Back now

Hey kids.

Sorry I was gone for a bit. Went for a walk and got lost. Back now. Popped my head into work today, they didn't seem to notice, so I billed them for a couple of weeks. That should pay the booze bill, and keep some, um, friends of mine from chopping off my hands. Just yet.

Should be a normalish day tomorrow, might try to fill you in on it... Should have my head together for the next xmas party, anyway.

Pray for me.

Joy to the Lackey

Your pal the Lackey awoke this morning suffocating under a pile of bodies. Mostly human, they were in all manner of dress and undress, some semi-conscious, many comatose, all reeking of alcohol, nicotine and untold illicit substances.

He had that funny feeling you get when you've had sex recently, but can't be sure with who, or how often. Looking around, he was pretty sure the answers were most of these people and possibly a couple of the animals, and quite a lot. The Lackey struggled for oxygen amid the press of flesh, and fighting his way through a jungle of limbs and hair, wine bottles and sex toys, he made it to his feet and surveyed the scene.

Beside the pile of bodies, there was a still mostly stocked bar, and further over, a couple of tables laden with cakes and cheese and crackers. He looked back at the people he had extricated himself from with such aplomb, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. He knew some of them. The room seemed familiar, and there was a santa hat draped discreetly over an otherwise naked comatose cosmodemonic middle manager.

Our young hero's head buzzed and crackled into life, and he realized that this could only mean one thing: office Christmas party season had begun.

I have seen the light

I was on the road to Damn Ass Kiss, an alternative and fetishwear clothing shop I sometimes go into for a perv, when I saw a blinding ray of light, I fell to the floor, and was nearly trampled to death by about a million dumbass teenaged raving boppers with glowsticks heading to the warehouse next door. And that was enough to convert me.

I grabbed a bunch of the glowsticks and tried to snap them , which somehow only made them glow more, burbled something incoherent even to myself and hurried away, hunchbacked, through the undergrowth of bum fluff and gum wrappers. Spent a few hours sitting at the top of a crane's tower in a construction site in the city howling at the moon until I realized it was attracting the ravers to me. I jumped for life was no longwer a livable thing but at some point in my rage one of those little crazies must have tied my shoelaces together, which when I thought about it explained the hunchback thing from earlier, and I hung from that crane until morning, when the construction blokes arrived for work.

Right after smoko, they used another crane to lower me to the ground, since I was apparently "too rancid smelling" to touch with their hands. I hobbled from there to work, and my boss was not impressed with my excuse for lateness, despite all the evidence of (even) new(er) scars, abrasions and filth.

Fear and Loathing in 21CCd

Well they took their time, but finally they've identified the fear gene.

I can't wait for cosmodemonic to get their hands on it. It'll make our customer service so much easier...

Customer: I'm afraid the sparks from our new product will electrocute our baby!

Cosmodemonic scripted robotic faux employee: No problem sir, we'll fix that for you right away! Just head straigt into our fear gene removal clinic in the mall nearest you, I'm making your appointment right now! Have a nice day.

---

Customer: Hi there, you seem to have added a terrorism prevention alarm to my bill, but I don't know what that is, or how it's supposed to help me. Can you just remove the service please?

Cosmodemonic scripted robotic faux employee: No problem sir, we'll fix that for you right away! Just head straight into our fear gene augmentation clinic in the mall nearest you, I'm making your appointment right now! Have a nice day.

Chupacabra Found Alive and Well

Just a quick public service post, to let these people know I have found the chupacabra and he is alive nd well, if a little on the aggresive side.

In fact, he attacked me as I was walking home from the pub last night. I'm pretty sure. What else can explain the scratches and clawings I woke up with this morning? And the sense of postboding?

Glossary Entry 3: Postboding

Postboding: An overwhelming feeling that something bad happened last night, but it has been blocked or blacked out from your memory.

The Art of Alt-Tab

The Alt-Tab. It is an important skill, and one of the first learnt in the corporate environment.

It is deceptively easy to grasp the essentials of the Alt-Tab, but it can take decades to master the intricacies and finer points of the art. Indeed, it is said by many a master that like any great art, the Alt-Tab is impossible to perfect. I am but a lowly practitioner of this discipline, and here I record what little I have gleaned from those so much wiser than me.

Like the wind whistling through tree-tops, the flicker of monitors being Alt-Tabbed follows an important man on his every journey through an open-plan office. It is beautiful, like a half-found memory of a long-lost love. And it is a guide to one's standing. A wise man does not acknowledge the Alt-Tab tide that accompanies him, but will smile secretly on the inside and chuckle like the dalai lama discovering viagra when he is sure he will not be heard.

The wise man of low standing knows better than to Alt-Tab if he is unsure his monitor has already been seen. Better to ackownledge the inappropriate website or game, smile sheepishly and offer to email it on, than to desperately flick too late to a work-related program. Especially if it obviously hasn't been touched since you opened it.

This is why it is vital to regularly flick to your some work-related screen or other, whether being spied upon or not. One must maintain the pretence that this is indeed how one works, and update the page slightly, so all skiving is less traceable. Wise advise indeed, kemo sabe.

