BOFH: You brought nothing to the party but a six-pack of regret BOFH logo telephone with devil's horns "... And so we're thinking that some way of getting a morale boost would be good," the Boss burbles. "And cash was ruled out because?" I ask. "Money is a temporary thing..." "Much like morale in that respect," the PFY notes. "The Director wants something longer term. Something less …
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As Otis Lee Crenshaw says, "Country Music is just sittin' on the floor drinkin' a bottle of Jack Daniels with the big, lonely, salty tears pourin' down your cheeks - and tryin' to turn that misery and heartache into cold, hard cash."
It's a reference to an old folk remedy against rabies. You have to consume a hair of the dog which bit you. A sort of sympathetic magin thing. The homeopaths are into that and there is doubtless a 1000C tincture of hair of the dog available as a tonic to ease your attachment to a former loved one (dogs being very faithful). That's how the 'logic' works.
"Country Music is just sittin' on the floor drinkin' a bottle of Jack Daniels with the big, lonely, salty tears pourin' down your cheeks -"
Yes, Jack Daniels has that effect on me. Ever since I read about it on Wikipedia; "The product meets the regulatory criteria for classification as a straight bourbon, though the company disavows this classification. It markets the liquor simply as Tennessee whiskey rather than as Tennessee bourbon. As defined in the North American Free Trade Agreement, Tennessee whiskey is classified as a straight bourbon authorized to be produced in the state of Tennessee. Tennessee law (57-2-106) further requires ..."
I spent twenty years struggling to get by as a speed bump in the motor trade before I could face reality again.
"Country Music is just sittin' on the floor drinkin' a bottle of Jack Daniels with the big, lonely, salty tears pourin' down your cheeks -"
Its like when you play a country music record backwards.
* Your Truck starts
* Your dog comes back from the dead
* And your Wife / Girl friend comes back to you
I have to say that's one of the Americanisms I hate with a vengeance "learnings", makes me shudder to read it, let alone here it!!!!! It just sounds like something one of my children would have said before they learnt to speak properly.
It's a constant fight getting it removed from minutes or "retrospectives"....
My particular bugbear at the moment is "di-sect". The word is "dis-sect", it has two esses in the middle. The american TV programmes are mainly to blame, they mangle this particular word, but don't similarly bastardise such words as dissent, dissemble, disseminate, dissident, etc., etc.. Makes me shudder and shout at the telly whenever it is uttered.
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Same old BOFH
Does anyone apart from him and the PFY survive an entire year working in the same building....
Incidently I had a boss, fresh from uni, with a toff accent, RP english and the brains of a dead sparrow that had been run over by a road roller, got the job because he was the in the same college as the owner's son......... (cue much burbled rememberings.... )
The Janitor has been the same guy for twenty years. He not only knows were the bodies are buried, he knows everything because he has to deal with the literal trash.
A fired techie might wipe the database in anger, a fired Janitor will make sure your life is Hell.
He might not know much of computers but he has copies of all the keys in the building.
He is the guy who they call to clean every mess, so he got blackmail by the truckloads. He might not know your browser search story but he is the one who saw the stains you left after work.
Worse, most people do not even know the guy name, he is just the janitor for them.
He is at work before they open and leaves hours after closing.
Philip has never visited the despair.com website, has he?
"It could be that the purpose of your life is to serve as a warning to others"
"We're not paying you to believe in the power of your dreams. Get back to work."
"Not everyone gets to be an astronaut"
...with appropriate images, of course.
One of my favourite sites, and one of the best is
SHOOT FOR THE MOON
Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars. Of course, then your eyeballs will boil and your lungs explode from decompression. But that's what you get for being a damn showoff.
Bet we all work with someone this describes
All the signs here in replies to the Director's wishes are most encouraging of further outrageous shenanigans in both Common Private and Communal Pirate Communications Fields.
:-) Do you imagine it a near perfect fit for weirdos and misfits with odd skills as recently advertised as being considered for special service here .......... https://dominiccummings.com/2020/01/02/two-hands-are-a-lot-were-hiring-data-scientists-project-managers-policy-experts-assorted-weirdos/
An Ageing Eton Mess is No Stranger to a Strawberry Field Fool, and that usually Results in the Need, Seed and Feed of a Major Systems ReBoot and Full Executive Administration Overhaul.
Some would say that be tantamount to being certainly quite revolutionary ...... with others able to add and laud and applaud such as delivering quantum leap evolutionary too.
cc dmc2.cummings at you know where.
"After the laxative cake of 2012 no one's going to take snacks from us," the PFY points out.
I'm amazed they didn't go for a sedative-laxative combo... You'll shit yourself, but you won't give a shit about it.
Add in a little LSD for extra effect - having someone screaming "CAN'T YOU SEE THAT BLOODY DRAGON ON THE BOARDROOM TABLE ?!" as they void themselves will live long in corporate memory...!
I beg to differ:
I was young, going through my rebel phase and experimenting, cue Purple Microdots.
Running through a shopping precint aged about 16, crying my eyes out, shaking with feer, I run upto a Security Guard asking him to save me, dont let him eat me, proceeding to then piss myself and all over the floor in full view of everybody out doing some weekend shopping,
Having been in a place I wasnt sure off, on my own, and walking pasted McDonalds, I genuinly though Ham Burglur was going to eat me.
Luckily later experiences went alot better.
.. one department brought in cakes and things, the admin/reception chickies brought carrot and celery sticks and dip..
