Ironically enough - or is it...

The Alanis song has been re-written so as its content's actual meaning is the same as its title's literal meaning. This may or may not be ironic.

And where have you been all this time?

Hoffest spunk dispenser ever

OK, I think there should be more of these. But then, I never wash my hands anyway. Not after number ones. I mean, isn't that like admitting you were dirty down there, or, you missed and peed on your hands? I think that after peeing, you should have to wash your penis. Your hands have been touching things all day, while your bits have been washed and then safely tucked into clean underwear. At least so the story goes...

Too cool

Now this is just too cool.

And I don't care what anyone else says, I want a magic cloak.

A remarkable story of courage, survival and lubricant

You may have been wondering where I’ve been lately. I’ve been a little tied up. I’ll try to explain, but it’s a long story and you’ll probably get bored:

These last few weeks have been the toughest and most humbling experience of my life. They have taught me more than I thought possible to know about the random nature of peril and salvation in this world, about myself, and about my friends and family who never gave up on me. And about the remarkable properties of lubricant.

You’ll remember I told you how I met Ebony, the stripper mistress of one of the nameless executives from the penthouse level of my building. As she left me to tend to my (rather significant) wounds, burns, contusions and bruises in the building’s sick bay, she left me a business card.

EBONY
Professional, personal, pliable
Call…

And a phone number which I have decided not to publish at this stage due to possible forthcoming legal action.

So I spent a week or two being nursed back to health, first by Cute Nurse in the Sick Room, then, after she sent me home, by the demons in my room. (They helped in the end. Better not to dwell on it though.) After several nights of tossing and turning and waking in severe pain, I rediscovered Ebony’s card, and it prompted me to forget my pain, which I did by inhaling a quart of vodka, followed by a litre of tonic (for the inoculating effects of the quinine, and it makes a nice mixer too). Thus fortified, I made the call.

Hello?
Uh, hi, is that Ebony?
… Who’s calling please?
Um, it’s Lackey here, we met a couple of weeks ago? I was the one in the elevator at Cosmodemonic, and then at the party, and getting beaten up a lot, remember? With the firey drapes, and the bouncers came from nowhere with the sledgehammers, and the hell hounds?
Oh yes, Lackey, how are you healing up?
Oh look fine really. No worries! Actually, I’ve just been to my yoga class, and was at the gym before that. So, ah, I was wondering if you were free, maybe we could catch up some time?
Well, I was hoping that you’d recover ok. Look, I told you I have a partner, right? And you know what he did to you when he saw you with me that night.
Sure you told me you had a partner, but I didn’t realise he was one of the executives!
What did you think I was doing there?
Actually I thought you were the entertainment.
Hm. Well, that is how we met actually. But that’s beside the point now. He is my partner, and he gets quite jealous.
No shit. So you’re dating a Cosmodemonic executive. Wow.
Well, dating is such a loose term. Put it this way: we see a lot of each other.
He’s married isn’t he? To someone else I mean.
Well, yes. But it works out well between us.
So can I see you sometime?
Well, I am happy to know you’re ok, and I do feel partially responsible…
Oh, don’t worry, I get maimed every time I make it to that floor, honest.
… So, sure why not. But listen, because my partner is so jealous… look, come to my place tomorrow night, but just don’t tell anyone you’re coming ok? Make it our secret? Promise me.
Ok, I promise. A little intrigue is always intriguing.

She told me her address, and I wrote it on the card and hung up. Life was, once again, looking up.

The following evening, I sang my way to Ebony’s home. It took longer than it should have, since I forgot the card I had written the address on it, and after a while I was mostly singing “Ebony? Do you live around here? Helloooo…?” But eventually I found the place.

It was a big house, set on a big lawn with manicured gardens and pedicured grass. The door was big too, and made of oak, and when I rang the doorbell it swung open all by itself, like in a bad horror movie. It was spooky, though, and maybe I should have known then. But I didn’t. I walked in.

“Ebony?”
“Come on in,” she called, from somewhere down the hallway.
“Hell of a place you’ve got here,” I sauntered, hands in pockets, at ease for no good reason, and only more at ease when I looked through a doorway into a room to my right.
There was Ebony, curled on an armchair in front of a log fire, holding a glass of wine. Wearing only a negligee. She was beautiful and I felt more and more Raymond Chandler with each step. I went to her.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks. Wanna drink?”
“Sure.”
She got up from the chair and moved to the decanters over by one of the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and as her blonde hair flowed across her throat I was in love. She poured a whiskey and added a little water, walked back across the room and handed it to me.
“I’m glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”
“Really.”
“Yes. I want to apologise again for getting you into all that trouble last time. I do feel bad about it – you were really beaten badly.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t so bad. I’m over most of the injuries, and the bruises are pretty funky colours now. It was all a bit of fun really.” I seated myself on a chair opposite hers.
“A bit of fun? Well, I guess that makes me feel a lot better. A heck of a lot better actually…” She nearly purred.
“Sure, a bit of fun, don’t worry about it… now how about you? This is a hell of a place you got. You live here by yourself? You really are a lady of mystery, aren’t you.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Lackey.” The lights started to dim, but I couldn’t see any switch, they must have been on a timer. I finished my whiskey.
“So what have you got planned for me tonight? It’s a great start so far!”
“Oh you just wait and see, you won’t have to wait too long, I promise. Now how about another drink? I know you like a drink.”
She got up again, and seemed to fade from view as she walked toward the drinks trolley. “Hey this house – it’s his isn’t it? I bet it’s his. Is his wife out of town or something? Hey, who’s that?”
A blurry figure had appeared on the outside of my vision, fading somehow in and out of focus, it seemed to be a middle aged man with a hairy pot belly, exposed by the leather straps of his bondage outfit. But it couldn’t be. This night was about Ebony and me… I dropped my glass. It was him.
“Ebony, look out, he’sh here, in the roommm…”
“You didn’t waste any time on him, my dear.”
“He’s a thirsty man, ok.”
“Well done. Now, come here…” The room went black.

