You raped my hat off!
26th June 2006
 
I've often said that if rape were a person, I would be that person. Rape personified, the human embodiment of rape if you will. But fortunately for you, rape is not a person and I am still Mr Jerky; undisputed ruler of Planet Jerky, the only website you need metal underpants to read!
 
I've been meaning to update my shit for over a week now, but was lacking enough crap to fill this introductory section. Occasionally when such a problem arises, I'll just write about how I don't have anything to write about, making no effort to disguise the problem whatsoever.
 
I genuinely consider these writings "good enough" too, maybe too good. I'd probably go as far as proclaiming them the most exquisite literary masterpieces of our time, so go fuck a kobold.
 
Mr Jerky
 
 
Thursday 8th June 2006:
Over the last few weeks, the office has been gradually plastered with St. George flags, effectively pre-empting any doubt as to what country we live in. Today, they were handing out miniature flags for our desks. I'm not a big a fan of football or patriotism, but I am a big fan of people shutting the fuck up and not trying to hassle me into following they're all doing when such a thing will be of zero benefit to myself. So yeah, I took one as well.
 
The Internet's Mr Beardo was mournful of how said flag "means nothing to anyone anymore in reality, except for the England football team". I found this to be a bizarre statement. What more could a flag possibly mean besides "hey look at me I'm from some fucking country or other"? Beardo was either calling for a return to the crusades or just making shit attempt at sounding insightful.
 
Friday 9th June 2006:
Went to get a haircut this afternoon. Naturally, the barber felt he had to interrogate me with standard pointless small-talk, and despite never cutting my hair before, somehow knew where I worked. I asked him how the hell he knew that, to which he gave me some "I know everything" bollocks. He eventually muttered something about my ID tag, though I never wear the damn thing outside work. He then charged nine pounds for a basic head shaving, so screw that place in future.
 
Saturday 10th June 2006:
I didn't watch THE MATCH this afternoon, despite telling people I'd go "down the pub" to do so. It was an outright lie, but what the fuckers wanted to hear and therefore easier on myself. It was too hot to get hepped-up on coffee as I normally would, so I bought beer to occupy myself. I only drank four cans and felt like shit for the rest of the evening as a result. I thought back to the summer of two years ago when I'd often buy a crate of beer on Saturday afternoon, then drink about 20 cans throughout the course of the day. I can't remember what I thought I'd achieve by doing this.
 
Wednesday 14th June 2006:
Awoke this morning to a text message from Mr Beardo reading "I'm having an angry shit, I'm thinking of your mouth being the recipient of that shit". If you ask me, Beardo needs to start keeping his depraved scatological fantasies to himself. Looks like MSN search was bang on the money there. Also today, some foreigns put up a Brazil flag in the office, prompting questions of "what country is that?"
 
Thursday 15th June 2006:
There was another England game today, a fact that was hard to miss on account of everyone wearing England shirts and saying "Rooney" more than usual. Bitchface McNever-Shuts-Up launched a campaign of insisting kick-off was at quarter to four and not five, purely as a contrived excuse to start arguments that people would quickly back-down from for being utterly pointless. The woman is a lunatic.
 
She often asks me for assistance with her work, (like I don't have my own to do) then quarrels with the advice I give her. I find that the best way to deal with this is to visibly ignore everything she says, and keep repeating my instructions until they eventually get through. When it works, everybody wins and everyone is happy, but the system isn't perfect: Yesterday, I accidentally paid attention to something she said mid-explanation. It wasn't long before I found myself on the business-end of a "TALK TO THE HAND" gesture.
 
Saturday 17th June 2006:
Fuck the queen, it's my birthday today and like Jack Bauer, I am 24. I didn't have anything in the way of a celebration, but that serves me right for all the crimes against humanity I've committed. Instead, I spent the day watching sitcoms and drinking broon ale. I like broon ale, but every bottle has the exact same fucking fact on the back. It's called "fact 5", implying there are at least four more I'm yet to read.
 
Thursday 22nd June 2006:
The shitwad who never does any work (12/05/06) returned to the office after a week in India "training" the outsource workers. Considering he's little more than an imbecile who only pretends to know what he's doing through use of hand gestures and slimy vocal tones, he didn't have much to share relating to the actual job. So instead, he taught them how to "chill" properly because they were "always working". Being a self-absorbed burden on others is a skill that can only be taught by an expert. It wouldn't surprise me if he threw in some "keeping it real" lessons too. If they start sending us emails in "Blinglish", I'll know why.
 
Competition time: Good luck!

[ 22 comments ]

© 2006 MR. JERKY