Wankers Of The World, Unite

So there I was, striding through the door of Fitz & Sons Solicitors, for my first day, when I was warmly greeted by Dave The Lawyer.

‘Howya Brian, nice suit. Good to see you scrubbed up for once.’ There’s nothing a crisp Armani suit can’t do for a man. I nodded and he continued.

‘Now I know from your CV what kind of worker you are, so believe me that even though we’ve been friends for several years, I won’t tolerate drinking on the job, okay?’

Bollocks.

‘Now that being said, I know you’re a good man, but I have to prepare some cases for the District Court this week, so I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Jake here, he’ll give you the guided tour and let you loose on the place.’

Jake, a nerdy looking fucker who I swear must have trained to look that fucking bookish, came over to me and held out his hand.

‘Ah, you must be Brian. I’m so pleased to meet you, I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun as colleagues and I can’t wait to get you started.’ He held out his hand.

‘Charmed.’ said I in response. He moved on and beckoned me to follow him. He took me up into a cubicle that sardines would say was tiny.

‘This is your workspace, you’ll be taking care of reports and taking general enquiries from embers of the public. Soon we’ll be giving you a politeness course and a course in dealing with members of the public.’ I froze in my tracks.

‘You mean I have to sit trhrough some boy droning on about how to say the words “Good afternoon sir, how are you?” Why?’ Jake just gave me a big smile that would have been completed with a set of braces.

‘We here at Fitz & Sons take our public image seriously, and we aim to offer the highest quality of customer service and satisfaction to all of our clients.’ He then gave me a look that is best summed up with and I was seriously beginning to think he was a changeling from Planet Zog, the planet of customer service representatives. He then showed me the canteen, where a load of girls were standing about perusing the latest addition of Heat magazine. Not very challenging but fresh meat nonetheless. I had to divert my attention to the speccy bollocks when he insisted we look at the post room. That amazingly interesting aside over – did you know that photocopiers can take up to A2 size paper? Wow! – we headed back to my workstation where he dropped a pile of paper on my desk. 

‘Now I’ll give you your first task. You have to file these reports through the system. I’ll show you how to do that now. Any questions?’

‘Two,’ I said. ‘Firstly, how long do I have to do this, and secondly do you play World of Warcraft?’ He grinned.

‘In response to your initial question, all day, because that should take you through to five o’clock including break t one, and secondly, no I don’t play it.’ Surprising, I mused to myself.

 ’I used to though.’

 At three o’clock, Jake came round and found me surfing Ebaum’s World. His glasses got a bit steamed up then, I tell you.

‘Mr. Damage, what are you doing? I set you a task to do and you’re wasting company time!’ I leaned back in my chair, flashed him the smile that’s broken many a woman’s heart (it disarms angry men when they find out you’ve been bumping uglies with their bird). and gazed serenely at him.

‘Jake, I finished that job half an hour ago. Until five, you said? Christ, you lot must get no work done here. No wonder scumbags are wandering free on the streets of Dublin. Now if you’ve nothing else to do for me, I’ll ask you to kindly cease your invasion of my privacy and get back to kicking that paladin’s ass or whatever it is you’re doing.’ Why was I finished so quickly? Because I destroy clerical work. It’s shit easy. Gone in Sixty Seconds type of thing. Jake was fuming. But he grinned that stupid grin and walked off.

‘All I needed then was a Pina Colada with a wee umbrella in it. Anyway, the rest of the week was much the same, but there’s a few stories for a different day …

Here’s the song that’s been wrecking my head in a good way all week, Plug In Baby, by Muse.

Thus I refute Thee

I had a proper post on this, but WordPress decided to delete it. So again I ask the question, what would you say about the following song, given that it’s been described as ‘a thumthumping piece of classic hard rock’ or ‘music to invade Poland to’?

Rammstein, Ich Will.

Call of Duty

So as I stand on the cusp of starting a new job, you may be asking, what has this shiftless South Dublin boy been doing after he left Gonzaga and left UCD after three months never to return? (Geology, as a degree, sucks ass) Well I have beehn living off my trust fund, and I rent my own half-of-a-house-more-of-a-flat-kinda-thing in Booterstown (the folks are originally from Dundalk, but we’ve been in SoCoDu for about twelve years now) but I have also had a succession of daft and increasingly shit jobs. Hopefully Dave the Lawyer’s new offer won’t pan out the same way. My CV reads like a heroin addict’s hangouts …

Tesco’s: I worked in the Tesco’s opposite St. Vincent’s Hospital for a while. I was a shelf stacker and checkout dude there. It was so, like, fucking awful that I’m amazed I managed to last three months in there. We’d this prick of a manager from Coolock who was all up his own arse and he was totally a wankstain. Some of my co-workers had the thousand yard stares of war veterans, while others had that look that said they wnated to bring a crossbow into work and traet life like one of those arcade video games. I was on less than minimum wage here and I hated it. I really cannot describe hwo bad it was.

