Business Smock

What do you think of when you think of ‘smocks’? Comfort? Practicality? Style and fashion?

As everyone knows, a smock-frock is a coat-like outer garment often worn to protect clothes in specific lines of work. If you’re huddling in a field somewhere or working the mean streets, you definitely need a smock. I personally have no need for a smock as a data monkey however if I could get away with wearing one I would. There has to be some kind of middle ground whereby I can still look presentable for work and also protect my frail body from the wrath of winter. What I need is a business smock.

Businesses are varied in what they need so we would have to ensure the business smock was varied or adaptable to almost everyone. For those working in the service industry, it would have to give the appearance of a fashionable suit or tuxedo. For those rocking the office look, there would have to be various pockets for pens, notebooks, coffee cups, maybe even one big one on the front (or inside) to put a laptop in. A CEO of a Fortune 500 company would need secret compartments to hide, I don’t know, fat wads of money and secrets? Yeah, we’ll go with that.

Our designers have thrown together this mock smock. Please don’t knock the smock as it’s still a rough sketch and is not in stock.

Given the ludicrous nature of the fashion industry in this decade (for an example of this, please look up anything involving an ‘oodie’, a ‘shacket’ or, my personal favourite, the ‘coatigan’), I believe that the business smock would not be out of place. There’s even currently a website called Smock London – ROCKING SMOCKING FOR THE 21^ST CENTURY. They’d be the perfect fit for the model. They’re all about the smocking.

You may not work in business but you may mean business meaning the business smock could still be for you. A range of colours and designs to suit your desires.

The business smock; ready to smock you right in the kisser.

Christmas Beans

It’s that time of year again, again? Of course it is. What you want is festive and huggable and bright and THRUST right into your face. Christmas is an epidemic but it’s the loveliest epidemic you’ll ever meet.

Times are hard though. If you thought 2020 was bad then meet the end of 2022, a harbinger of doom and fifth horseman of the apocalypse, handing out lessons by the fistful. Now, more than ever™, you need a helping hand to get through this marathon of monetary madness. Luckily we have our relative financial expert, Bartin Bewis, on hand to offer his guidance, support and “award-winning” money-saving tips to ease yourself out of December, through January and into the warm embrace of February.

Decorations

In order to reach its full potential, you need to decorate your house in everything that has the smallest bit of sparkle. If you run out of tinsel and glitter, get the spare bits of cutlery out and shine a torch on them from your window. Save money on tree decorations by getting the kids to make them out of whatever you can find in the recycling bin. If it looks like a donkey shat it out, merely tell your friends and loved ones that it means more than little Timmy and Julie made them rather than some corporate whore machine, spitting out baubles made of baby’s tears.

Food

What you want is a non-traditional Christmas dinner; leave the turkeys and the hams in the supermarket for the chumps, what you want is a rabbit stew. If you have wild rabbits living nearby to your house, set traps up in strategic places and you don’t even need to pay for the main ingredient. Some terminal wanker living on your street will have ‘foraging’ as one of their hobbies so beat some herbs out of them to avoid a trip to Asda and a few hours stuck in a bush trying to work out the one stalk or leaf that won’t give everyone diarrhoea. If you’re living in a less rural area, well, that neighbour’s cat keeps pooping in your garden so perhaps it’s time to even the score? Once you garnish it up and add a bunch of spices, nobody will be able to tell the difference anyway. Really struggling? Use your own pets and replace them in the new year. It will give the kids an understanding about death that their school could only hope of teaching them.

Presents

If you’ve been observant over the year, pick out the five toys, things, items of clothing or whatever else you have noticed that hasn’t been used too much. When the mark, sorry, loved one is out of the house, go and put it somewhere they’ll never find it. Wrap it up and present them with it on Christmas Day. Hopefully they’ll have forgotten they already own it. If they call your bluff, make a point of telling them that you spent good money on that train / aftershave / skirt the first time around and to have to bear witness to it being neglected over and over was too much to bear, so this lesson of being thankful for what you’ve already got IS the present this year. If it’s still not working, throw a bowl of nuts on the floor and spend the evening crying in your bedroom with the door locked. Make sure to secret a six pack of beer and some sandwiches in the wardrobe so you have something to do in-between sobs.

A lifetime’s worth of tips there, ladies and gentlemen. Be sure to use them wisely.

Youtube promo fail

I received the birthday parcel. I recorded a video of me opening the parcel. I tried half a dozen times to upload the video and the bon of a sitch website wouldn’t let me. It kept getting to either 80% or 93% and then it would stop.

I am going to keep trying however for now you will have to make do with the “amazing” thumbnail I have made.

What a marvel.

Searching for a Nightmare

“As he entered the room, the air grew stale and cool. It was abundant that the door had not been opened for a while and neither had any of the windows. Not that you could tell there were windows given how greasy and dirty they were. Thin streaks of light tried their best to illuminate the room only to greet indifference and a smell that could only be unwashed clothes and unwashed hair.

Towards the back of the room there was a doorway without a door leading to what looked like a small kitchen area. Small grunts could be heard, awash with fear and sadness. Part of him didn’t want to know what was going on in there.

