘exciting’ ‘talent’ and ‘career’ and the like is a good idea.

Its not….

We all already work here, we know what its like and those ‘new opportunities’ have only arisen because the bloke sat next to you has been made redundant. It’s rather like a poultry farmer asking his chickens if they’d like to apply to be a dipper instead of a Kiev!

Exhibit E – Faux concern about our health and well being.

We are slave labour, that’s fine and we accept the situation. Without slave labour the Egyptians could never have built the pyramids which just goes to show you they need us as much as we need them. They don’t make us wear stripy pyjamas and nor do they insist your id number is tattooed on your forearm (yet). But even so everyone here knows someone who has cracked under the relentless pressure and ended up being forcibly moved from the battery farm to the funny farm.
Emails extolling the virtues of work life balance and telling us that smoking is bad and lettuce is good are constantly arriving in my inbox. Filled with twee nonsense such as ‘invest in yourself and your health, we think you are worth it!’ might ring more true if they hadn’t closed the gym and made it into offices and didn’t insist on phoning me day and night to ask puerile questions instead of letting me spend quality down time with the internet and a take away!

For years then I have managed to let this wash over me, on the Moon there is the sea of tranquillity, sounds nice, here what washes over me is the antithesis of that, lets call it the sea of idiocy…..either way I need some arm bands because I can feel myself going under – I thought drowning was supposed to be peaceful!


In the interests of fostering discourse, generating measured debate and hopefully getting the old synapses popping I want you to ponder on the following question;

‘Do you by dint of your social, educational and work place experiences become a twat or are you born that way?’

In my job I interact on a daily basis with all sorts of people from all walks of life and I like to consider myself to be something of a student of human nature. The good, the bad and most definitely the ugly have all at some point or another crossed my path but fat, thin or sporting a definite face for radio there is one thing that many seem to have in common and you might have guessed it – they are twats.
My father once told me that people use swearing to make their points only do so because they have a fucking shit vocabulary, and I do try to keep that in mind when I write this stuff but sometimes only one word or phrase fits and after much soul and thesaurus searching, twat was the only word that seemed to fit this merry bunch of miscreants.

Twat – ‘Someone who is a stupid incompetent fool, a despicable person, used as a term of contempt and hostility’ (Definition courtesy of me)

Take a moment and close you eyes, let yourself relax and let your brain wander to its happy place. Now visualise the word ‘twat’ and you’ll soon start seeing their faces parade through your minds eye like a who’s who of vindictive misery – surprised at how many your subconscious fits into that bracket? You shouldn’t be, they are everywhere. I am not interested in the numbers though, I am more interested in what has made them the way they are, how do these people turn out differently to us, at which crossroads do they turn away from ‘normal’ and tread down the well worn path to Twatsville?
I personally don’t think you pop out of the womb or in the case of Ginger Bernard the test tube this way, and I don’t think your parents make a conscious decision to bring you up as such a loathsome creature, so it stands to reason that the metamorphosis must occur at school or in the work place.
To me there is an undeniable correlation between the office twat and those who were bullied at school. In the old days they were shipped off straight from boarding school to the Navy where they could hound the French to their black hearts content, but now they seem to be leaking into all facets of society. For example, I am positive my boss had his head flushed down the bog and ‘kick me’ notes stuck to his back on a regular basis and now I have to pay the price for his miserable but thoroughly deserved formative years.
Martinets throughout history have been bullied at school and then as soon as these people get any sort of responsibility or power the beast is unleashed and the price is paid by the innocent as well as the guilty. Hitler had his pencil case stolen by the Jewish kids, the librarians at his school used to hold down Pol Pot and use their spectacles as magnifying glasses to burn him on the nipples till his little creased face puckered in agony and from the photos I have seen he seems to have stayed that way.
I feel then that I have satisfactorily answered my original question, its nurture that creates these horrors and then it’s their own festering nature that turns their lives into a self fulfilling prophecy. But now that’s clear what can we do with them?
Aside from lobbying for a national ‘throw stuff at the twat’ day, and no before you say it St Andrews day does not count…. really…. I can’t see what else we can do, aside from maybe a pre-emptive cull of anyone who applies to be on the Apprentice or wants to work in Insurance.
On that cheery note I’ll bit you all adieu and see you in a few weeks – I am off on holiday!

I am in the unfortunate position of having a birds eye view of the car park from my desk, it’s not even the interesting corner of the car park where the ladies running team warm down at lunchtimes and the work dogging club meets, oh no I get a marvellous vista of the disabled parking spaces near the door (where not much warming down and only nominal amounts of dogging are done)
Anyway in my position of ‘Physically Impaired Monitoring Person’ or P.I.M.P I have been closely observing the ‘Handicapped or Equivalent staff’ or H.O.E.S as they like to be known. Now as most of you are aware companies like my employer love hiring people with defects not because it salves a guilty conscience or out of a sprit of togetherness and inclusivity, it’s because they get tax breaks for every Stephen Hawkins stunt double they employ and all they have to do to accommodate them is knock up a ply wood skate board ramp by the door and install a children’s toilet.
What I want to know is when being a massive fatty became a disability………….I mean these people are assigned parking spaces which are clearly designated for those with disabilities and yet all they have to do to qualify is have a big hole at one end that they shovel food into quicker than they jettison it out of the smaller hole at the other end, more laziness than disability in my opinion.
At least two of every three H.O.E.S are just basically whale sized cake eating machines and it must really piss off the quadriplegic switch board operator Richard, known to his friends as clever dick who has to squeeze his postman Pat fliddy van in between their SUVs to park. That’s not to mention the danger to life and limb (ok not limb) that being that slow moving and made of meat represents around these Megalodon food Hoovers either.

