Start Me Up

Mick pressed the dreaded button and braced himself. What delights would his beloved PC hold in store for him today? A prompt to install Service Pack 21? An invitation to upgrade to Media Player 49? A reminder that his yearly anti-virus subscription would expire in 11 months’ time?

            He knew the routine well by now for, regardless of  program, the procedure was always the same:

            Install? OK – Leave for later.

            Leave for later.

            Leave for later? Yes – No.

            Yes.

            Yes, install or Yes, leave for later? Accept – Cancel.

            Cancel.

            Proceed with installation? OK – Leave for later.

            Ctrl-Alt-Del.

            Ctrl-Alt-Del?

            You heard me! I want to speak to the Manager!

            That usually fixed it, and Mick was now ready to do battle with “The Beast”. Whilst no two mornings were ever the same – perish the thought that he should be in control of his life – today’s inbox was fairly representative of his daily challenges. Namely:

            The reports, calls and meetings could wait. This one was vital.

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

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Life On Mars

‘OK, let’s warm up with some simple questions. What's your favourite month, Jon?’

            ‘My favourite month?’

            ‘Yes, your favourite month.’

            ‘Owgost. Is easy!’

            ‘Owgost?’

            ‘Yes, Owgost.’

            ‘When's Owgost, Jon?’

            ‘When is Owgost?’

            ‘Yes. When's Owgost?’

            ‘After Julie.’

            ‘Julie?’

            ‘Yes, Julie.’

            ‘And when's Julie?’

            ‘When is Julie?’

            ‘Yes. When's Julie?’

            ‘You no know?’

            ‘No, I no know. Er, don't know, sorry.’

            ‘After Junie.’

            ‘Junie?’

            ‘Yes, Junie. After May, no?’

            ‘OK, thanks, Jon. Er, all right, can everyone repeat after me—’

            ‘AFTER ME.’

            ‘Ha ha ha. Now listen carefully . . . JUNE. JUNE. Everyone?’

            ‘JUNE.’

            ‘Good. And after June comes JuLY. JuLY. Everybody?’

            ‘JuLY.’

            ‘Good. And then the best month of the lot: AUgust. "OR"gust. Everyone?’

            ‘AUgust.’

            ‘Excellent! June, JuLY, AUgust. Together, please.’

            ‘JUNE, JuLY, AUgust.’

            ‘That's better! Now then, let’s see, er . . . So, Jon, what's your favourite month?’

            ‘Owgost. I say you! Why you no listen me?’

            ‘AUgust, Jon. AUgust.’

            ‘Yes. OWgost.’

            ‘Look, never mind, Jon. Er, how about you, Janet?’

            ‘How about?’

            ‘What's your favourite month?’

            ‘Mars.’

            ‘Mars?’

            ‘Yes, Mars.’

            ‘That's a planet, Janet.’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘Mars is a planet, Janet. Between the Earth and Jupiter. You can’t miss it.’

            ‘Estúpida?! Estupid you!’ . . .

Food For Thought

‘Bread, butter, cheese . . .’

            It was a depressing list.

            ‘Buns, biscuits, cakes . . .’

            Then again, all of Mick’s lists were depressing these days.

            ‘Beer, brandy, chocolate . . .’

            Why did all the good things in life begin with B or C? And, more to the point, why were all the “good things in life” bad for the body, a burden to burn off and crammed with cholesterol-enhancing calories?

            ‘Burgers, bacon, chorizo . . .’

            Summer was approaching fast, and the daily beach inspections were just around the corner. It was time to bring out his trusted “no BBC for me” diet.

            ‘Brownies, bagels, cream teas . . .’

            Mick was struggling now. He’d never had a bagel in his life and, let’s face it, “cream teas” was a bit of a cop-out, wasn’t it? He’d be resorting to brand names next.

            ‘Baileys, Ballantine’s, Cointreau . . .’

            Thankfully for both Mick and the Spanish wine industry, Rioja began with an R.

            ‘Bacardi, Beefeater, coffee . . .’

