I’m sitting at my desk whilst two of my colleagues are having a conversation next to me.
Her – “It’s so big”
Him – “You’ll get used to it”
Her new phone had arrived and they were talking about the size of the screen.
At work, we have a dedicated private Facebook page in which employees can sell stuff.
It’s pretty good if you want baby clothes, a kitchen gadget they’ve ‘only used a couple [of] times’, and other shit and detritus they don’t want anymore.
Well, I decided to have a peruse through today’s offerings over my morning coffee, and happened upon this item.
Usually stuff like this wouldn’t make it onto my blog, but I couldn’t resist with a description like this:
Extra large Cock – FREE to a good home
My first instinct was to look up from my desk and check around me to make sure I wasn’t having my leg pulled.
No, she really wrote that…and it was intended to be sincere.1
What made it even better is that someone commented:
That is a turkey.
To which she replied:
It’s a rooster. A huge cock
Ah, I love the smell of innuendos in the morning.
1 – I know this because a) it’s on a public work Facebook channel, and b) innuendos aren’t her thing….believe me!
Being a Brit living in America is, mostly, pretty easy.
The main issue I have (other than the stupid way they format their dates, their driving, their TV, their….well, you get my point) is filtering my disgusting and yet hilarious brain from reacting when I find something funny that others REALLY won’t.
After all, offending someone over here is as difficult as fist fighting a baby.
It took all my willpower not to put a note on it that reads:
“So are your wife’s tits”.
Does that make me a bad person?
Yes, yes, I know it’s been a while since I posted something.
Work has been really busy lately as I was recently promoted (small smattering of applause can be heard somewhere at the back, followed by a hacking dry cough and a murmuring to just ‘get on with it’), so I haven’t had a lot of time to put fingers on keyboard.
However, I can find 5 minutes to share this little moment of sheer joy.
So I arrived at the office this morning and noticed this small sign on someone’s desk.
Now, for clarity, this ‘someone’ is the head of a department. Like, he’s WAY up there in the echelons of senior management, and this sign is clearly a visual aid to encourage energy, teamwork and whatever he feels necessitates this sign.
Being the Grammar-Nazi I am, couldn’t help myself!
In this context, it’s not so much a visual aid than a visual impairment, depending on your aim.
But I’m sure he’ll see the funny side of this and will be fine with me mocking his grammatical oversight, plus….
…I don’t want to rub it in.
I’ve just discovered there’s a doughnut shop here in Vegas called ‘Pink Box’; an establishment known for it’s sweet, sticky treats with a hole.
And, apparently, there’s also a place called ‘Pink Taco’. You just can’t make this shit up.
It’s guess it’s just a different sense of humour on the (w)hole [smirk] because no-one seems to find these as remotely funny as I do, especially when I’ve just been asked if I want anything from Pink Box.
Yes….yes I do.
Usually, when I write a post, it’s regarding a situation or event that either amused me…or frustrated me to the point where it was simply laughable.
But sometimes, just sometimes, something comes along that requires no back story or train of thought.
So, in keeping true to my ‘Life Is Funny’ mantra, here is a photo of a van I was stuck behind in traffic the other day.
In this post I claimed energy drinks gave you anal seepage; it now seems they have a remedy for that.
The last couple of times I’ve used an automated car wash, the steel tracks that your wheels sit in have pulled off some rubber thingies on the bottom of my car. Apparently these rubber thingies are there to make the car more aerodynamic.
I can’t tell the difference if I’m honest, but they’re left hanging loose, flapping in the wind like Ron Jeremy but not as entertaining.
In an attempt to avoid buying new ‘pop rivets’ to reattach said rubber thingies after potentially every car wash, I’ve been on the search for a manual or hand car wash. Even the ‘100% Hand Car Wash’ places I’ve discovered have you drive your wheels into the same big ol’ steel tracks.
I think the concept of percentage is lost on some people.
Anyway, I recently found a manual jet wash place that allows you to wash the car yourself with a multitude of water guns and hoses and settings and stuff.
So, last night I parked the car up in the jet wash bay, swiped my card through the card swipey thing and got to work; prewash, soap, rinse, wax, spot-free rinse, triple coat and air hose. I was having a whale of a time.
I was there for almost 20 minutes, the car was still dirty in places that I’d missed with the brush under the thick, frothy, jizzy foam and the car windows now look like the aftermath of a bukkake scene. Needless to say, I’m not happy.
I guess I have to bite the bullet and use an automated car wash again. I can’t drive around with a car that looks like a plasterer’s radio.
Oh, and if my parents are reading this….do NOT Google bukkake.