When It came to my turn, it was a quick trip into town and a big bucket of KFC.
I know its evil, but it was also pretty popular.
Ah, memories.
Earlier days of shift work. One guy on afternoon and night shifts would simply steal peoples food from the fridge. You would get back to find your container with just chicken bones or empty sandwich wrappers. The guy was a fucking pig. Even when caught we continued doing it
Plan formulated for next night shift . One of the girls came in with a beatifully crafted birthday cake. She must have been pissed at him. Liquid laxative in the cake. Chocolate Laxative in the icing and Laxative Chocolate buttons as decorations. Everyone gets a small slice and just before we can all "enjoy" our birthday cake an emergency call is received. Everyone runs out leaving said pig with the cake.
By our reckoning he ate about a third of the cake. Though he claimed the peices fell on the ground when he was putting the cake back in the bridge for everyone
Came back 2 days later looking at little paler and thinner. The fat bastard ate the rest of the cake when no one was around!
Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears is a surefire thing. The latest I've read on Amazon's reviews page is this :
To preface this, I will state that it is not good to upset anyone in the military supply network. This is especially true for a supply NCO (non-commissioned officer) who can be both creative and vindictive to those who earn his ire.
One of my biggest pet peeves was troopies who walked into my supply room and decided to go through things on my counter or desk. It is for this reason that I purchased two bags of these sweet little revenge snacks.
I briefed my minions that morning that the snacks were to be unsullied by their hands. I told them that I would know and it would not go unpunished by both myself and the higher powers. They thought I was joking, but decided to not test my authority before my eyes.
With that said, I placed the bowl on the back part of the counter just in reach of anyone loitering inside my supply room. The rules were posted for all to see when they came in. So, they were warned. A large sign that said, “If you touch my stuff, you will be punished.” They decided to test me, I guess.
On this weekend, we were set to do general cleaning and maintenance within the Battalion. So, my desk was rather busy (Battalion Headquarters supply room). I was in and out of my office all day. However, I made sure to take general measurements of my bowl of horror every time I came back.
Shortly before lunch, my unholy wrath began to strike. My supply room is one door down from the latrines and the row of male commodes is on the other side of the wall from my desk. It was the first, but was not the last.
It was initially heralded by the sound of Gabriel’s trumpet escaping the sphincter of one poor soul. He hit the latrine and sounded as if he kicked the stall door open. For the next thirty minutes, I listened to the sounds of a live humpback whale being butchered by a blind man wielding a chainsaw.
It was not long before another troop, this time a female, made her way to the latrine. She came from the indoor pistol range and had to cross in front of my door. I saw a pale woman with sweat streaking her face. She was hobbling with one hand on the wall for support and the other on her stomach praying for just a little more time.
For lunch, I ripped into an MRE (the Army brown bag lunch) and listened to the ever-growing chorus of those who had so far snuck down half of my bowl of brightly-colored Improvised Colon Explosive Devices. I was not sure if the other side of the building was seeing the same activity in the latrines, but the smell reached my door by the end of lunch. Good thing I was stationed with an Infantry unit for the first four years of my career, so I was accustomed to bad odors.
One of my minions did not return from lunch, so I volunteered another to perform a possibly suicidal scouting mission into the male latrine in search of my wayward soul. He was there, and had been since the beginning of lunch.
By 15:00 (3:pM), I was told that the unit was being locked down and there was an emergency meeting in the Battalion briefing room. I had a suspicion of the reason, but attended as I was ordered to do so. By this time, my bowl of gelatinous bowel howitzer ammunition was one quarter filled.
The meeting began slightly off schedule. At 15:22, the Sergeant Major walked into the room and looked as if he had just performed a three-day combat operation without sleep. The Battalion X.O. walked in not long after and looked as if he had been intimately assaulted by a rather insistent horse. I used all of my military bearing to keep from cracking a joke about cavalry officers walking bow-legged.
The Battalion Surgeon walked in and told us that there was a high chance that the unit had come in contact with a strange stomach bug. Roughly half of the battalion was complaining of stomach cramps and explosive diarrhea. It seemed to mostly be affecting HHC (the headquarters) and C Co. (the company that was on the same side of the building as us—also the medics). Until symptoms cleared up, the unit was in lock-down and cleaning mode.
I went back to my supply room with the intent to bag up the remaining evidence of my involvement only to find that the bowl was missing. My minions were too wrapped up to notice anything, though. So, I began a search for the evidence that would probably land me in front of a firing squad.
The empty bowl was located in the admin offices. Someone found it and decided to liberate it from my supply room for the only group that I didn’t want to upset. But, they had already consumed the remainder of the biological weapons. As I left with the bowl, I heard the familiar sound of incoming fire from the senior pay clerk’s desk, followed shortly after by what sounded like Lamaze breathing.
That weekend, the entire building was cleaned from one side to the other. MREs were consumed in the hopes of plugging the torrential flood of liquid terror and every door and window was opened with fans going over a cup of pinesol in every room. Three-quarters of the enlisted and half of the officers were hit with the mystery stomach bug and the medical supply room was in desperate need of more I.V. kits.
I don’t know if my message got across, but it was definitely an entertaining weekend.
This: We were talking about rabbit holes at Book Club last night" the Boss burbles, forgetting our wolf-like tendencies when a slow animal is separated from the herd. "We're reading Alice in Wonderland!"
Which immediately triggered the memory that the Jaberwock is known to burble. One of these days the wolves might be in for a surprise. Just sayin'
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