I came to and immediately wished I hadn’t. This thought was stuck in my brain like a strobing sign: “NAARGGH!!” After a couple of long moments, it was gone, and my muscles relaxed. When the pain cleared and I could see again, I realised I had been woken by a pair of bloodthirsty psychopaths who had attached electrodes to my privates, and were now cackling at each other as I gasped and tried to collapse. I couldn’t collapse as my wrists were cuffed to chains hanging from the ceiling. My feet were chained to floor. And my balls were wired to a battery. We were inside some kind of a cage in a basement dungeon that the executive had spent a lot of time and money on fitting out. There were racks and arrays of various weapons and implements, restraints and This night had become a lot worse than I thought.
The executive and Ebony were standing in front of me, she had her hand on a switch, and he had a hand on her. They were both wearing leather bondage outfits, which could have been kind of cool, in different circumstances, like say if he wasn’t there at all and she wasn’t electrocuting my balls at will.
“Hey, this isn’t… so cool anymore.” It was hard for me to talk, or breathe, or pretty much do anything.
“Shut up, scum!” the executive shouted, and Ebony twisted the switch and it was spasms and contractions and NAARGGH!! for an infinity. “You think you’re good enough to share an elevator with my Ebony? You think you’re good enough to talk to her? You think you’re good enough to lick her boots? Well? Lick them scum!”
She kicked me in the face. Way too quick for me to clean her boots properly. So of course I was in trouble and here cam the zap again.
Anyway, look, I’ll save you all the gory details, and they were gory, trust me. Basically it transpired that he wasn’t happy that I’d received enough of a beating the other week, and she just liked electrocuting people. I still like to think that she had a soft spot for me, and that if he hadn’t been there, things might have been different. But get the two of them together, and they’re a pair of bloodthirsty, sadistic freaks. I’m pretty sure they did things to me that I have blocked out and hopefully will never remember again. Certainly, I have no recollection to explain some of the odder scars.
The torture continued, off and on, for a period of days, maybe even weeks, I lost track. They didn’t feed me, just left me strung up. Circulation started to go, I was out of it or light headed most of the time, so it’s hard to know anything for sure.

I spent a long time, alone, trapped underground in a cage. I survived on lubricant, and sucking the moisture from the leather straps that bound me. One or both of them would come in, to torture, molest, or beat me at whim. Let’s put it this way – it wasn’t very pleasant.

Somewhere going into the second week, I woke to hear a strange sound, it sounded like a voice, but it wasn’t full of rage and malice. I recognised that sound, it came from a different world, a world of dreams and pleasure, a world that no longer existed. The I heard it again.
“Lackey!” it was a hissed whisper, but I did know that voice! Cute Nurse! Ahh! Was she one of them? Was she with them? God no, it would be too much. I closed my eyes, and pretended not to hear. I could bear no more. My body was more orifice than entity, and most of those orifices and been violated numerous times, generally unlubricated, because I had eaten all of that. My genitals were damn near planed off, but had been trained to respond to a slap of a baton to my right nipple. The pain if I didn’t get it up after such a slap was so intense I now had a Pavlov’s dick. My legs and arms were constantly on the verge of dislocation, I was slowly starving to death and I hadn’t shaved in quite a while. These things I could handle, but if Cute Nurse was with them, well that would break my spirit. I dared not open my eyes, dared not look around.

“Lackey you bastard, are you alive? I’m in the window, look behind you!” I did not respond. I was dreaming, and it was probably going to turn into a nightmare. “Lackey!” came the hiss again, “Are you alive? I’m behind you, turn around. God, what have you got yourself into this time, you crazy bastard? Can you move? Lackey!” I gave in, and turned a little in my chains, and opened my good eye. It was Cute Nurse, and she was staring through a grill high in the wall, which must have been ground level outside. When she saw me turn she started to smile, but when she saw my face, the smile turned into a gasp, which she quickly tried to smother. That made me kind of laugh, which made her gasp again. We could have gone on like that all day, but the situation called for attention.
“Lackey, you’re alive! Kind of! Look, I came to get you out, but if I pull this grill out it’ll make a huge amount of noise, and they’ll probably hear us.”
“God, don’t do that!”
“Shh! They’ll hear you!”
“Don’t do that, they’ll kill me, and they’ll probably kill you too. It’s too risky! There has to be another way. That can be plan B.”
“Ok, I’ll go call the cops. Don’t worry, I’ll come straight back.” She started to move away from the window.
“No! No cops.”
“What?
“I have unpaid parking tickets.”
“Oh cripes. Well, there may be another way. There’s some kind of entrance here, looks like it leads down. I’ll dig it out, and see where I get to, hopefully come out underneath you, but it will take some time, ok?”
“Yeah, no worries. Hell I’m getting kind of used to it in here. Not so different from Cosmodemonic, you know.”
“Oh, and Lackey, here, have this.” She threw a small package at me and disappeared. It was a good thing Ebony and the executive had broken most of my bones, it made me flexible enough to pick it up in my feet, transfer it to my hands, all while chained up. It was an iPod. I put it on, and hit random. Stuck in the Middle With You. Brilliant.

Soon, Ebony and the executive both came in to the cage they did a strange kind of sadistic sexual aerobics class that lasted several hours. Then, lying on the floor, the both of them spent, they noticed the white headphones hanging from my ears.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s an iPod, stud. They play music.”
“I know what it is, where did it come from?”
“I don’t know, maybe he had it hidden in has arse?”
“Well I reckon we’d have found it by now. I reckon maybe you gave it to him. Got a soft spot for this piece of meat, have you?!”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, or I’ll take to you with a vacuum cleaner!”
“Ooh I love it when you talk clean like that!”
“You love it now, it’ll be a different story when you’re inside out my little boy!”
They carried on, got carried away, and left some time later, iPod forgotten.

