Ian: Hello?
Crush Songs: Hello Ian.
Ian: Hello Crush Songs by Karen O. I’ve wanted to listen to you for a while; sorry it’s taken me so long.
Crush Songs: Oh think nothing of it. Now, are you ready?
Ian: I am, yes.
Crush Songs: Are you ready for fourteen songs that all sound the same with the same wibbly wobbly vocals that have been fed through a cereal box and sound as though they were written in five minutes?
Ian: Erm no, I was hoping for a bit of variety.
Crush Songs: Oh.
Ian: Is there something the matter?
Crush Songs: Nothing! Nothing! No it doesn’t matter.
Ian: What is it you’re hiding there?
Crush Songs: Well it’s nothing really…
Ian: So you are fourteen songs that all sound the same with the same wibby wobbly vocals that have been fed through a cereal box and sound as though they were written in five minutes.
Crush Songs: In short, yes.
Ian: I feel as though I should be brutally honest here. That’s very disappointing.
Crush Songs: Would it help if I told you I’m only 25 minutes long?
Ian: No it wouldn’t.
Crush Songs: Would it help if I told you there was a Doors cover on me?
Ian: That just makes it worse.
Crush Songs: Actually ACTUALLY I’ve got fifteen songs on me. The last one is hidden right at the very end like a lyrical treat…
Ian: Right.
Crush Songs: … actually that might still be the last song with a bit of a gap in the middle…
Ian: Look I can see we’re not really getting anywhere here. You’ve not really thought this through. I think you should go back and have a big long ponder about what to do.
Crush Songs: If you insist, okay. I’ll come back shortly with some much better ideas. You watch; I will blow your mind!
Ian: I’m sure you will. I’m just going to put you in this pile with that Good Charlotte CD I found in the street and those duplicate DVDs I don’t need anymore.
Crush Songs: Is it a special pile?
Ian: … sure it is!
Category: Annoyed
What’s missing?
Due to the massive popularity of “guess who’s back?” I’m back again with a new game… What’s missing?
This time I have a riddle for you:
My first is in the, but not in book
My second’s in the, but not in book
My third is in the, but not in book.
My fourth is in book, but not in the.
My fifth is in book, but not in the.
My sixth is in book, but not in the.
My last is in book, but not in the.
What’s missing?
The end (probably) of #TapSaga
That’s it. It’s over. For now at least anyway.
If anyone ever suggests to you that changing the taps in the bathroom is a quick and easy way to ‘refresh’ your room, my advice is to punch them swiftly in the face.
Let me give you a summary of what has gone on so far in #TapSaga in abbreviated bullet list format:
Tap Saga
Coming soon to a multi cineplexical screen near you…
“In a world where bathrooms are neglected, in a world where taps are taken for granted, in a world where washing your hands is no longer a common practice… he appeared!”
I’m going to go shopping for taps!
“It started off as a regular Sunday afternoon of bathroom fittings shopping with his lunatic wife, but fate had a different plan in store for Kevindo Menendez…”
In B & Q, the excitement is building! Tapgasm!
“His last minute substitution for taps and need for unnecessary DIY was about to send him on a journey he wasn’t prepared for, nor wanted to go on…”
FUCKING ARSE BOLLOCKS (sound of a breaking sink) WHO FUCKING FIXES IN A TAP WITH RESIN???
“… and so Kevindo Menendez was faced with a broken sink, a ruined finger and a thirst for adventure. This March feel the excitement, feel the magic, feel the tapgasm of the Tap Saga!”
A pox on Parcel Force!
“Sinking into cinemas March 27th.”
The sting
I was going to make a content-free post that would be blatantly and cynically intended just to get me up to four posts for December and win me a coveted bean. But then something happened that was worthy of making a whole post, so actually this will have something in it.
I’ve decided to buy myself a big Lego set as a Christmas present to myself, because I want one, and I’m a grown up so nobody can stop me. I was going to do it on Friday night, but now I have plans on Friday, so I set off to do it after work yesterday instead.
What actually happened was that I got to the Lego store, found the shelf where my Lego set should be, and saw that it was empty. So I asked one of the staff.
While he was explaining to me that it was sold out, and looking up when a new delivery would come in, I felt something odd on my head, and put my hand up to see what was in my hair. It felt like sticking my fingers into a ball of needles. A spiky black thing fell on the floor, crawled away for a bit, and then flew off. “Oh yeah,” said the assistant, “we’ve had wasps in here today”.
Wasps? In the Lego store? In a big shopping mall? In December? Unlikely, yes, but a wasp is what it was. A big bastard of a wasp who tried to sting me several times and did actually get his syringe of doom into my little finger.
