Thu 9th April 2009

Last day of work for five whole days! Thank you baby Jesus for dying so that mankind can have a few days off. All year round we think about the little jobs we have promised to get around at some point; and thanks to you there’s a few days to fully procrastinate about them at punishing length.

As this was officially the last working day before the Easter holidays, we were allowed to bring games in. Ok, that’s a lie - we weren’t allowed to bring games in. Sadly ‘the man’ and the right-on brigade have teamed up together and stopped that kind of pre-holiday fun, because the modern kill-joys do not consider it a constructive use of time (or they might just consider it inappropriate on the grounds that I’m a 31 year old man). But we did make our own kind of light-hearted office-based fun, which was possibly one-step lower in the maturity stakes than a quick game of classroom ‘Junior Dingbats’. It consisted of sending various puerile SMS messages to each other’s desk-phones. I know on paper this doesn’t exactly sound like a barrel of laughs, but there is something I find genuinely amusing about the emotionless, mechanistic voice which reads text messages through the landline receiver. It has perfect diction of individual words, but an ill-fitting expression of the sentences as a whole. Dialogue-wise, the whole thing is probably best described as sounding like Moira Stewart doing an impression of Borat.

And there’s something genuinely quite sinister about it too. If you know any very young or very old relatives who are going to be on their own over the holidays and who do not have a savvy grasp of modern phone technology, why not text something along the lines of “Tonight I plan to slice your neck open, hang you upside down and watch your guts spill out” to their landline? Thanks to Moira’s chilling delivery, they’ll be absolutely terrified. It’ll be hilarious! The more vulnerable the recipient, the better.

So there’s one activity for your Easter break. You can have that for free. But should you need other ways to procrastinate your way out of the impending odd jobs, I’m afraid you’ll just have to think of them yourself.

Wed 8th April 2009

I saw a bit of ‘The Passion’ on TV. I found it to be a rather oddly titled series; as despite what is implied, there was very little salacious about its content at all. It was mainly just a load of beardy blokes with regional accents talking about God and stuff, then one of them ends up getting murdered. Don’t bother getting your hopes built up when the prostitute appears either. As I said, nothing even remotely arousing happens in the whole programme. Well, almost nothing. There is a kiss between two men who confusingly have similar sounding names. But the scene doesn’t seem particularly erotic (not that I am an authority on what whether a kiss between two men could be considered erotic or anything. I am not familiar with this type of thing. And even if I were, I’d probably just have as much luck as a homosexual man as I do as a heterosexual, given my granary-bap arse, and worst still, my irritable bowel and consequently putridly un-tempting state of my anal innards. The one thing that can be said about me is how I am not prejudiced - I can repulse people indiscriminately of their sexual persuasion).

Yes – it’s all pretty flaccid stuff. Though having said this, if you find pleasure in sadomasochistic acts, then there’s a chance you might enjoy the ending; which is full of torture and cruelty. But then if this sort of thing arouses you, you’re clearly a sicko, and I would seriously question whether I wish to hear from you. I only enjoy sexual acts that are completely conventional, thank you very much. I would not wish to be flogged and hung on a cross.

Unless it the only thing on offer.