“Man, those guys are really sick, aren’t they!” It was Cute Nurse popping in for a chat.
“Shouldn’t you be digging or something?”
“You’re welcome. Any time you get yourself chained up in a rich man’s dungeon, and tortured by two psychopathic chainskanking robofreaks, hell I’ll come over and dig for a week to get you out, and don’t you worry about a thing. In fact, be rude to me if you like. I love it.”
“Sorry. I’m just dieing down here, I haven’t eaten in weeks and you know, it’s not altogether pleasant. Hey how did you find me here anyway?”
"After you were missing from work for two full weeks, I went to your apartmentlooking for you.I broke in and found that tacky card with the address scrawled on it pinned to the door so you wouldn't forget it. You really need to clean your place by the way."
"And get better security locks."
“Look, I haven’t got too far to go. I don’t have much in supplies, but maybe you can chew on this.”
She threw me her lipstick and disappeared. Great.

Soon I could hear scratching, and bumping and faint explosions coming from underneath me. It was Cute Nurse, making good progress underneath me, towards a trapdoor next to the cage. I was so proud of her!

Soon enough, the trapdoor burst open and there she stood, smiling, covered in dirt, and somehow never more glorious. She rushed to me, made as if to hug me, then balked when she saw just how disfigured and disgusting I had become.
“I broke a nail,” she said. “Let’s get you loose, shall we” Soon enough all the chains were untied and I staggered to the floor. She helped me up, and with my arm over her shoulders and her arm around my back, we made toward the trapdoor.
As we reached it, we heard a commotion, and Ebony came running into the dungeon.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing! Give him back, he’s mine!”
“Not any more sweetheart,” replied Cute Nurse. “Lackey, get going, I’ll sort this out.” She showved me into the hole, and I fell, squealing like a girl. I managed to make my feet again, and the last thing I heard as I ran tottering along the tunnel Cute Nurse had excavated was: “Your orgy of ugly is over. Now, suffer.”

I ran to the entrance, and out into the light. Blinded, I staggered on, running and blundering as far as I could before my legs finally gave out and I collapsed. Apparently Cute Nurse picked me up about a meter from the entrance, carried me to her car, and drove me to her house to resuscitate.

I faded in and out of consciousness for several days or weeks, and awoke to find Cute Nurse bathing my face with a cloth, tender and beautiful in the moonlight.
“Hi.” I smiled.
“Hullo there, how’re you feeling?”
“Better I guess.”
“Good.”
“Hey, Cute Nurse, what happened back there? Between you and Ebony?”
Her face hardened for a moment. “Don’t worry. You won’t be seeing her again.”
“How’s your fingernail?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’m tough, I can take it. You just worry about feeling better I was really worried about you. I didn’t realise how worried I was, I think until now, now I know you’re going to be ok. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Anything… at all?”
“Oh, no, you’re doing great, I’m just so exhausted still. The physical wounds will heal, but they made me have so much sex, so much filthy degrading sex, that I’m just exhausted, and I just need to rest. Thank you so much, you are so good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

I know. I am not always so stupid, and now that I’m better, whenever I look back on that conversation, I kick myself. Every night.

I tell you what, these guys had it easy.

Attitude Adjustment Day

To: All Staff
From: Attitude Adjustment Dept

Hello.

We do hope you had a good denominationally neutral break and have returned refreshed and dedicated to working ever harder for the Good of 21st Century Cosmodemonic!

If you need inspiration, please visit this site: Lookatmebeingserious.com. It shows a man who is serious about his work, and concerned about the misuse of funds. We need more people like Ryan Holt here. Enjoy, and be inspired!

Regards,

All at The Attitude Adjustment Department

How to Pick Up Chicks

I was once given a piece of advice by a very wise man.

“If you want to pick up chicks, go somewhere where there’s lots of chicks,” he said, and sure, he was wise. But I’ve since doctored this advice into a subversive and non-intuitive piece of dogma all my own: If you want to pick up chicks go somewhere where there’s lots of guys.

You see, plenty of people have heard the original idea. So if you go somewhere where there’s lots of girls, probably they’re not there to meet men. And, pretty soon it’ll be over run by canny men trying to pick up. They steal your thunder, best lines and all the girls.

Nowadays, what with women’s lib and all, apparently women are allowed to try to pick up too. I did a quick poll, and 100% of all Lackeys surveyed think this is rad. And where are all these interested women going to go when they want to meet men? Somewhere where there’s lots of men, of course. So the plan is to get there early to get a good spot. And then we play the waiting game. When a lady arrives you can be fairly sure she is there to pick up, and all the other men won’t notice her because they are doing manly stuff like talking about cars and real estate, comparing biceps and teasing each other about being gay. So play the waiting game with confidence that this plan will eventually pay great dividends. This plan is sublime in its simplicity, unique in its design and awesome in its ambition. When it works it will be a transcendent moment of revelation, which will quickly be followed by great sex.

But, one more word of advice: don’t try to explain all this to puzzled workmates who notice you’ve been in the men’s room all day.

Ebony and Lackey

Ladies and gentlemen I have met a woman. A little older, a little mysterious, and with far better dress sense than me, but your friendly Lackey has met a lady, and he thinks he’s in with a shot!

I was in an elevator, you see, minding my own business. Trying to block out the haunted sounds of lost lovers that scream through the elevator shafts by concentrating on the arse of the woman standing in front of me. It was a fine, callipygian arse, and I lost myself for some time dreaming sweet dreams of grabbery, pinchery, and general gropery when all of a sudden this beautiful woman turned around, and asked: “Are you here for the party?”

What party? I wasn’t here for a party, I was here for a paycheck for God’s sake. This is Cosmodemonic, they don’t have parties. Play it cool Lackey, for God’s sake. She spoke to you, you gotta say something back, be charming for God’s sake. Since when did I care so much about God’s sake? Just say something!

“…Huh? I mean… party. I certainly am here for a party. You too huh?”
“Oh yes, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve heard good things about these do’s. Have you been before?”
“Oh yeah, once or twice.”
“I see. You don’t look like what I expected, are you an executive?”

What? What the hell? Why would she… oh. Oh Christ. It’s an executive party she’s talking about. Of course – if I look past her arse she’s pressed number 17, she’s going to the Executive Floor. This is my chance, now or never. And since I’ve had a couple of moments to get my pretty girl bearings sorted, I can do a little better.

