January 20, 2006

Who's Nuts Mr Honky Tonk?

Overnight, our hero has veered wildly from coherent to raving-lunatic. Another guy in the office took this call earlier today:

"Good afternoon. How can I help?"
"The Brazilians are nosy parkers. We like Brazil nuts though."
"Hmm. Okay."
"Yes. And tell your Chairman to stop cavorting around like a gazelle. Okey dokey? Toot Toot."

Line goes dead.

January 19, 2006

Mr Honky Tonk Strikes Back

Honky Tonk's on the prowl again, terrorizing bureaucrats and telephonists the length and breadth of this soggy little island we call Great Britain. He's concerned that the trial of terror suspect Abu Hamza al-Masri (accused of inciting racial hatred and soliciting for murder) might not go his way:

"Good evening, how can I help."
"Are you Irish?"
"Good man. Don't think much of the Irish, you know."
"What can I do for you."
"It's about this Abu Hamza chap - he's a rat and we don't like rats. We have to send him back from whence he came and pronto! There's no time to waste."
"Where to?"
"Afghanistan, I'd say."
"And you're telling me this because..."
"Because you're going to tell the regions of course. Why else would I phone you? Silly willy."
"Of course. I'll get right on to it."
"Good man. You do that and I'll ring up the Home Office again in the morning and tell them too. We'll give them till midnight tomorrow."
"Excellent plan sir."
"This Hamza chap has to leave at once. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say, and I think the Archbishops of York and Canterbury will agree. Toodle-ooh."

Line goes dead

January 16, 2006

Holy Jee-had, Batman!

Backpackers are always looking for cheap digs so www.couchsurfers.com is the perfect resource for skint nomads. The site puts 'Couchsurfers' in touch with like minds and a place to crash for a night or two. It markets itself as a unique way of discovering the 'authentic' culture of the host Couchsurfer.
Check the website out. There are eight posts advertising couches in Iraq. Honestly.
I would donate my balls to science for a chance to be a fly on the wall at Bagdhad International when some dumb Aussie backpacker disembarks at the arrivals gate looking for his new Couchsurfing chums:
"G,day mate. I'm Bruce. You guys must be my new Couchsurfing buddies."
"The River Tigris will run red with your blood, infidel pig."
"Strewth! You guys are the real deal. Hey mate, do all Iraqi's carry swords like yours?"
"Oh yes. It is very normal."
"No shit, eh. I love yer balaclava too mate. Did you get it from the Billabong outlet."
"Thank you very much infidel and no, I did not get it in Billabong. My mother wove it from the hair of our last hos... I mean, Couchsurfer. Please now allow me to carry your infidel bags to our car and we will drive you to our accomodation."
"Aw mate, you're the best. Wow! Real AK47's too! Awesome!"
"Please Mr Bruce. You must get in the trunk. We do not have enough seats, you see."
"Bonza, mate! Aw wow! Nice trunk mate."
"We are making a movie of your visit Mr Bruce. Please smile for my camcorder."
"Sure thing mate (grins)."
Meanwhile, back in arrivals, the CIA have also devised a Couchsurfing ploy to take the hard work out of killing Arabs. Afterall, why hunt terrorists in the Bora Bora Caves when you can pick'em up at Bagdhad airport?
Dumb Aussie MkII: "G'day mate. I'm Stevo. You must be my new Couchsurfing buddies."
Agent 1 (to Agent 2): "Psst... he don't look like no raghead, Hank."
Agent 2: "Well he ain't gonna tattoo it on his forehead is he, dumb-ass. It's gotta be a trick."
Agent 1: "Welcome to Ee-rack, buddy. Glad you could come."
Aussie: "Aw wow! I didn't think you Iraqis would sound just like Americans. Flamin' hell, I didn't expect you to be wearing gold-trimmed bedouin robes and carrying ceremonial scimitars either."
Agent 1 (to Agent 2): "Goddammit Hank. I told you this disguise was over the top. This sting's a stoopid idea?"
Agent2 : "Shut the fuck up and stop calling me Hank you idiot. What did I say about using our real names?"
Agent 2 (to Aussie): "Whatever do you mean my noble Australian jihadi comrade. Everyone here dresses like this and talks with American accents. That's why we have to kill the infidels, right?"
Aussie: "Jihad? Strewth mate! I've got no idea what you're skwakin' about. I'm just here to surf and put some yabbies on the barbie."
Agent 2: "Aha (wink wink, nudge nudge). You want to surf in yankee blood and barbecue their hearts? We can talk plans in our humble locally-made automobile. Let me carry your bags. (Agent 1 produces hand-help x-ray machine)
Aussie: "Wow! Six armoured Chevy Blazers just for me. Bonza! You Iraqis really hit gold. They'll be perfect for the beach, guys."
Agent 2: "Uh sure, the beach. First we gotta make a stop at our personal hangar down the street. Say buddy. You don't mind getting in the trunk do ya? There's no seats up front."
Aussie: "No probs mate, where are we going?"
Agent 2: "Cuba, asshole."