Citibar: A favourite haunt of me and the boys, I thought I’d landed the dream job when I got into this venerable institution in Dame Street and started serving pints. The pay was decent enough, the hours were okay, but the one major sticking point, and fuck me but this was a sticking point, I couldn’t go out with the boys. I had to watch all these ugly bastards stealing hot birds from under my nose and divil a hate I could do about it. I did however get the pleasure of watching Ed the Ram try and take several bouncers all at once, and as his name may suggest, Ed’s a bit of a tank, like. Hilarious stuff. Anyway, I eventually quit on my own terms – thus far the only job I haven’t been sacked from – and I almost regretted leaving. Almost.

Starbucks: I actually don’t want to talk about this job. Let’s just say I was nealr done for assault when I left, and not without severe provocation.

Booterstown DART Station: The last refuge of the damned. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. I basically just swept up the station from time to time. Lasted all of five weeks; the only convenient thing was that it was five minutes walk from the house.

Burger King: *sob* The wounds are just too fresh!!

So that’s basically my CV. The things we do for money/a few brewskis, eh?

PS: I just saw that Brianf is celebrating his first bloggoversary … so happy interweb days and head over and give him your best wishes!

We Care A Lot

This was an awesome song back in the day, a total pisstake of Bobbo Geldof and co. with his preachy patriarchal rantings at us, the decent citizens of the world, who barely make enough to keep us in Donnybrook Fair’s finest roulades of turkey, or braised lamb steak, and Cohiba premium cigars from that fine establishment on Grafton Street (I’m fond enough of a cigar to be fair), by Faith No More, a staple of my musical upbrining in the mid-90’s, and a band who are ironically, no more.

Anyway, I bring this up, because me and the boys were heading into Boheny and Nesbitt’s for a few last night when we were accosted by people handing out leaflets on abortion. Now since I’ll never have a little bundle of joy/demon spawn fermenting in my lower colon – though sometimes after a few of Abrekebabra’s greatest I wonder – I have no honest opinion on the subject, but here I was being handed a leaflet with the most disgusting looking shit I’ve ever seen on it. The woman handing out the leaflets, a dishevelled old bird who looked like she’d blown up a homeless person’s clothes and knitted them back together, gave me what I believe is called an earnest look.

‘Did you know over five thousand women leave Ireland every year for abortions? That is an absolute travesty against human rights.’

I stood there for a sec. Now I wanted to respond that maybe if they were raped or whatever, it was their prerogative. Then again, people have different opinions on these and whatever floats your boat like. A million different, possibly intelligent things were going through my head, each arguing between themselves as to who’d get out to the tip of my tongue, and just as I was about to make a measured remark outlining why I’m in favour of abortions in extreme circumstances, Ed the Ram pushed past me, and said to the woman.

‘Great and all talking to you miss, but I’m starving. Boys, wanna head to Miller’s and grab a pizza?’

There’s no real comeback to that, is there?

A Conversion On The Road To Blackrock

Much like Saul, I’ve had a spiritual journey. Only mine took place on the Rock Road driving down to Blackrock to pick up my brother from TGI Friday’s. Now if you have even glanced across this blotg, you will note that I am having problems with my BT broadband. Truth be told, I had consigned this blog to history (much to the delight of Jerky Joe, whose internet took a recent pounding), but on the way down the Rock Road, I spotted an ad for eircom broadband. Deciding that one bundle of messy wires is as good as another, i decided to call them up.

So the next day the guy came round, dropped off the router, and now I’m back online! Praise eircom! If you use BT Broadband, feel free to send me your own horror stories.

In other news, I was fired from Burger King for being totally hungover one day and I was caught sleeping in the manager’s office. That said, the bottle of Red Square’s finest hanging out of my pocket probably didn’t help. Oops That said, I did meet a totally cool lassie from Latvia called Maria in it. And contrary to my misconceptions about Burger King employed-women, she didn’t smell like chips or have scabies! How cool is that??

So in a rare generous gesture, Dave The Lawyer has offered me a place at his firm as basically a running boy, only I’ve been given the lofty title of Record Administration Clerk, which makes me feel important somehow. So I start next week, and to celebrate, Dave the Lawyer is taking us all out to Citibar this evening to take advantage of Student €2 a drink night. Stupid students don’t know how good they have it! However he did warn me that if he caught me drinking on the job he would castrate me with a rusty knife so I’m assuming that it’s a negative for the Drinkey-On-The-Jobo. Ah well, time for the ol’ Bulmers-in-a-Cidona bottle trick. And as for the job, at €17 an hour starting wage for a simple job, all I gotta say is KA-CHING!

I couldn’t find Celebrate Good Times by Kool and the Gang, but this is still a bitchin’ song, Low Rider, by War.  

Marmite, anyone?

Not Back Yet

Damn internet. well while I was in Jerky Joe’s gaff checking the internet, I came across this.

Lolziness.

In other news, head over to Grandad’s place. He thinks he’s lost his sense of humour but he’s as much of a ledge as ever. Interweb five!