“Oh, every now and then.” I smile a crooked smile, that I hope is still charming while hiding the missing tooth where the homeless guy punched me last night after I tried to steal his blanket. Bastard.

“And how about you?”
“Oh no,” she laughed, “I’m the entertainment.”
“You certainly are.”

And I smiled and she laughed and the elevator stopped at my floor. The doors opened. No one got in. She looked at me, I looked at her and shrugged.

“So what’s your name?”
“Ebony.”
“Ebony.” She was the whitest girl I’d ever seen, with curling blonde hair falling below her shoulders and bright red lipstick that shouldn’t have worked but did on her heart-shaped face. Long legs, and I already mentioned the arse. She looked like a… stripper. But a really classy one.

The elevator doors closed, and we jerked upwards towards the Executive Heaven. I felt good, I felt confident, I felt alive. This is the day, I thought to myself, this is it, I’m going in there, and noone’s gonna stop me now. We jerked to a stop once more, I took Ebony’s arm, and we stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of the Executive floor… music and revelry is eard in the dim lighting…

Next thing I know, I’m limping, supported by Ebony, towards the sick room.

You cost me a lot of money up there.
Sorry, I grimaced, let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink. Dinner.
I have a partner.
Oohh…. Where are you going with this? You want to bring her to?
I mean I have a boyfriend!
Ah. Well, we better skip straight to the sex then, so you’re not home too late.
I don’t know why I think you’re funny.
Funny ha ha? Or funny-lookin’?
Ha, a bit of both my friend. It looks like they knocked one of your teeth out back there, funny I didn’t really see them punching you in the face. Maybe the fall after you were tazered.
So that’s how they got me.
Oh they got you a few ways. And they threw me out, just for being with you!
Did I at least make it to the canapes?
That was the problem, you ate half of the table yourslef as soon as you walked in. If you’re going to gatecrash, try to be less conspicuous. It was kind of sad though, when was the last time you ate a nice home cooked meal?
Ah, yeah. Well, it has been a while. We’re here. It’s just this door here.
The one that says Sick Room? Go figure. Seriously, you need to look after yourself a bit.

Nurse Battleaxe opened the door, groaned and said “You again? Sweet Mary mother of God, what now?”
Ebony replied, while I was still trying to throttle Battleaxe, and discovering I still couldn’t move my arm, “He’s been assaulted, it really wasn’t his fault, do you think you could help him out?”
“Oh of course, why not, after all it’s been days now since he needed help! He keeps this place running just about by himself. If he didn’t keep getting hurt, we’d probably only need one nurse you know, I could run the place fine by myself! Sit him down on the bed there. You’re very kind my dear, but I must warn you, this boy’s not a one to be around. He’s bad news.”
“I’ve seen that already, don’t you worry I can look after myself, thank you though.”
“Okay, well I think you should be going, I’ll look ater him from here. You’ve been very good, thank you.”
“Okay, well I’ll be off then. Look after poor Lackey.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”

I got up off the bed and shuffled to the door, opening it just before Ebony got there. “Thank you for all your help, sorry about ruining your evening.”
“Don’t be daft, that was the most entertainment I’ve had for ages. You really don’t go down without a fight, do you? Although I think you’ve learned not to try to swing from drapes that are already on fire next time.”
“How about that drink sometime?”
“I told you, I have a partner.”
“And I told you…”
She left, but left me with a piece of card with her number on it. Just as Cute Nurse walked through the door to take over from Battleaxe. Could this day get any better!

Later, sponging my wounds:

Who was that slapper?
Ebony.
You were totally coming on to her.
No I wasn’t.
You opened the door for her!
So? I’ve opened the door for you before, does that mean I was coming on to you?
Yes!
Well, I might have done it anyway!
You were totally coming on to her.
What do you care? Jealous?
Oh don’t be ridiculous, Lackey.
You are aren’t you? Admit it, you’re jealous! Ow!
Sorry, this might hurt a bit, just hold still.
A bit, hell. It’s harder to sit still through this than through a Lindsay Lohan triple feature. Ow!

Great Great Outdoor Fight

Someone needs to make it clear, and I guess it falls to your pal the Lackey to do so:

The story of the Great Outdoor Fight on Achewood is the greatest story ever told, the story by which all future stories shall be judged and found wanting.

You must read it, it's a couple of months worth of brilliance, so take your time.

Lackey's Life Line

It can be fun to randomly edit wikipedia pages. It can be fun to make them false, and then wait to see how long it takes someone to fix them. But ultimately what you are doing is becoming a pawn in someone else’s life. You see, some kid somewhere will be fooled, and get their homework wrong as a result of your meddling, and you will be nothing more than a footnote in the story of this kid’s life, when you should in fact be writing the story of your own, large, across the sky. So be careful, and only pick the most obscure of topics if you must indulge this habit.

Out of Control Barb Wire Marathon Ends

There I was just the other day, watching that all-time classic movie Barb Wire – you know the one – the same plot as Casablanca, but improving on it by adding tattoos, disabilities, Pam Anderson and Jake the Muss. Probably the Lacky’s favourite movie, because of it’s searing honesty and depth of emotion. Hell it’s at least as good as Casablanca anyway, I mean it’s the same bloody movie, so it’s gotta be goodish. And if that doesn’t convince you nothing will.

Anyway, there I was, sitting around idly watching Barb Wire, when my phone rang. It was my boss:

Lackey: Mmm..uuhh, hullo?
Boss: Lackey? Is that you? Are you sick? You sound asleep.
L: What? Who is this?
B: It’s Boss, Lackey. What are you doing at home? Apparently noone’s seen you for a week or more. What’s going on?
L: Jeez… are you even allowed to call me at home? Isn’t there a law or something? Can I take the fifth? Hey yeah, right to privacy, and you can’t stop me having an abortion either.
B: Lackey, you live in Australia. There’s no constitution here. Only commies have constitutions. What’s going on?
L: Umm… train strike?
B: What? Train strike? Oh… I heard something about that.
L: Oh, you did? I mean, oh yeah, you did.
B: How long’s it been going?
L: Um, about a week?
B: I see. Well, when’s it finishing?
L: Umm… hopefully tomorrow?
B: Right well good. Don’t be late, you must be running behind in whatever your tasks are by now.
L: Yes sir, don’t you worry I’m champing at the bit to get right back into it!
B: Very good son, very good.
L: Thank you sir, and don’t you worry about me, I’ll find a … you’re gone aren’t you. Dammit!