So last night I went home, very very late, with no Lego, but with a wasp sting on my finger.
That’ll show me.
What? Eh? What?
What the hell is this?
Just… can someone give me a hand here? I can see something, there’s definitely something there right in front of my eyes, because my eyes register that there is something on the screen. But what is it?
I think it’s a picture of some description. There are some people on it but none of them are really looking at each other.
My brain cannot process it. To me it resembles a really poor attempt at trying to cobble together an idea for an album. It’s as if some people decided to release an album but couldn’t be bothered writing any songs so they just stole a bunch from other, more successful, more talented artists.
Can anyone help?
The Kevil Competition Appeal
As the days unfold in a flurry of Autumn leaves it appears as though something is amiss. There is something missing from our lives that up until now has remained unbeknownst to the common man. There is a space in the cupboard where something should be. There’s a small burrow in your wardrobe where something should be hanging. You go to pour your boiling hot water and all you do is empty the contents of the kettle onto the kitchen top.
Yes. That’s it. Someone has been a little selfish and hasn’t been sending out freebies recently.
I always wear my Kevil brand merchandising with pride, and the fact that they get sent to my house for free is just a cheeky bonus. Those excitable moments peering through the cardboard at the latest nugget to drop onto your doorstep… I don’t know about you but I want more.
So here it is, the competition you’ve been waiting for.
So far there’s been a crab and a penguin but what animal would you like Kev to use his magic on and turn into a cartoon to be flaunted on mugs, t-shirts and other appealing merch?
What member of the kingdom of not humans could turn your mid-morning beverage into a statement rather than another part of your dreary, meaningless existence?
If you’re going to shake your bits at the roller disco what would you like splashed across your chest to herald your appearance?
Vote now!
Mild Frustration (a short play)
A young man, not feeling too great, has a nice face, decides to try to attend to his illness by calling his doctors. It’s Monday morning.
Man: Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.
Receptionist: Right what we normally do is not make an appointment but ask the doctor to call you instead.
Man: Oh right.
Receptionist: I’ve got your details so let me see when the next telephone appointment is instead… there’s one free at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Wednesday. In two days time.
Receptionist: Do you need to see anyone as a matter of urgency?
Man: No, I guess it can wait another two days.
Receptionist: Great well the doctor will call you at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Great. Thanks.
Cut to Wednesday morning. The young man leaves his desk and goes to a quiet room to await the doctor’s call. The times is around 9:09am.
Man (thinks): Let’s give him a window of five minutes. I can’t leave my desk for too long, so five minutes is sufficient waiting time before dismissing this as the joke that it seems to be turning into.
The time ticks away. 9:10am. 9:11am. 9:12am. 9:13am. 9:14am.
Man (thinks): I’m sure he’s just about to call.
9:15am.
Man (thinks): Well that was a waste of time. I better haul ass back to work.
The young man returns to his desk. The work phones are busy so he carries on answering the various enquiries and assisting where necessary. at 9:21am, in the middle of a conversation with a client, his phone starts to vibrate.
Man (thinks): Ah great. Great timing. Wonderful. If only I could express my dissatisfaction with this level of service with the client I’m currently talking to. I wonder if their surgery is an inept as this.
Voicemail. When work gets quiet the young man listens to the message.
Doctor: Hi Mr McIver, I’m sorry I’m a little later than arranged, if you still need to speak to me give me a call at the surgery.
Man (thinks): What? He didn’t even leave a direct number? I have to call the general number? Of course I still need to speak to him; I would’ve cancelled the appointment if I was flippin’ better!
Work gets busy again. There is not a time to return the call. Around 10:25 his mobile starts to vibrate again, same number, clearly the doctor trying again but he can’t stop to answer it due to work commitments. Ten minutes later, with a small break to his name, he steals away into a room and calls the general number. No voicemail the second time around.
Receptionist: Hello.
Man: Hi, could I speak to Dr *******? I think I just missed a call from him.
Receptionist: Oh right. Let me see if he’s available… (brief pause) I’m sorry he doesn’t appear to be in his room. The only thing I can do is arrange another telephone appointment for him to try to call you again.
Man: You know what, I’m feeling so much better, so much much better I don’t know why I bothered calling…
Cue a series of head shakes and excessive tutting. The young man decides to visit the walk-in centre at the end of the week, because even though it will mean sitting in a room for two hours or more waiting to be seen this process makes more sense than the series of hoops he has to try to jump through just to speak to a doctor at his own surgery.
The End.