I will shatter your dreams
12th June 2005
 
That Dave guy made contact the other day and told me that my somewhat vindictive picture of him last update was in fact "hilarious". Fair enough. So by that logic, the picture on the right will really make his day.
 
Also, Mr Beardo is currently subject to the misconstrued belief of being "too good" to respond to my excellent text messages, possibly after learning that I am somehow not aroused by his lewd behaviour. Either that or his mobile phone got lodged when he last inserted it into his anus for a cheap sexual thrill.
 
And even though Agus has finished his dissertation and is no longer a bloody student, he claims that his hands are broken and thus cannot provide TAE updates. To him I say this: Update your fucking shit! Get a job!
 
Mr Jerky AKA Goldust
 
 
Monday 23rd May 2005:
Even though it isn't June, we were given the announcement about upcoming lay-offs. It's just a "proposal" at the moment but after September, 26 of us will be made redundant. However, 16 other jobs within the company will be up-for-grabs. If I don't get one of these jobs, which is likely as it'll probably be a fucking popularity contest anyway, it's not the end of the world. I'll get severance pay, free flights for six months and a good excuse to make a fresh start in another dull job elsewhere.
 
I tried Marmite on toast for the first time because someone once told me it was nice. However, they were wrong because it tasted like shit. I tried to feed it to the remorseless eating-machine known as Wes, but he spat it out. I've never seen a hungry dog do that with food, it was a bit of a shock.
 
Tuesday 24th May 2005:
Attended the first in a series of tedious meetings where myself and other at-risk employees get to sit in a conference room, protest the inevitable, express useless opinions and generally go round in circles. Redundancy is now the ONLY subject of conversation in the office and it's doing my fucking head in. I just want everyone to shut up so I can get back to work and earn my bucks until the time comes.
 
Thursday 26th May 2005:
Went to another unnecessary meeting. I sat aloof while fatuous co-workers wailed for two hours, thinking it would somehow make the problem go away. One topic of discussion was the educational criteria of the new jobs and how it's been set "too high". They require, as one person put it, "a degree in astro-physics". This is actually an exaggeration of "four GSCEs", which may as well be astro-physics as far as some of these spackers are concerned.
 
After the meeting trailed-off into individual conversations, some dipshit started hitting buttons on a device below the whiteboard. One button caused the board to suddenly rotate, revealing a "secret" board filled with important-looking notes and diagrams. As a joke, he yelled "Shit, the plans are all here!" Some people came over to look, thinking he'd uncovered management’s evil supervillain-esque scheme to outsource the entire company or something.
 
Friday 27th May 2005:
More fuel was added to the incessant redundancy-talk when the face of Branson appeared on television. He spoke about the company's annual pre-tax profits of £68m, the highest they've been since the space-year 1999. We'd previously been told that the company was LOSING money, probably because it's easier than saying "You're a bunch of lazy hosers who don't get any fucking work done".
 
On a lighter note, I had the honour of auditing a plane ticket purchased by the one and only "Scatman" John Larkin. This proves without a doubt that reports of his death by 40 ecstasy tablets are greatly exaggerated. The Scatman's ability to ingest so many tablets and live to scat another day are impressive to say the least, so much so that pants-wearing tyrant Saddam Hussein wants a slice of the scat-techno-rap scene. Click here.
 
Tuesday 31st May 2005:
More meetings. We had to vote for the THIRD time to select "representatives" who will attend pointless meetings with management, submit some poorly-written questions that I already know the answers to, then report back to us for more tedious meetings in which we discuss these fucking answers. The redundancy talk has actually quietened down as one of the ringleaders, a seriously fucked-up woman who NEVER STOPS TALKING has gone on holiday for a whole week. It's great when she goes away, but I dread her return. If she died in a plane crash on the way back, it would be the happiest day of my life.
 
And finally, I audited a plane ticket for MICHAEL KNIGHT - A man television assured me did not exist. Michael Knight now has a wife called "Jacqueline" and a daughter called "Suzy". They are going on a gambling trip to Las Vegas. I wanted to take a photo of the ticket, but couldn't because my phone actually lacks an option to turn the "camera sound" off, making it difficult to take stealthy pictures. My old phone didn't have this fucking problem.
 
Wednesday 1st June 2005:
Much to my surprise, yesterday's vote was conclusive and five representatives have been chosen. One of the failed runners, a grotesque woman with the mental age of a small child, threw a tantrum and said that she didn't trust the chosen five to come back with the "real answers". She actually thinks it's a conspiricy, that the poll was rigged and these people are "in on it".
 
Thursday 2nd June 2005:
Went for a swim after work. At one point, the pool was invaded by a gang of bitch-titted wideboys who hijacked the diving board (which was closed) and terrorised the place with their loud, perhaps drunken exhibitionism. They wouldn't leave, so everyone was asked to evacuate the pool and glare at them until they went away. It worked. However, no action was taken against the black guy who spent an entire hour shamelessly groping his white woman and looking around to make sure everyone could see what he was doing. He didn't even do any swimming. I once heard a rumour that black people couldn't swim, but I don't know if that's true or not. From my observations, they mainly come for the groping.
 
Tuesday 7th June 2005:
I did some research today and found out that I suffer from a sleep disorder called "night terrors". This means I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to find myself in a confused state of blind terror, utterly convinced that I'm in mortal danger somehow. Recently, it's got to a point where I can be sitting in my room the next day, quaking with fear brought on by this: absolutely nothing whatsoever! I'm yet to find a medical explanation for that bit, but I'm sure it's nothing that can't be fixed by a nice cup of tea and Becker on The Paramount Comedy Channel. Well maybe not, but I plan to do that anyway.
 
Friday 10th June 2005:
Listened to the mental woman (who unfortunately returned from her holiday) spend the whole morning ranting on about how she's not going to let redundancy "take over [her] life" and how she's supposedly "one of those people who just gets on with it". I am not convinced, seeing as she's been vehemently screaming this all week, along with the rest of her fucking bizarre insecurities.
 
Saturday 11th June 2005:
Spent the evening very gradually writing my CV. At some point I'll have it checked-out by the redeployment workshop people, who will probably give me tips such as "write about your current job in bold" and "use comic sans ms". I'm a bit stuck on writing personal information about myself. I'm going to have to fill that bit with LIES because I don't have any interests or aspirations besides stewing in my room, hating everybody and the televisual exploits of a surly practitioner.
 
Fuck you!
 
© 2005 MR. JERKY