He blinked. It was starting to take shape before his eyes. Along the left and right sides were a sofa and a bed respectively upon which figures covered in blankets, jumpers and hoodies, anything to obscure their features, sat huddled. They were visibly shaking; no amount of clothing could hide that. Hesitant but also inquisitive, he crimsonly approached the nearest character and pulled back the mauve hood that separated the two.

Eyes as big as spoons stared back. Bags of a similar size hung underneath. The skin was sagging and the features were difficult to look at even for the morbidly curious. Nonetheless, he was sure that he was in the right place.

“Lycos?” he asked, “Lycos is that you?”

There was no response. Either it didn’t understand or it wasn’t there, long gone into the stratosphere with the rest of the junkies and the winos.

The heavy-breather next to it was a malnourished AltaVista.

On the opposite side of the room Webcrawler was on his knees, licking a damp patch underneath the coffee table. Clearly a spill of something important to them. He could have smashed his head with a lamp and it wouldn’t have noticed.

Most of them were accounted for except the one he had been looking to find the most.

The grunting was still coming from the back kitchen.

He took a deep breath and peered around the corner. An old man faced away from him, his hands looking for something or someone. The pile of newspapers he sat on had nothing beside it. The kitchen stank of sex and shame.

“Did you want to ask me something?” the old man queried. “You can ask me anything. I want you to, I want you to ask me.”

He turned around and the drool was let loose from his mouth. It pounded the hard flooring.

“If you ask me I’ll make it worth your while. I guarantee.”

That was all he could stand and so, with the answers he had sought, he bounded from the bedsit and slammed the door behind him never to return.”

What a party

What’s the best party you’ve ever been to? Was it one of your own or possibly a friend’s? Was it laden with so many cakes that afterwards you had to invest in a new pair of teeth because you ate so much sugar and dissolved your original pair? Did you dance like a maniac when ‘We Close Our Eyes’ by Go West came on, accidentally span round into an elderly man and sent his pint flying across the room?

I can guarantee you that no matter how great a party it was, it cannot compete with whatever kind of party Dr Owl is throwing.

Not that I could tell you exactly the kinds of shenanigans that go on. This particular book was on sale in a lovely bookstore called ‘Barter Books’ in Alnwick. It was so special that it was behind glass; no common chubby funsters could go flicking through the pages. If you wanted to know what Dr Owl was getting up to you needed to cough up a stonking £24.00 for the privilege. It wasn’t even a first edition or a special version with a foreword by some famous owl who loved the book, merely a simple reprint. I don’t have those kinds of Newcastle pounds to do blowing on secret insights. A man can dream though, a man can dream.

A sound investment if ever I saw one.

Orange / Lemon

Here’s a little story that will lift your spirits in these dark times.

At work I’ve been snacking on fruit to try and be healthier. Yes, I want nothing more than to tear into a bag of M & Ms every day, but we all know that that is wrong and is the start of the slippery slope to fat bastardom, something I am keen to avoid at all costs. The human body and its relationship with metabolism, which has been well documented, starts to get worse the older you get. Whereas previously I could eat somewhere close to a pound of mince in one sitting and be perfectly fine, if I tried that now I would spend the rest of the week locked in a toilet.

I bought a pack of oranges for the vitamin C. They’re always described as easy peelers but they’re a shit and a half to get into. Unless the definition of easy peelers is, “something that requires a sharp knife to get into” then you’re not getting into one without, well, a sharp knife that is unless you want your hands covered in juice and pith. The last one in the pack was weird looking, it was paler than the others and kind of resembled a lemon in a certain light. It also had strange green spots that looked like mould, but they were there when I first bought them.

The more I looked at the orange the less I wanted to eat it. I started asking people at work of they wanted it to which I was greeted with a resounding “no!” for some reason. A few days went by and still there was no desire to eat it. You know me, I’d eat a sewer grate if it was coated in jam. Was it the fact that it took several minutes to get into it that was putting me off? That oranges are a pretty weak fruit overall? Who knows but whatever it was it permeated in my mind and caused a few more days to slip past.

Eventually I stopped being silly and I ate it. By now people were sick of me asking if I wanted to have the orange. I left it on my boss’ desk when she was in a meeting and, when she returned, responded with, “WHAT’S THAT DOING THERE? I don’t want your bloody orange, Ian!” I, in turn, thought this was hilarious (#fittingin). On a quiet day when nobody was looking, I stripped it of its skin and chomped it in three bites. The unusual green spots weren’t mould, so I presume they were some sort of birthmark.

A joke is only worth doing if you’re willing to run it right into the ground. I took a photo before I ate the orange so I could eventually send this to everyone in my team.

They are gonna love me so god damn much.

Loose Flaps

Quack Shoes (shoes that go quack)

It’s a well-known fact
When your shoes start to quack
You need to buy a new pair.
Are there ducks in your shoes?
No, it’s time to peruse
Before people point and stare.
You can ignore the noise
Go back to your toys
Pretend it’s someone else’s feet.
Stick your head in the sand,
But heed my command, those
Ducks are bound to speak.

It’s a little-known fact
(Speculation to be exact)
That ducks have a hatred of shoes.
They can’t find a set
Whether dry or quite wet
To fit without making a bruise.
Their feet are so queer
No matter how they steer
They won’t fit any slipper or high heel.
So, they’ve all had enough
Thrown away all the stuff
And pretend it’s not a big deal.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Air Travel Regulations” McIver