So tomorrow I better get off the couch and walk the half hour to work.

Lift Surge

Talking to Young Eddie the other day – he seems to have forgotten he hates me, ha! – I learnt something a little bit interesting. Cosmodemonic’s lift system is apparently derived from an old Soviet model, which itself was designed at a time when the Soviet bloc was starting to show signs of financial strain. Apparently the engineers needed to cut as many corners as they could, and so they made the elevators as stupid as they could, so they wouldn’t have to pay for smartness, which I think sometimes is referred to as memory or something like that. You know, ask someone else who also does IT for a living, they might be able to help you. I’m hungover.

Anyhow, the engineers designed it with so litle memory, that sometimes if there were a few jobs on the go at once, the thing would forget a floor altogether. So if it had to go up to 16, then down to 13 then down to ground, starting off at ground, it would freak out a bit, and, for instance, forget that levels seven and eight existed. Which was no big deal, except that it woulod freak out a whole lot more on the way up when it got to floor six, and then not immediately to floor nine. Since the elevator had forgotten about floors seven and eight, it would try extra hard to get to nine, since it thought it was late or losing its mind. This would result in sudden bursts of acceleration up to floor nine, and possibly in this example, on its way down again t would accelerate crazily between floor nine and floor six.

This tendency was not corrected when the elevator system was bought at a bargain basement price by Cosmodemonic from some guy from some guy in a Lada somewhere outside Kiev.

Young Eddie’s explanation actually consoled me for a while, since I had always thought the sudden surges were caused by a worn out rope, which would only be fixed once it broke. Until I realised that the effects there might not be too different to the elevator forgetting about the ground floor. Best not to think about it too much, I decided.

Mama Mia! What is that infernal racket?

I have a new hobby. I’m trying to learn Italian by having my alarm clock radio tuned to the local Italian radio station. It’s a slow process, and so far I’ve only learnt the words “Mario Lanza” and “Madonna” but once it kicks in I expect I’ll be waking up singing along to the Lord’s Prayer in Italian, which will freak out the yuppies next door.

Scratch and Win

Three people were decapitated by flying windows on their way to work this morning. Cosmodemonic has announced what they called a “Comprehensive Severence Package” for their families. Prizes include 21CCd memorabilia, such as t-shirts and mugs, vouchers for 21CCd services and products, and instant scratch and win lottery tickets.

Every cloud has a sliver lining

Just went outside, nearly got hit on the head by a window, it smashed right in front of me. The shards splashed out in all directions, but none of them hit me so I couldn't take any time off. I went to the sick room just in case I had post traumatic stress disorder, but Nurse Battleaxe took one look at me and scowled.

"Go away Lackey, we're trying to work here, " she said.
"But a window nearly hit me on the head, and I think I'm traumatised in my mind."
"For once I think you might be right. We've got five people in here who actually have been hit by glass, and you're traumatised. We don't have time. Go away."
"But if you could just let me talk to Cute Nu..."

She slammed the door in my face! Geez, the nerve of that woman. It nearly hit me in the nose.

So I came back here, to my desk. There are a few windows missing, some the whole pane is gone, some still have ragged shards of glass around the edges. The company has taken the opportunity to shut off the air conditioning.

Rotting from the outside in - so commonplace and yet so right

More windows fell off the building today. At first I thought the bump was a bird committing suicide, then there was another, and I thought how romantic, that was her lover. Then a memo went out alerting all staff that it was dangerous to go outside, so we should stay in and keep working. Again. Seems reasonable I guess. If you’re insane. They did say that if you do need to leave the building to go to the shops, you can take the back way, which leads to the weird alley full of broken things and broken people, and winds for about twenty minutes through the bowels of the building before you get to the outside world. And don’t remember you only have twenty nine and a half minutes for lunch. So I gave up on that, it wasn’t so bad. Sitting inside a building that’s falling apart seems to suit, sometimes.

It’s not easy to work in an office filled with insanity.

It’s not easy to work in an office filled with insanity. People cower under their desks, others just sleep there, some scream and shout, some gibber. There’s those that sit with one hand jiggling in their pocket while they incessantly check the tennis websites, and those who just play games. Some ignore it all and chat casually with each other – it’s these lackeys I think will need the most therapy – and others wander around trying to encourage their co-workers to keep on striving and putting in 110%. Some watch at the windows when the jumpers go, others look away as though that won’t be them in ten more years of nothing new. There’s a pretty high turnover rate here at 21st Century Cosmodemonic, and I guess I can understand that.

Hunting Yuppies at IKEA

If you’re ever forced – probably by a vengeful girlfriend - to go to IKEA, follow this simple advice, and you should get through the experience with your spirit intact. And you’ll probably never be forced to IKEA by that girlfriend again. If she’s even still your girlfriend.

First off, this isn’t something to be rushed, you just evolve into it naturally. So you start out at IKEA in the standard way, following a winding path through a jungle of sad yuppie bedrooms and living rooms and rooms that aren’t always identifiable to the average lackey. A jungle over grown with throwrug and toddler undergrowth, a twisting turning path of death and decay and lost hopes and forgotten dreams. A jungle of floorlamp trees and cabinet foliage, where the cries of predators are heard over loudspeakers, echoing off bookshelf displays and kitchen displays and bathroom displays of dubious merit and taste.

