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Archive for the ‘Plonkers’ Category

Jack Bauer Henry VIII

He: Hey… The Tudors are starting on Mnet tonight in place of 24.
Me: So I’ve heard. Could be interesting to watch.
He: I dunno. Action vs drama. Jack Bauer tortured and killed at least 7 people per episode. Henry VIII only killed his 6 wives.
Me: That is actually not true. Of the six wives… 2 were divorced, 2 were beheaded, one died after childbirth and 1 survived. You could actually learn something from watching the series.
He (unfazed): I might. Seems a bit of a downer to me.
Me: The many intricacies of your 22 year old psyche intrigue me.
He: I miss Jack already.
Me: And so you would.

(That settles it. I’m taking him with me.)

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PuzzleHe (serious): Are you all set for this afternoon’s big meeting? I don’t have to tell you just how important it is that we pull this off.
Me (matter of fact): I think you just did.
He: I did what?
Me: Told me.
He (clearly lost or pretending to be): Are we talking about the same thing?
Me: I thought we were, but now it seems we’re not.
He (raised eyebrows): Huh?
Me: The subtle yet artful manipulation hiding behind your own words clearly escapes you.

How did he miss that?

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Fish in a barrel

WaiterBeing the miserable sod that I am, I am quite happy to bring someone down to my misery level, especially when that person is primary the source of my woes.

Question: Why is it that when you want to have a quiet and serious conversation with one of your friends, your waiter is the quirkiest person on the face of the planet?

There you are going through an account of how a new job offer flushed your precious holiday plans down the toilet (or how you just got dumped++) when your waiter has clearly swallowed the Energiser bunny in the kitchen before coming out.
He’ll start out by saying something like, “Good morning, folks and what can I do for you today? You’re at the (Insert Restaurant Name), the happiest place on earth next to Hooters!”
Fuck… you… sparky. I was going to have the mixed seafood platter, but now I’ll just have the chicken salad. And leave the dressing on the side. (I did not say it out loud, but my body language probably communicated that I was irritated)
Now I know what you are thinking. I am unreasonable and the guy is merely doing his job in being friendly and welcoming. And you may be right for thinking so. There is a no way he could have known that I wanted him to tone it down and be less of an intrusion, unless I told him so. If I were a woman, you’d be forgiven for thinking, “Diva!”.
Having admitted to being a bit of a douchebag, I do however believe that a good waiter should be able to read his patrons and adjust his attitude accordingly.
I was all set to make up for my insolent behaviour, when he did something that really pissed me off. It took twenty minutes for him to arrive with the drinks order!
When they finally arrived and while he was busy putting the drinks down on the table , I leaned in and asked politely, “I know you have a sign that says, We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone!, but is the lack of service your subtle way of telling us to piss off?”
Clearly taken aback by this precious ounce of respect, he blushed and rambled off an excuse of why it took so long for him to get around to us. His excuse may have been perfectly valid, had it not been that the place was basically empty and that he had only two other tables to see to.
I made a mental note to tip him in small coins.
(++No worries, I was not dumped)

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Train trackIn the line at the cafeteria…

Girl: I’m reading a very interesting book on male/female sexuality right now.
Guy (obviously bored): Uh-huh…
Girl: Anyway… the author says that the chemical make-up of the male brain is totally different from that of the female brain, and that a woman’s brain contains about 10 times more white matter related to general intelligence than a man’s…. [stops talking]
(Annoyed) You know, I don’t think you’ve listened to a word I’ve said in the last two minutes. You are probably only thinking about the beer in your fridge and some girl you met in a bar last week whom you want to have sex with.
Guy: Huh? All I heard was beer and sex.… the rest flew past me like fire engines on their way to a crash site.
Girl (perplexed): Yeah, I can hear the echo of their sirens bouncing around in your skull.
Guy: Are you saying I have a one-track mind?
Girl: Yes, and there are 2 only stops… Beerville and Sextopia.

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Handful of sand

I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth. (~Ovid’s Metamorphosis, Book 14, lines 131-153 as paraphrased by Matt Damon in The Good Shepherd)

Two posts in three weeks! Does not bode well for the blog, does it? In spite of it being spring, I’ve been kinda(?) lazy as well as low on inspiration and will power.
The birthday was last week Friday and hence the quote. Of course it coincided with the start of the Rugby World Cup which culminated in a drunken debauchery of epic proportions. The less I say… the better. And the less I have to force myself to remember.