Once one has mastered the impulse to flick, and can steadily and bravely hold off from the Alt-Tab when it is too late, one has reached as high a level of mastery as your Lackey has managed in all his years of practise. I have since investigated possible roads toward my improvement, but there is an impediment to Alt-Tabbing nirvana which I have thus far found it impossible to overcome. The problem is: once you have mastered the impulse to flick, and remained at this level for some time, there is the issue of finding oneself stuck shamelessly surfing the internet all day. Because after a while, everyone has seen you're on the web, and no one has made comment, so you grow a little bolder, a little bolder. Baby steps to corporate decrepitude.

The only solution I have been offered thus far is to actually and deliberately do work, and it seems to me there must be another path, perhaps the infamous "Road Less Travelled." I aim to soon travel a section of this road, and seek out an answer to my impossible quandary. I shall consult great oracles and dirty strangers, I shall climb highest mountains and run through the fields, only to share with you the greatest mysteries of the Alt-Tab. You're welcome.

Shoeless Lackey and the Identity Scandal

So your Lackey, for reasons undivulged but possibly involving sexual intercourse, alternatively involving a nice lie down far from the scary yuppies, but definitely involving not nearly enough jelly beans, spent the night away from home last night. I made sure I packed my over-night bag as carefully as I could - I fished the toothbrush out from the toilet cistern where I hide it so the roaches can't get at it, and threw it in the least stained-up takeaway bag I could find. Then I threw in some actual different clothes and stuff too.

This was all fine, and I was feeling pretty confident, if a little low on jelly beans, when I woke up this morning. I threw on the clean clothes, brushed my teeth, and hit the road to head into my demonic telegraphical corporation for another exciting day's blagging and blogging. Of course when I walked out the door I realised I had forgotten a couple of things - my shoes. And when I got to work I realised I had no id card, and Young Eddie refused to issue me a temp card on the basis that I was clearly some homeless vagabond. I thanked him, for vagabond at least sounds like the highest class of the homeless derelicts, and trudged away, barefoot and identity free.

I found a library where they're still nice enough to talk to homeless people, which is where I'm typing this, while I consider the irony that most morings when I have slept in a culvert or under a dumpster, noone seems to notice. Never again shall I under estimate the worth of shoes and id cards. Now for a free coffee from that van. Only gotta wait seven hours...

Phone Conversation Notes

There's news lately of a bloke getting indicted for stuff said in phone conversations years ago.

Now, I have no problem with dickheads getting indicted, and I have no problem with the idea that spoken words can be bad enough to get you into big trouble. The problem I have is that it's apprently possible to create a great big legal case against someone based on a bunch of notes of phone conversations from years ago. I just wouldn't have thought they'd be reliable evidence.

This is because I had a phone conversation with my boss this morning, regarding a project I'm "working" on. I seriously thought I was taking serious notes during the chat, in dot form and all. But when I looked at them later here is what I saw:

• Tasty

• creeeeamy

• FUNK!

So I'm just not sure what a judge would make of that.

Water cooler moment

They talk about water cooler moments - those cultural events, be they on tv or in actual real life that everyone talks about the next day. Well I just had a water cooler moment all of my own.

I went to the water cooler in the kitchen to rehydrate, however, as I was shaking out the cobwebs that seemed to envelope my cranium, I bashed into the door frame, rather than suavely sashaying through the door like what I meant to. Anyhow, this led to a brief loss of bearings, a fatal loss of coordination and a subsequent loss of dignity and self respect. I slipped on a pickle.

Embarrassing as this was, there was worse to come. The pickle slid, my balance went, and the floor tilted alarmingly. I woke up seeing stars, and more thirsty than ever.

Luckily the stars were the ones that Cute Nurse pinned to the ceiling of the sick room. Mostly posters of hideous boy bands, there's one of T.a.T.u. hiding in there just for me. I'm her most regular patient, she tells me, which I take to mean I have a great bum. "Hey, you too, babe," I smile as I drift into consciousness, only to find it's Nurse Battleaxe and she's frowning down at me, the grey hairs on her chin and the ones falling out of her tied back old lady do all a-quiver with the chance to hurt, maim, tell off, and (maybe still somewhere far back in her twisted conscience) heal all at once with a helpless Lackey lying on the sick bed.

She's made one mistake, however: she hasn't used the straps to tie me down. Clearly she underestimated the power a Lackey's thirst has - it woke me, now I'm finding water immediately! "Water..." I groan. Don't worry it's only tactic number one.

"I'll fetch you some in a moment, just you lie still while I finish this bandage. Oh you've been in the wars again, my boy, I don't know how one man can double the nursing staff of a building."

Typical! There she goes already, starting with the snide insults, pretty soon she'll be on at me to change my ways. Not bloody likely! "Away, foul harridan!" I scream, as I hurl myself from the sick bed headfirst to the floor.

I wake up seeing stars. As T.a.T.u. fade into view I feel a sting progress through ache to hurt to hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before!!! Through the blood that seems to cake my eyes, I see the Cute Nurse, smiling at me as she deals savagely to a wilful needle that has dug itself into my arm, and is now twisting and yelping like a beast. "Sorry, matey, I was just practising taking blood, I’m not too good at it yet, as you can tell – so I thought I’d give it a go while you were sleeping."