Soon you discover, as all great hunters and warriors will, that the jungle is not an easy place to negotiate and survive. Your spirit is weakened in this environment – the constant drumming of three-year-olds on pots and pans, the air humid with yuppie bargain sensing sweat, the onstant meaningless chatter of your girlfriend’s friends (looking for something with character in a bulk buy warehouse), and this goddam path that seems to lead you in circles. You are unnerved, and you need a way to fight back. I’m telling you: You need a weapon.

Find a box of some sort that can be fashioned into a gun, or at least a gun-like box. Floorlamp boxes are particularly good for this. Get one that’s square, with a gun-barrel-like extension from one edge. Hopefully it’s big enough to rival Jesse Ventura’s gun from predator, but so long as you know what it is, that the main thing. Now, hoist your gun and stand broad across that damn path, ad the next yuppie that tries to make their way past you, blast them full on with all actions and gun noises necessary. They'll get out of your way. Shoot your girlfriend. Shoot her friends who she’s discussing colour schemes with right now. Shoot the goddam toddlers. Most importantly of all, shoot the goddam toddlers.

You’ll quickly find that your way has been cleared, and it is much easier to move swiftly to the exit, you’ll probably have your girl’s full cooperation in this endeavour as she realises that you are the alpha male and she should forgo comparing slightly different cutlery sets and follow you, for ancient evolutionary survival reasons. Don’t forget to shoot up the café on the way out, that’s important too. If for some reason your girlfriend is not cooperating, then you have a choice to make. You can blast your way out regardless, and leave her for evolutionarily dead. You can do that. I prefer to climb to the top of one of the storage shelving units, and sit atop the boxes like a primal jungle lord. I prefer then to level my gunsights at passing yuppies and snipe them, nay, smite them, from existence. If they don’t run when they hear your “Bang!” then yell at them that they’re dead. Once they understand the underlying truth, they’ll be crushed and die quickly:

“You’re dead!”
“What? I am? No I’m not, I seem to be perfectly alive, my pulse is… oh. I see. Metaphorically. Metaphorically, the strangely captivating man on the top of the shelves is already right.”
“Damn right I am.”
“Arrgh…”

Nothing better than telling it how it is. Immediate results. Pretty soon, your girlfriend will climb the mounting pile of corpses and apologise for being so slow, evolutionarily speaking, and beg you to take her home. You ought to take her and go, as by now you’ve made your point.

New Contract

I was offered a new contract today. It was nice, really. My boss rang and said Lackey, “I’m tired of you being a glorified temp,” which was the point at which I realised that I’m a glorified temp.

“Lackey,” he continued, “Why don’t I have my law guy draft up a contract to get you proper contract with all the benefits, GBD’s, quarterly negotiations, all that jazz, what do you say?”
“Uh, sure boss, sounds great.” Of course my suspicions were already raised, since I don’t know what GBD stands for. “Just send it to me, and I’ll have a look at it.”
“Well it would really speed the process up if you could just fax your signature to me, and I’ll append it to the document once we’ve got it approved. How ‘bout it?”
“Look boss, I don’t really think it works that way with contracts… sounds weird.”
“Weird huh? Are you telling me that my business practices are flawed, you know I’ve written books on my business practices. And you have some sort of problem with them? What are you trying to say?”
“Uh, no – nothing, boss, I obviously have been misinformed, I’d love to fax you my signature right away… Oh, you know what, unfortunately, our fax machine is broken. Remember it broke at the end of last financial year, and the repair budget only covers things that occur this financial year. So it’s sort of just sitting there, actually, sometimes we use it as wickets.”
“So you can’t send a fax?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“Right, damn it. Well, look, that sort of ruins the surprise, but tell you what, how about I send a copy down to you. Just do me a favour, and don’t read it, just sign the last page and send it back to me. Okay? Can you do that for your old boss? Then it’ll still be a surprise for you when we unveil it. It’s important.”
“Um, sure boss. Okay. Will do.”

Funnily, when the contract arrived, I read it, and learned quite a lot about my boss’s mind. GBD = good behaviour day, which he can award me if I humiliate myself to his pleasure.

In the end I signed it. The conditions were a slight step up from my current ones.

Pitfalls of Success

Yes!

It took me three hours of working at it, but I finally got that annoying nose hair. Now everybody thinks I have a serious bogey problem.

You Can’t Come to Work if You Have an Accident at Home

I received this memo this morning. I pass it along without comment:

Dear treasured employees,

Please take a moment out of your busy working day to reflect on the following cautionary tale about safety at home.

Technical Technician Barney Blatherton has a reason to be thankful but also a strong message about safety. “Having recently viewed the compulsory Health and Safety Initiative video You Can’t Come to Work if You Have an Accident at Home made me think about how fortunate my family have been following a recent accident at home.

Some time ago Barney’s wife was changing a lightbulb when the phone rang. Startled, she dropped the new lightbulb, costing the Blathertons a couple of dollars, but, more importantly, nearly so much more. “Well, anything could have happened really. She could have fallen off the chair she was standing on, and landed on the lightbulb shards, and severely cut herself, there might have been major contusions. In a worst case scenario, she might have died.”

Luckily, Mrs Blatherton didn’t fall from her chair, instead she stepped down, swept the broken lightbulb aside, and answered the phone. But the lessons have been learnt in the Blatherton household.

“My wife has assured me that she won’t be climbing up to change any more light bulbs, she’ll call a professional in instead. And if there’s some emergency, and she has to do it herself, she’ll climb up and remove the old bulb, then get down and fetch the new bulb instead of carrying two at once. And I’ve made her promise to take the phone off the hook while she does it. I fully understand Cosmodemonic’s You Can’t Come to Work if You Have an Accident safety policy and appreciate the ongoing education.”

So do we, Barney. So do we.

