Original URL: http://www.theregister.co.uk/2008/07/04/moderatrix_two/
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.
Since my wife morphed into an adept Starcraft (I) player I refer to her as 'My Little Zergling'. Further, she presently approves of the term.
Yet, after a brief period of inward chuckling, I find I am uncomfortable in these lofty heights of the nerdosphere.
It must stop! What is to be done?
Hey, whatever does it for you, guy. Wouldn't life be oh-so-dull if we all liked the same things? I should say so! I think you should go right ahead and conduct your clearly happy, healthy, gaming-augmented relationship as you damn well please, and I certainly shan't be shopping you to the rozzers under the extreme porn laws.
(Although, between you and I, I do hear that an extra clause may be added to outlaw the shocking new practice of looking at 'zergling'. Anyone caught observing with at least one eye a representation in Paint or similar of an act of zergle between two people, after 2010, is gonna do bird. But keep your curtains closed and you should be fine.)
Why when I see comments on the reg that are pure drivel am I compelled to respond?
I pride myself on my perceptiveness when it comes to the curious motivations of others, but I must confess to being stumped by this one. I mean, why would any normal, intelligent human being want to get themselves all riled by weighing into ridiculous online argy-bargy with the kind of trolls, fools and twits who can't get their jollies any other way? Really, I'm entirely baffled.
When are you going to let Andrew Orlowski have his Optimus Prime back?
Now that he's destroyed Terminal 5 and Croydon, where will the Moderatrix be sending him before a final showdown with Megatron? Based on his current trajectory, I'd be worried if I lived in Sevenoaks...
I can reveal that Orlowski is, in fact, Optimus Prime. Bet you didn't see that one coming, didja?
Does chewing gum really lose it's flavour on the bedpost over night?
Is there really a moose loose aboot this hoose?
And more seriously why did the moderatrix sensor my perfectly sensible, albeit sexist and condescending, analogy between windows versions and seasonal variations in women's shoe colours?
Why do you think?
In a battle, to the death, who would win: Yourself, or Mr. Norris?
That is such a stupid question I may actually have to kill you. I'll give you a ten-second headstart, just to be sporting. Go on. Get those knees up.
Why is it that noone knows the difference between its and it's?
It's clearly the fault of successive governments failing utterly to provide adequate education in basic English, among other things. Everyone over the age of 18 really ought to know the difference between 'its' and 'it's' as well as 'loath' and 'loathe', 'discrete' and 'discreet', and... wait, 'noone'? You come to me with this question and you say 'noone' to me? Get you from this place. You just made the list, sonny Jim.
I am a lonely female engineer working in a man's world and it's not a good place to be. Why does there have to be a 2 in gap between top of shoe and bottom of trouser leg of your average male engineer? Why is deodorant outlawed (along with shower and clean shreddies I suspect)? Why, if you smile politely at yet another geeky tale, it's taken as a come-on and then you are stalked by geeky tale-teller? Why is co-ordinating colour shirt and tie so difficult? How the hell did some of these men manage to pull and marry women and then create offspring (oh, that image just after breakfast - shudder)? Why don't tall, good looking men go into engineering? Should I really have to sell out and put up with a man whose only involvement with technology is to turn on his HD Plasma, sit in front of it with his hands down his pants, belching along to MTV videos?
Sad and lonely in Auld Reekie
Well, S&LiAR, I think the only solution is to... or, you could... but in any case you must consider... oh, I don't know. I don't know. It's truly rotten what you have to put up with. It's bad enough what I have to put up with. Perhaps I should diversify into internet dating. Perhaps the tall, handsome, fragrant, long-trousered men of IT who are surely lurking out there could step up. Chaps? This is an emergency. Come on. Sort it out. I'm waiting. And so is S&LiAR.
Why is the cheese?
Because the boat. Idiot. Nice name, though.
That's your lot for now. If you have any worries, doubts or fears till next time, I suggest you ask a policeman. Mwah! ®