Affe arbeit - It's German for Monkey Work

Western 'freedom' is a myth. It depends heavily on a strict set of rules which restrain us but also allow us to live peacefully and happily side by side. It's a flawed system though.
One flaw, for example, is that we are allowed to drink massive volumes of a dangerous synthesised drug (alcohol) which turns us into noisy/depressed/romantic/violent idots. Yet the same system criminalises users of an ancient herb which makes people eat lots then fall asleep. The Chancellor of the Exchequor can drink whisky in the Commons but if he sparked up a biffter he'd probably get rugby-tackled by Charles Clark and Black Rod, or, even better, David Blunkett would unleash Sadie the guide-dog on him.
Even though it's a warped system, subjected to frequent change and regional variations, it keeps us reasonably safe from things like murder and robbery. Some people, however, are left vulnerable.
One particular arena where more rules would be a good thing is the minimum wage trade. This is because work kills, especially the kind of menial tasks that pay £5 an hour. Work is the biggest killer in town and the few existing rules governing it ain't up to the job.
I have, therefore, devised my own set of rules to be followed by any wage slave wanting to live a longer and happier life. If you can think of any other rules, email me and I'll add them to the post.
1) £5 WORKERS MUST BE SLOPPY. Employers! If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys. Workers shouldn't be too neglectful but neither should they go beyond the call of duty. Minimum wage buys your presence and that's about it. If an employer want to utilise your intellectual capacity, they can pay for it. Any shortchut will do as long as it gets you to the pub quicker.
2) £5 WORKERS MAY NOT SMILE. That costs extra. Whether the extra cash comes from the employer or customer is unimportant. If anyone tells you a smile costs nothing, headbutt them and tell 'em to cheer up.
3) £5 WORKERS MAY NOT BREAK A SWEAT. There's no need. The security industry is great for this. Nightwatchmen get paid loads because they can work lots of hours when they're fast asleep. I used to work 70-80 hours a week like this. One guard I knew used to clock in to his site, go home, spend 10 hours tucked up in bed with his wife then come back to work in the morning and clock out. I was his boss. Trust me, there are thousands of jobs that permit this level of slacking. You do not have to work for £5 an hour.
4) £5 WORKERS MUST TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE BOSS. Your boss is probably taking advantage of you so be sure to return the favour. Kick the arse out of the staff discount. Get cheap stuff for your friends, your family, your priest, your postman - anyone. Have steak for your staff meal. In fact, nick some steak and have steak for dinner too. Make full use of any spillage or breakage books you have. Get a scam going with any delivery drivers that visit your work - things fall out of trucks all the time; your boss expects it. Be sure to flog contraband booze and fags to your colleagues - everyone loves a bragain and you need the cash. Make long-distance phone-calls and surf the web at work (I write this blog at work). And don't get me started on expense accounts...
5) £5 WORKERS MUST BE UTTERLY DISLOYAL. Think cat , not dog. There is always something better out there. Don't think for a second that you're employer wouldn't give you the flick the moment you become surplus to 'business needs'. I've had over 20 jobs since I left school eight years ago, 16 of them at uni, and I've never been fired once. If you find yourself breaking any of these rules, quit. It's easy. You deserve better. There's thousands of shit jobs in Tony's Britain and most of them do not require you to bust your balls/tits.
6) £5 WORKERS HAVE TO BE DRUNK. Time passes much quicker when you are drunk/stoned/high so get wrecked before your shift starts. Try anmd stay pissed at the company's expense. If your employer notices this sort of thing, refer to Rule 5. Getting minced at work makes it bearable, especially if everybody is doing it. Afterall, they can't fire everyone can they?
7) £5 WORKERS MUST LOOK BUSY. Even when you are doing nothing, give the impression that you are. This is an artform. A good trick is carrying a cloth from one end of the bar to the other with purpose in your stride. Another is to be invisible. Just disappear for a while. When you come back, everyone will think you were out back cleaning bins or something.
Don't work too hard. It'll kill you one day.
DISCLAIMER: These rules apply only to shit-suckin' dead-end jobs in service-type industries. If you have an apprenticeship, traineeship or entry-level job with a good firm, work hard, even though they pay crap. Otherwise you'll get nowhere.