Near raise experience

My boss called me today. This is usually a cause for a feeling of great boding, but this time it’s all turned out ok(ish):

Lackey: [Sarcastic, obviously] Welcome to Cosmodemonic, how may I be of your assistance?
Lackey’s Boss: Oh, hello Lackey, nice phone manner there, very good, very good.
L: Oh, hello boss, yeah. Thanks.
LB: Not at all. Quite alright old chap. Now I’ve been hearing a story about you lately. Can it be true?
L: Um, possibly. But it was nothing, honestly. It’s all back to normal now, honestly. Honest.
LB: But for an entire week?
L: Um, yeah, pretty much a week, yeah.
LB: My God man, spending a full week at work without even leaving the building is inspiring stuff! I’m proud of you for once. I was even going to give you a raise, but you say everything’s back to normal now, so never mind. But just so you know the thought was there! That should keep you inspired!
L: Uh, yeah, thanks boss, I appreciate it, I sure will stay motivated and maybe even put in another week real soon, thanks for the thought anyway. You’re gone already aren’t you? You bastard. Shit.

Incident Report

Aright you motherfuckers, now just where did I put that nitro glycerine? Today I’ve finally had it – something’s gotta be done and I reckon I’m the guy to do it. Hell, this is one Lackey who’s finally had enough. There’s bits of the building still falling off and I’ve got the shakes worse than ever. There’s less and less sense being made here every day, and there wasn’t much to start with. I don’t think I can take it anymore and I definitely don’t want to! There’s a feeling in the air, a sense of revolution, and I know you feel it too. Join with me, let’s sing La Marseillaise and knock a few heads about. Cut some off and play soccer with them through the streets.

Um, hello everybody it’s the Cute Nurse here. Lackey has told me about this blog of his once or twice, in fact I think his exact words once were "Goddammit Cute Nurse, if you don’t open this door and give me more pills right now, I’m gonna post on my blog and tell the whole world how evil you are!!"

Anyway, I found this half-written post on his PC just now, and I thought anyone who does actually read this thing might want an update on what’s going on with Lackey. The poor man really can get himself worked up, as you probably know. And judging from what he’d written at the top of this post, he sure was worked up when he wrote that. And I guess he had a bit of an episode. Don’t worry I’m looking after him now. I’ve put him to bed down in the sick bay, and I’ll make sure he gets plenty of rest for a while. I’m sure he’ll be back to his old self in no time. Which is what worries me!

We’ve pieced together events as best we can between us all, and here’s what we think happened. Lackey was approaching the end of his tether, and probably needed to come down and see me for a sedative of some kind. It’s standard practice at cosmodemonic to sedate the staff as necessary, and Lackey takes advantage of this more than most. Management think it’s good that he uses the facilities as he thinks appropriate, I’m not so sure myself, but it’s my job, and I really do think it stops people from going off the deep end while they work here. I do feel some confliction regarding my job. Lackey is a special case though, and I sometimes have to give him aspirin and tell him it’s morphine.

It appears that just as Lackey was finally losing his cool, and no doubt that blue vein at the side of his forehead was starting to pulse again, he found a dead fly under his desk. He must have decided that it was the fly he once named Vodka-Legs and made friends with. And this seems to have transferred him from a psychopathic rage instantly into some kind of impotent, tragic self-pitying near coma.

It would appear that Lackey was curled in the fetal position, rocking slowly and muttering to himself for nearly a week. This is not an unusual sight at Cosmodemonic, although I am quite disappointed that nobody called me. It’s my job to take care of people in these situations. Anyway, Lackey doesn’t seem to be the most popular staff member here, sometimes he can actually be quite obnoxious, which I think is a shame, because I think he’s quite a nice boy underneath it all, and he was a long way under his desk, so I guess he was hard to spot there, rocking and muttering. Until this morning, that is, when one vigilant soul noticed that he wasn’t wearing his ID badge. They called Young Eddie from security, who usually sorts the ID cards out. Eddie’s lovely, a nice cheerful old Irishman with a red face and white hair. He knows everyone in the building and looks after us well. He always has a story to tell me when I stop by. He’s had a couple of run-ins with Lackey, and doesn’t seem to trust him, but he took one look at him under the desk, and called the Sick Room. I came straight up and found him pushing a dead fly around with a pencil, and saying "Vroooom! Vroooom!" like it was an airplane about to take off. "Fly Vodka-Legs, fly don’t die! Vroooom! Vroooom!" He seemed almost autistic at that point, and I was quite worried.

Eddie helped me carry Lackey to the elevator, and down to the sick room. I sedated him heavily, and we’ve left him to sleep it off. The last words he muttered as he was passing out were "Don’t die. Don’t ever die. You’re the only one who understands me vodka nurse angel wings." I took it as a compliment, and a request for refreshment. He’s got an I.V. drip in, as he was severely dehydrated and the only thing he’d eaten for a week was his ID card. He’ll have a new one waiting for him when he wakes up, let’s hope he doesn’t eat that one!

...

Jesus Christ, what’s going on around here?! Shit I take a blog hiatus for half a week, you’d think it was the end of the world. Well, let me tell you, if they want to keep me away, they’ll have to tie the restraints a lot tighter next time! Anyway, sorry I’ve been away for a bit, had some orgies to attend to, you know the drill, but I’m back now. Will keep you all updated, but I’ve got a bit of a headache at the moment, so I might just go for a lie down in the sick room. Cute Nurse was here before, on my PC, but I told her if she didn’t want to give me food or head, she could at least pop down and get me more morphine tablets. For once, she was agreeable (well, not about the head, but I’m working on it, don’t you worry). She is usually a formidable adversary, so something must be up. Will keep you all informed later, after I’ve had a rest.

Hunting and Gathering

Once again wisely taking its lead from the most powerful institution in the world, 21st Century Cosmodemonic has decided that all team building exercises for the year should be hunting trips.

There's one way that management here is in fact leaps and bounds ahead of the leaders of the free world, and that is credibility. Cheney, apparently, didn't tell anyone what happened because he thought noone would believe him. Up on the executive floor, while they fool around in their jacuzzis, management brazenly create their own reality every day. I don't think they care whether we believe it or not, the thing is not to say anything out loud. Voicing skepticism is grounds for instant dismissal.