"Hey, Cute Nurse, that’s aarrgggh ok, no arrggghh problem at aarrgggll. Whaddya doin later?"

"Oh, my boyfriend’s taking me to the rodeo. Wanna come?"

"Um, no thanks. Arrggh! When are you gonna arg leave that arg bum for me?"

"Oh, Lackey, you’re such a charmer you sweet talking devil!"

"Argh."

"It’s cute. In a puppy dog kind of way."

"Argh. How much blood are you taking!!?"

I woke up seeing stars.

Technical terms for nothing at all

OK, maybe there are too many series on this jandal, but this is potentially one more.

Sometimes you have to pretend you know what you're talking about when in fact you don't have a clue. Luckily the corporate world is built around this very concept. Your friendly neighbourhood Lackey finds himself dealing with the odd word or phrase which grabs the attention for the very meaninglessness of it. And recycling those very same phrases the next time he is asked about something new and bizarre, old and forgotten, or real and too hard.

So I'm compiling a list of the most excellent words and phrases to use in that email to your boss explaining everything you've done, when in fact you've done nothing at all.

Of course the email could read Dear Boss, you suck arse. Felch me as I walk on out the door. Nothing personal of course, you've just bought into the system. Laters, Lackey. But that would be disingenuous because the fact is I've bought into the system too. Doing nothing and getting away with it by making it sound like something, and the pangs of corporate ennui that come along with that, is the system. Hence this list, to help us all achieve that stage of ennui that is virtually indistinguishable from nirvana, or at least a lot like that feeling you get when you ate all the lollies and have to lie down for a bit.

Best phrases to use to cover having done nothing:

• Drill-down - you can use it in lots of ways, because it doesn't mean anything at all. I mean, unless you're digging a hole. So: "Yeah we drilled down into that to investigate the avenues of opporunities that might arise." "The chart has a drill-down mechanism for better your convenience." (Don't worry, no one ever looks at the charts except to see they're pretty.) Etc etc etc.
• Extrapolate - as in you can extrapolate from what I've told you, and please assume whatever you can think of is what I actually did. Unless it's bad.
• Proactive - as in actually doing something, so ok, active. It's supposed to be opposite of reactive, but reactive means getting pushed around by others, not doing anything of your own, which is pretty much inactive, so the opposite of that is active I reckon. People think it sounds better because it's silly to say we should be active - sounds like you want to go for a rollerblade or something. So proactive means professionally active, because it means you sound like a professional while you're active.
• Going forward - this actually mean in the future, but someone thought it sounded much more proactive. "How will this impact us going forward?" "Um, like, I dunno, maybe the opposite way than if we were in reverse?" Speaking of which...
• Impact - This can also sound like it means anything, when in fact it's usually short for nothing. But a cool nothing, being verb, noun, adjective , adverb and sentence or even paragraph all by itself: "Going forward the proactive impact this will have on the business needs will impact on product development impactingly. This will created impacted demand and supply issues which will then oscilate over the course of time. Extrapolating from there, we see great impact going forward. Jim, can you drill down on that for me please?" "Impact!" "You said it Jim. Thank you all for coming, and goodnight."

Successful Hangover Cures II

I have found a new, expensive way to cure a hangover: all you have to do is spend $67.45 on hangover cure products. Any combination of analgesics, eyedrops, antacids, relaxants, stimulants, methamphetamines, nicotine, narcotics, greasy food and sports drinks will do.

When you've spent your moneyMurphy's Law will have a brief tussle with Stirling's Hangover Immutability Theorem, which states that no hangover may last less than a time calculated on your age and fun factor, with a small adjustment for amount actually drunk the night before.

Murphy's Law, on the other hand, states that if you spend a lot of money on something you need, the reason for that need will vanish once the cash is handed over. I now have empirical proof that $67.45 is the point at which Murphy's Law beats Stirling's Hangover Immutability Theorem. Next time you're feeling the effects, all you have to do is ask yourself just how much it's worth. And, if it's worth enough, you get the unexpected side effect of a refreshed bathroom cabinet!

Brief Elevator Conversation

Sneery Middle AgedLady 1: ... Yes, well he would wouldn't he. And did he tell her?

Sneery Middle AgedLady 2: Oh no.

Sneery Middle AgedLady 1: No. Well he wouldn't would he. He wears a skirt that man. I'm sure when he gets home he puts on a skirt.

Lackey: Well I know I do!

...

Sneery Middle AgedLady 1: Well at least you admit. Nothing wrong with that is there? At least you can admit it.

Sneery Middle AgedLady 2: [Smiles] That's right!

The elevator reaches their floor and they walk off. Both wearing trousers.

Office Immutable Laws II

THE MURPHY_WAS_A_GAMBLAHOLIC THEORY OF OFFICE SWEEPSTAKES

The effort (e) an office member (L) puts into creating office sweepstakes is inversely proportional to the winnings (w) one takes from them, until the cumulative effort eC reaches the threshold level eT where L becomes dishonest.