What’s that’s noise I can hear? Is it a bird, is it a plane, is it a man on the plane setting his Y fronts on fire?


It’s the chorus of the fatties, and what’s their cry?

‘We have thyroid problems, its not our fault, we have thyroid problems its not our fault’

If it were up to me, and it isn’t but if it were I would make our big boned brethren park as far away from the doors as possible. Disabled spaces by the door for those with genuine disabilities and fatty spaces at the far end of the car park for those who like their cakes, we could even set up a burger van there to furnish them with snacks for the waddle.
To conclude, if you dear reader are sat at home reading this with a coke in one hand and a subway in the other and if the last time you saw your genitals was the wrong way round in a mirror then spare us the tired thyroid line and get out there and do some exercise! As the Arabs would say I declare a FatWar on you!

TUX%20TAILS%20TOPHATA black armband has been donned today and my alarm clock is broadcasting sombre martial dirges as yet another great British institution crumbles to dust in front of my disbelieving eyes, I am sure you’ll agree it’s a dark day for mankind and an even darker one for Gods favourite children, the English. I am of course referring to the appearance this week, and reader I type this with tearful eyes and angrily clenches buttocks of no less than a trannie on that international recognised pillar of Englishness, University Challenge.
Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against transsexuals, cross dressing midget vicars or gender benders of any shape and size, apart from short fat hairy ones that look like a rouged Ronnie Corbett of course. For one to appear on UC though, to cross the hallowed ground and sit at the quiz desk of dreams is akin to a tramp taking a huge steamy dump at the alter of St Pauls Cathedral smack bang in the middle of Christmas Mass, to coin an old adage ‘its just not cricket old man!’
I mean seriously, whatever next – are they going to have the black and brown (white is so 1920’s) minstrels pod cast the Queen Speech via the medium of rap? Will Cheryl Cole open the Houses of Parliament next year with a live rendition of her latest puerile gibberish dressed up as a gaudy and provocative beef eater? Enough is enough.
Before this moral decline began we wouldn’t have become embroiled in unwinnable conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, for starters we OWNED both these provincial back waters and more importantly at the first size of uppity locals we’d have sent in a couple of her Majesty’s gunboats to shell the crap out of the offending Fuzzy Wuzzies and nip any trouble in the bud. Before one of my more pedantic followers points out that Afghanistan is landlocked and doesn’t lend itself to the aforementioned gun boats they can be substituted by the 41st Regiment of Foot resplendent in mutton chops (the hirsute kind not stringy lamb) and scarlet tunics ready to take the bayonet to the enemy, they don’t like it up um they don’t!

I think it boils down to this.

Bring back:
Facial hair, not for the lady obviously, this isn’t Albania.
Devilled kidneys for breakfast, gentleman’s relish and steamed suet puddings.
Sword sticks, top hats and hansom carriages (without horses, I HATE horses!)
Servile working classes who know their place, doffing of caps and curtseying.
Capital punishment, corporal punishment and anal punishment (ask your Mum)

Get rid of:
Baseball caps, velour of any kind and training shoes not actually designed for sports but for fat unemployed people.
Mens moisturiser, low fat yoghurt, butter substitutes and Alco pops designed to be consumed by fat unemployed people.
Health and Safety of any kind – that’s what Darwinism is for.
Blackberries, not the fruit, they are fine but the stupid star trek style management style communicator. Gary(th) muttered something about keeping iPhones as he read over my shoulder, I think that’s what he said anyway, its difficult to tell what with his prolapsing cleft palate and all.
Reality T.V. or even better go the whole hog and turn them into running man style gladiatorial death fests for societies bottom feeders, Davina can still present……
The poor, the annoying, the poor and annoying, the habitually unemployed and anyone from North of the River Cam.

God Bless the Queen.

Its rare for the French to be leading the rest of the world when it comes to cutting edge business practices but they seem to have managed it this week and with the usual panache, flair and style you’d expect from the nation that gave us haute cuisine, haute couture and haute white flags.
Faced with the tricky prospect of having to deal with a mutinous communist workforce who go on strike at the drop of a beret and where the labour unions have the sort of power and influence that Gordon Brown gets misty eye (use of singular is deliberate) dreaming about our Gaelic cousins have arrived at an ingenious and cost free solution.
Instead of going through the slow, costly and frankly inefficient process of making all their competent garlic breathed staff redundant, paying them off and replacing them with cheap garlic breathed less competent Indians they have instead arrived at a new and innovative approach.

They just hound them to death…..

