It’s a little late in the morning…
We should have officially finished work at 10 but things overlapped somewhat. Needless to say I struggled with the bare minimum of simple tasks, such as filing papers away. I’m glad all I have to do is sit here now and then endure a short bus ride home.
Merry Christmas empty room!
December 24th, 2010
I think it’s only fair to let everyone know, and when I say everyone currently I just mean Kev, that I am not the original Ian McIver. I am in fact a sequel to myself, a sequel to the original McIver who came before me, but who also was me. It gets even more complicated when I say that the original McIver wasn’t a human but he was in fact a radiator.
When I was first “born” I was created in a factory because I was a radiator. For the first thirteen years of my life I was installed in a strip club in one of the nicer areas of London where beautiful semi-naked women would rest their booties on me to keep them warm during the winter months. It was agony during the spring and the summer unless a particularly nasty cold spell meant they needed my assistance. Unfortunately this was not to last.
For the next thirteen years of my life, when the strip club was closed down on indecency chrges, I was placed in an old people’s home in Coventry. It can only be described as the biggest test of anyone’s patience imaginable. The horrors that took place there I will never speak of again (until someone pays me to write my memoirs). Want a sample? Two words: wrinkly bottoms.
It was then that I was signed up for another thirteen year stretch in another part of the world. I would have done anything to get out of there. It became apparent though that in my desperation to escape I did not check the fine print on the piece of paper. I have signed up to radiate the sea underwater; unfortunately the thirteen years didn’t pan out quite as successfully though as I suffocated after 98 seconds.
Look how I turned out though!
2 comments December 22nd, 2010
This is what happens when one person has access to Photoshop and nobody else in the firm does:
December 21st, 2010
Not only is Kevin Hill a somewhat attactive single lawyer looking after a baby in some rubbish TV show in America but he is also working in three firms of solicitors in two separate locations:
How he manages all this and looks after his dog-grooming salon I will never know.
December 16th, 2010
Are you still buying Christmas presents?
Can’t what to do buy Uncle Dad or Cousin John in prison?
Then what you need is the ultimate gift for the ultimate person! Smoochies Inc are proud to announce a release of 1000 only set of Stretched Weasel Cheese Statues, not available in the shops.
Each statue has the chiseled features of nature’s favourite mammals: the beady eyes, the protruding whiskers, the cutsey face. In fact each statue has ten times more cute than the leading competator with a whole stack of satisfaction guaranteed.
Order now and we will ship within 24 hours, so that’s at least 24 hours before the country gets snowed in again. And remember there are only 1000 sets for sale making it an instant limited edition, never to be re-issued again. In fact if you do not order at least one this instant you will forever remember this moment as the moment when you could have ordered a life-changing collection of Stretched Weasel Cheese Statues and you didn’t, because you plumped for something stagnant and ordinary like a copy of Shrek which you can buy any time and you shouldn’t really because they’re just plain awful.
…
Order now. Our dedicated staff are on hand to take your call.
4 comments December 14th, 2010
As I walk, she walks with me.
As I play, she plays with me.
I look back and all I can see is her, everywhere, like a French sunset of brilliant colours. An obsession writhing on the beach.
I am with one with her and myself.
You will never know it but you can feel it. Feel it every day.
Man Musk by The Saint King.
December 13th, 2010
There are so many great wizards out there, Gandalf, Merlin, some kid with glasses, that it does put a lot of pressure on starting wizards or begina-wizards to become somewhat of a legend. Luckily someone has seen sense and decided that not everyone has to be a great wizard, that sometimes being the worst at something can be a lot more fun. So we hereby present a bitesize version of Smoochies Inc’s ‘How To Be A Shit Wizard’.
The standard and deluxe editions of ‘How To Be A Shit Wizard’ are available now from most bookshops.
December 7th, 2010
I agreed to go to a somewhat unconventional jazz festival with my counterparts Mr Nick and Mr Neil which was being held in a large pub some thirty miles away. The first problem was that I didn’t know where it was located and they had already set off without me so I was left to my own devices. I managed to somehow get to within a couple of miles and hitched a ride on an old fashioned red double decker to the front of the pub.
Inside it was comprised of three or four floors. The main floor was on the ground level comprising of many tables and chairs and a huge spiral staircase through the middle of the room, but you couldn’t use it. It appeared to be some sort of art edifice. Encountering my usual bladder troubles even in a dream I head downstairs to the basement level to go to the toilet.
It is set out like the toilets in a school gym; line upon line of urinals as far as the eye can see, drenched in piss stains and chewing gum. The toilets are so far in the distance I can’t make them out, it’s as big as a warehouse. To make matters worse filling up most of the room is a group of school children lined up in formation and being drilled by a teacher. I quietly pick a urinal as far away from the chaos as possible and slip back upstairs.
There’s no music though. For a jazz festival there is only the sound of people talking. Perhaps it’s a metaphor or something, I didn’t pay to get in after all. I wander up to the top floor and still no music. I haven’t even located my two friends and instead get followed by a strange man with a beard and glasses, trying to start a conversation with me about vermouth and spiders. I make my excuses and leave but he still follows. Outside it’s a beautiful warm day.
What does it all mean?
December 1st, 2010
