Consider yourself Moderatrixed
And be damn grateful about it, worms
Well, I was actually hoping to spend this Friday performing my usual duties, perhaps enjoying a little light banter with my colleagues, and then sauntering out at lunchtime to get society-endangeringly drunk.
But it would seem that this very modest dream of mine is to remain in the realms of fantasy. This is because, despite my selfless and heroic efforts last time, you trembling inadequates still have more supposed problems to get off your pigeon chests. Oh no, no, that's fine - I understand, you really desperately need someone to help you with your very difficult difficulties. How could I turn you away? What sort of monster would that make me?
Go on then. What's wrong now? Make it quick, please, there's a gallon of absinthe with my name on it.
So, what do cow's know that we don't? I mean, they're always lying down when it rains and all.
Cows know: how to mobilise other cows to trample unwary dog-walkers; the joy of stomach options; and punctuation. When it comes to the weather, however, they have no clue. If you see a cow lying down, it means that a cow is lying down. There's a life lesson here, Rob - do you see it? Well, cobblers to you then.
Every time I open the car door on my lovely Nissan Almera, I receive the most terrible electric shock. I'm considering changing my lovely nylon slacks for a pair of corduroys in an attempt to resolve the problem but find the idea of actually going to a shop to try on trousers baffling and not a little frightening.
Can you recommend a reliable website with a good range of static-resistant corduroys, preferably Teflon coated, with a 50" waist?
PS It's my birthday tomorrow. Does anyone want to come to my birthday party? Anyone?
I myself used to quite literally feel your pain - for many years I was plagued by shocks from escalators, car doors, stair rails, lift-buttons and eels. Fortunately this turned into a good thing for me, as it made me better able to judge how many volts a person could take before keeling over. I'm sure it's saved me from many a lawsuit.
So, my advice to you is to find such a way to turn this particular electric lemon into lemonade - but if it's really that terrible, simply slip a local yob £10 to burn your bastard car. The trousers issue is a red herring, as I think you know if you really look inside yourself (or indeed inside your trousers).
Oh, and happy birthday. Would you like a present? Well, tough. But it's the thought that counts.
The planet is in turmoil, children are being tested on what powers solar powers snails, superbugs rampage through hospitals leaving carnage in their wake, to much sun gives you cancer, to much sun cream gives you cancer, governments hyping terror threats and encroaching on civil liberties, every day there is something new that can or wants to kill you...
Many are saying the apocalypse is coming and we are all doomed so I thought I would ask the most vital question I can think of... what motorbike do you think I should buy next?
I'm currently on the payroll of a largish consulting company, but there doesn't appear to be any work for me or any of my colleagues in our specialist area (bureaucratic government stationery redesign).
Do you know anywhere else that could I get a job using my skills: section numbering, making boxes that are just slightly too small to fit all the answer into, dense incomprehensible jargon including but not limited to descriptions of what to do when clause A applies clause B does not and clause C is in the supplementary paperwork that needs to be ordered separately with a SAE sent to the address listed in form 1022V/ii (this form has been Crystal-Mark approved)
Knowing the difference between 'stationary' and 'stationery' amply qualifies you to be a magazine editor, should you choose. Alternatively, your ability to make slightly too small boxes should take you all the way to the top at IKEA. Failing that, you could become an international assassin. I know a bloke who knows a bloke. We'll talk later. Not here.
Why is it that all the girls I like either don't like me, or have severe emotional problems that raise their ugly heads when you start getting settled?
How do I find my perfect woman?
Your gracious servant.
One man's severe emotional problem is another man's adorable undocumented psychological feature, GW. Embrace the neuroses. Clasp the psychoses to your bosom. Wrap your limbs around the narcissistic passive-aggression. Or, if the kitchen of the differently-sane is just too hot for you, that's fine - I mean, you know, some people like dull, one-note, placid women who classify plates as household items rather than weapons. I'm afraid this is the choice you face. So face it, you sap. Strap on a pair. Do I have to do everything myself? God.
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