Not ones to miss a trick and take glory for someone else’s good ideas I await with trepidation as the penny (not a guillotine unfortunately) drops for management here, I can see it now. A large tower will be erected at the end of the car park with a quicklime lined pit dug alongside, meetings will be hosted on top of the aforementioned tower to go though something so mind numbingly eye bleedingly pointless, futile and dull (project delivery framework presentation anyone?) that the only options available to many will be to either attempt to open a major vein with the edge of sheet of torn notepad or to leap athletically to their deaths.
For management it’s a no brainer, not only do you make sure that everyone attends the new project framework delivery presentation but you also manage to cull half your work force in the process, and the best bit… pesky death in service or life insurance for you to fork out for, self inflicted injury isn’t covered.

You gotta hand it to these frogs, unlike the Maginot line its a plan with ne pas de flaws.

I am in a quandary, do I allow a frenzied pack of rabid corpse rats to ravage my genitalia or do I go shopping at Ikea with the wife…… choices choices and drawing on recent experiences I think I’d lean toward gritting my teeth and smearing Mr Happy with Winalot chum!
I now have something in common with Vietnam vets and I don’t mean Mr Han that gives your gerbil its flu jab I mean the wild eyed men of the woods types who keep waking up having strangled their wives (I did warn you not to wear pyjamas to bed!) I am part of the small intrepid band of men who have been posted to Ikea and survived….you had to be there man, you had to be there….yes that’s right, I have seen the metaphorical Ikea elephant and lived to tell the tale, not many men can say that!
If you are lucky enough to have never heard of or visited Ikea (from now on referred to correctly as Pikea) then imagine your most graphic and horrifying visitation of hell and add pale ash chipboard furniture, bric a brac and hordes of lurching retards pushing, pulling or humping shopping trolleys and that’s just the staff!
Pikea is hell on earth for the male form, I imagine the first thing that Eve did after tucking into that apple was think ‘ah, yes Sweden, lets give them Ulrika Jonsson to deflect the ‘whore’ devil’ stuff away from me and what about a massive furniture store so malevolent and destructive to carriers of the Y Chromosome that to experience it is akin to flaying your eyeballs with a rusty potato peeler whilst being buggered by a bull elephant with a Prince Albert’
The perceptive amongst you might have gleaned that I am not the biggest fan of either amorous Elephants with a penchant for piercings or ‘that place’ Its not the products, they are good quality and good value apparently. Its not the staff, they are as helpful as you would expect, the majority are toilet trained and they seem to communicate in some semblance of English. Its not the self service Argos style warehouse of dreams at the end where you can be sure to find that the vital component to the kitchen you have just spend 3 hours designing is out of stock. Its not even the subsidised low quality hotdogs that seem to draw fat wastrels to them like flies to a fresh steaming turd, I don’t know why I hate it so much……

But I do……

A lot….


Well Dire Straits clearly never worked here did they. The latest stake through the heart of morale here has been unveiled this week – the free coffee and tea vending machines have been upgraded and improved and in keeping with the usual advances now not only do the drinks taste worse than ever (tiny flimsy cardboard cups full of room temperature frothy yaks urine) but now to add insult to injury we have to pay for the privilege of poisoning ourselves as well.
I am fairly certain that these new machines have been purchased from Trotters Independent Traders, they take about ten minutes to spit out what is enthusiastically referred to as an ‘ultimate premium beverage’ they only give change in Reich marks and the cheery little messages on the LCD display have been clearly concocted by a 4 year old Albanian trainee village idiot (Please Drink Ready Take being a good example)
I’m not going to go on about it, frankly its too depressing , instead I am going to compile a list of things that I think will shortly also go the way of the free beverage if the bean flickers, I mean counters get their way:

Electricity – Why have a pesky utility bill to fork out for when you could just install coin meters on every desk and have your employees pay to use their workstation, the harder you flog your workforce the more money you make and the beauty of it is that it’s a self effacing prophecy – the longer they toil to make up for the ceaseless stream of pound coins they are haemorrhaging the steadier the steam becomes. Whilst we are on the subject in fact why not just make people buy their own laptops and phones but don’t be expecting to keep personal data on them, tut tut, that’s against company policy.

Desk Space – Got carpal tunnel syndrome, sciatica or terminal piles?, been told you need an orthopaedic chair and a raised desk to alleviate your symptoms? Well stop bleating and fuck off and work for a company that values its staff! Under our new Lease Lend system if you want a chair and a desk you will have to pay for them and no you can’t bring your own or work from home, we already rake it in from making you pay to park here.

Sanitary facilities (know as toilets to normal people) – Take a leaf from the great cities in Europe and have a guard on the door soliciting money (cash to splash you might call it) to allow you to use the toilet, and in keeping with nearly all great European cities even though you are paying do not expect the facilities to resemble anything other than something across between Blackadders outside privy and a charity run dysentery clinic in Mumbai.

Oxygen – I don’t mean those trending little bottles of pure O that are supposed to alleviate Cocaine induced migraines I mean the air that we breathe and that everyone apart from Kevin Costner needs to stay alive – if its in the office its technically yours so why not charge for it.

Anyone got any other examples or bad coffee machine related experiences, let me know using the comments option