If there is one thing that drives me insane, it is when married friends have a joint email address and they don’t tell you about it!
I sent an e-mail to a married friend a couple of days ago to bring him up to speed on a few intimate details of my life. We’ve been best mates since primary school.
Imagine my surprise when he called back a day later and not only shared with me his view on some of the issues raised, but also that of his wife.
“You told your wife what I wrote in the e-mail?”, I asked.
“No. We have a joint e-mail account and she read it when she checked the account for messages”

I felt like he had just slapped me! Why would she read an e-mail when it was not addressed to her? And even after she had opened it, why did she not close it when she realised that it was of a personal nature? I don’t want him to put me before his wife, just my right to privacy.
Now I know some people see this whole “there is no secrets between us” as a gesture of their undying love and commitment, especially when they are newly married. But does sharing necessarily mean you have to include your friend’s secrets?
To me personally it screams of a lack of individuality and some form of over-possessiveness. Being in a relationship (marriage) does require that you share some details of your life with someone else, but does it have to be every detail?
Right at the heart of the matter, is the fact that my mate did not tell me that the e-mail addy was for a joint account. It is a big deal to me and although I am not going to launch a formal protest… but I don’t like it one bit. Not one bit!
To me it is akin to pillow talk. Laying there, completely relaxed with someone you’re starting to trust entirely (or just had sex with), it’s easy to find yourself passing on secret hopes and fears… as well as the secrets of your friends that they would prefer kept hidden.
Personal, embarrassing, humiliating or harmful secrets about your bros are best kept between the two of you. In revealing these, you’re trusting someone else equally or perhaps more than your closest friend. And perhaps you do.
It’s however doubtful that he’d be happy if I aired his dirty laundry to his wife, nor would I tell my girlfriend’s secrets to him.
People!

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CollisionIt does not happen every day that you feel the need to (or even want to) use the punchline from a lame, politically incorrect joke in a real life situation.
Yet something happened this afternoon when I got into my car to see a client, that compelled me to do just that. It was not so much that I was compelled, but at the time I just could not think of something better/wittier to say.
I was pulling my car out of a parking bay at the office when I reversed into a car passing by behind me. Admittedly I was in a bit of a hurry, but I had checked for traffic/obstacles before I put the car into gear. A white Opel Corsa Lite seemed to appear out of nowhere. It really did!
My car lightly scraped the rear bumper of the other car. Apart from a bit of paint transfer it was not serious. Nothing that a bit of rubbing compound/car polish could not take care of.
No amount of apologising and goodwill on my part could persuade the driver not to involve our respective insurance companies. He insisted on taking down my details and on going though the proper channels.
I guess one can’t be too careful these days, but shouldn’t common sense prevail at the end of the day? I can only imagine what the excess payment is going to be like. Probably more than what it will cost to remove the offending paint smudge.
While I wrote my details on the back of a business card, he stomped around breathing heavily. The guy was pissed off alright. One would swear I had just totaled his car. Obviously he does not take life’s little challenges very well.
The odd thing about him was that he was severely vertically challenged. He was probably no more than 4ft tall. I could easily argue that he was so small that he could barely see over the dashboard of his car.

He: I’m not happy
Me (annoyed): No shit, dude. So which one of the remaining six are you exactly?

I don’t think he realised the full implications of the comment I made. If he had, he surely would have agreed that Grumpy would have been a more apt description.

[Disclaimer: The post is not intended to be in bad taste. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction]

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Bubble Boy - Jake GyllenhaalOn my way home from work last night, I made a quick stop at the grocery store to buy a few dairy products. It is all part of my new eat healthy/fitness regime. [You can stop giggling Katt.]
It was just after five and there weren’t many people around. Lucky me, or so I thought!
I had finished my shopping, and was choosing a check-out line. There were only two lines operating. In one of them, the person working the till was a good-looking girl. Not being the kind of guy to pass up an opportunity to flirt with a hot check-out girl (hubba-hubba), I wanted to hang back until she was free. Much to my dismay, I realised that the second line was empty. It seemed pointless not to make use of the opportunity for a quick exit.
Behind the till was a young man… and a very weird young man at that. Not only did he suffer from an acute case of blond highlights in his hair, both his eyebrows and his lower lip were pierced. Yikes! He must have felt me looking at him, because he looked up and gestured to me to come forward.
He started ringing through my groceries. When he grabbed hold of the six pack of Danone Activia yoghurt I had in my basket, the band-aid that was on his index finger came undone, and attached itself to one of the containers.
With a grunt, I pointed at the yogurt in his hand
“Ooh sorry!” he said nonchalantly. He daintily plucked the band-aid from the container and re-applied it to his hand. I was dumbstruck.
“What are you doing?” I asked, “Aren’t you going to replace that?” (I was referring to the yoghurt.)
“I just did” he said, and he held up his finger.
“I’m not referring to the band-aid. I’m referring to the yoghurt. Surely you don’t expect me to…”
I gave up. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up. My dark side had come out to play. I could already see where this conversation was going. There was a no way I was going to get through this without serving up a severe insult and making reference to a vast number of blood-borne infectious diseases that could be passed on by his band-aid. Most of all, I did not want to lose my cool in front of the check out girl.
“You know what?” I said, “I changed my mind. I just realised I have yoghurt at home. Please can you cancel the transaction on that particular item?”
He called one of the supervisors over and she reversed the transaction for him.
After he had rung up the rest of my groceries I headed out of there.
God knows what is going to happen to that particular six pack of Danone Activia. I pray that they disinfect it before putting it back on the shelf. I’m just happy they did not end up in my fridge.

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