A couple of days ago a memo came out specifying a new corporate wardrobe. Of course, the models were naked. None said anything. A couple of days later all but one of the group that drew up the memo were summarily sacked on grounds of indecency. They'd all ordered the uniform and were wearing it. The one who wasn't sacked was seconded to the executive floor. Of course, she was a little younger than the others, and she got a hefty raise.

Sometimes it's hard to know just who is fucking with whom.

Cosmodemonic's Valentine to its Staff

This is something I honestly didn't expect. Normally the management here at 21st Century Cosmodemonic do appalling things in a generally predictable manner. But today, this was sitting in every email inbox in the company:

Dear employee, thank you so much.
Without you our lives would be very tough.
You liven our days with your unceasing toil,
And grow our company like a flower from soil.

We’d like to take his opportunity to say
That on this, St Valentine’s Day,
Even though there are redundancies in the works,
We value your work just as much as it’s worth.

Yours, the Management.

I'm not sure which bit I appreciated the most, comparing my work to dirt, or rhyming much with tough. And I'm not sure if that last line was meant to be read as a threat or not...

Bugs!

It's when you actually see the bugs that things get bad.

When you just suspect they are there, you can put it down to alcohol induced paranoia, or some kind of flashback. But once you've seen them, you're on a whole different level. And now I've seen them, they're bloody everywhere. My desk is crawling with them, I even had to brush one off my shirt in the elevator. Freaked me right out. And it's really got me worried - after all when you're in a really bad way, physically and mentally wracked, these are the sorts of hallucinations that get at you. Day and night, looking in the shadows, seeing bugs everywhere. But it just seems so real, it can't be my mind, it just can't.

Either I've totally lost it, or Cosmodemonic's new Staff Security initiative is even more invasive than I ever expected. And for once, I'm backing my sanity.

Two Types of Rudeness

It’s extremely rude to tell a man that his girlfriend looks just like her father, has her father’s eyes or, well lets just say hinting at any resemblance is not nice. Sure, it might be there, it might be obvious, but for crying out, there ain’t no need to point it out and leave the poor bastard trying like hell not to think of an old man of questionable wit and smell every time he looks into his lover’s eyes.

But apparently it is also rude to tell a girl you’re leaving her because she looks like her dad and it’s freaking you out when you shag.

So: don’t tell him, and if you get told, don’t tell her. Just say you have six months to live and would rather spend it reading some good books.

Bad sign?

I take it as a bad sign for building maintenance when pieces of glass rain from the top floor of the building on to the street below.

On the other hand, the top level is executive territory, so the alternative possibility is clear. The executives, in their boundles wisdom, have decided they are not getting enough productivity out of us lackey's, and so they have decided a shower of glass splinters resulting in an anouncement that no employees can leave the building is just what the doctor ordered. Along with the martini and the supermodel sandwich.

So in retrospect, it is probably a great sign for building maintenance that they were able to produce this rain of glass on request. Nice work guys!

Rules of Office Etiquette V

It is unacceptable to let a door swing closed behind you when there is someone following directly behind you to go through the same door. It's rude. I know you're at work, and probably preoccupied with finding a Costanza venue or worried they know about the hipflask (don't worry - they know) but just be slightly human and look around for other poor humans stuck in the same boat, and don't close the door in my face!

It is, however, perfectly acceptable to walk straight into the door so closed on you, and bang against it repeatedly, pretending to be retarded and not understand how such a barrier could suddenly be there where it wasn't a second ago. And, if the door is glass, feel free to blowfish away to your heart's content. The people on the other side of the door, if they think it's weird, are clearly not au fait with modern office etiquette.

Emotion modulation

How to cheer up: Spend a couple of minutes rating everybody a one out of ten at hotornot.com.

How to cheer right back down again: Spend more than a couple of minutes.

What's up, doc?

Hi kids.

Your pal the Lackey had a little chat with his boss today. It was brilliant. First, he called me up from whichever remote holiday destination his latest conference is being held in (we were going to wait until he was in town, but realized that that is in infinity weeks, so better to go ahead now) . Then I answered the phone with my best Daffy Duck voice, which went down remarkably well. This was suspicious, as I am not officially supposed to answer the phone with my Daffy Duck voice. We've had discussions on the topic before. I had to use my Porky Pig voice in those discussions, but he stammers a lot so I don't know if I ever really got my point across. Anyhow, so it's a bit like this:

Lackey: Welcome to 21tthht Thentury Cothmodemonialand, how may I be of aththithtanththththh?
Lackey's Boss: Lackey, is that [unintelligible off phone noise and laughter] is that you?
L: W-w-w-w-w- yes...
LB: Listen [giggling] listen, I need you to fill in two requisition forms for me, ok? And drop them in the mail today, because we're running low.
L: Ah certainly sir, no problem at all. What shall I order for you?
LB: Eh? Oh, Jesus, what are you some lind of a moron? Don't name the stuff, that's ridiculous. Idiot. Just say my usual, and on the other one just say my other usual. The guys in Supplies'll know. [Off phone chatter] No sweetheart, don't put that there, ow! [Wild giggling] Can you do that?
L: Are you talking to me?
LB: What? Yes of course I'm talking to you, fool.
L: Sorry sir, yes of course I can do that, I'll do it right away.
LB: Good man, hey do that voice again, that's hilarious!
L:Thuffering Thuckatath!
LB: [Manic laughter, followed by a clunk and a popping sound] Brilliant! Just brilliant! Ha!
L: Thanks! I'm here all day, and week, and...
LB: You know what, this is crazy but what the hell. You deserve a pay rise, yep I'm gonna give you a raise next time I'm there. Just for that voice! Whaddya say? How do you like that - oooohhh! - I'm gonna give you a raise! Oh baby don't stop No I didn't mean don't stop, I meant Don't! Stop! Do you want me to get electrocuted? How do you like that?
L: Me? Sir, thanks a lot! But ah how about processing it now, rather than when you get here? Just might be easier is all...
LB: What? Nope, don't be silly. It's just as easy from there, and I want to able to shake your hand when you get it ok?
L: Ah.. thanks, sir...
[Wild giggling, snorting noises and strange seventies jazzis heard]
[The phone line dies]