            Coffee?! No way! Besides, all the klever dicks spelt koffee with a K, didn’t they?

             If you kan’t beat them, join them! kontemplated Mick, sipping his ice-kold koffee.

Taxman

‘Hello?’

            ‘Hello. Could I speak to your mother or father, please?’

            ‘Did you want my mother or my father?’

            ‘Either, please.’

            ‘Well, they live in England. And they don’t speak Spanish. How good is your English?’

            ‘Oh, er, I think—’

            ‘Who did you want to talk to?’

            ‘Er, Mr. Michael Crunch?’

            ‘Yes, that’s me.’

            ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

            ‘That’s alright. Lots of people say I don’t sound my age. I’m twenty-one, by the way. Anyway, what can I do you for?’

            ‘Well, I'm ringing from Shitty Bank, and we notice that your tax return was unfavourable this year. Does this worry you at all?’

            ‘Not in the slightest.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘I said, “Oh”. You're supposed to say, “Yes”. I don't have a script for “No”.’

            ‘Well, that wasn’t very bright of your boss, was it?’

            ‘No, I suppose not.’

            ‘Would you like me to help you?’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘Would you like me to help you with your script?’

            ‘Well, have you got the time?’

            ‘Yes, it’s half past one.’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘Ignore me. OK, then, er, . . . Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

            ‘Amanda.’

            ‘That’s a lovely name. OK, then, Amanda, let’s suppose your victim says, “No” . . .’

You’ve Got A Friend

‘It says here, “Brian and Sue are now friends”.’

            ‘Did they have a bust-up?’

            ‘Not to my knowledge.’

            ‘So, what’s it to you?’

            ‘Nothing. It’s just they’re not friends. They’re brother and sister.’

            ‘Makes sense. Brothers and sisters are like that, you know.’

            ‘I suppose you’re right.’

            ‘Of course I’m right. Anyway, don’t you think you’re taking this Facebook lark a bit too seriously?’

            ‘You bet I am! Do you remember that interview I went for the other day?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Do you know the first question the bastards asked me?’

            ‘ “Did you have a pleasant journey, Mr. Church?” ’

            ‘ “How many Facebook friends have you got, Michael?” ’

            ‘Ha! Michael! Nice one. And what did you tell ’em?’

            ‘The truth, of course.’

            ‘You wally.’

            ‘I said I’d sooner be seen dead than waste my life clicking on a sodding “Like” button on a social network designed for and by morons.’

            ‘You tell ’em, Michael. Did you get the job?’

            ‘What do you think? Anyway, if you can’t beat them, join them, I guess.’

            ‘Exactly. So, what are you doing now?’

            ‘Sending out friend requests.’

            ‘That’s pathetic, Mick.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘Send me one while you’re at it, will ya?’

Beaches Of Cheyenne

‘There was this bloke, right? And he–’

            ‘You can't start stories like that, Mummy.’

            ‘Why not, dear?’

            ‘All stories begin, "Once upon a time".’

            ‘Bollocks they do.’

            ‘What's "bollocks", Mummy?’

            ‘Sorry, dear, I was talking to myself.’

            ‘Do you often talk to yourself, Mummy?’

            ‘All the time.’

            ‘Daddy's stories are crap.’

            ‘That's not a nice word, dear.’

            ‘Daddy said people crap all the time.’

            ‘Never mind what Daddy said.’

            ‘Has Daddy got bollocks, Mummy?’

            ‘Yes, dear, but I don't like you using that word.’

            ‘What about the bloke, Mummy?’

            ‘Yes, he had them, too.’

            ‘I meant, What happened to him?’

            ‘Oh, I see. Well, one day he was walking–’

            ‘Through the wood?’

            ‘Don't interrupt, dear.’

            ‘Sorry, Mummy, it's just all of your stories are about people walking through woods.’

            ‘Oh really? Well, this bloke was walking along the beach.’

            ‘The beach?’

            ‘It's the part between the sea and the land.’

            ‘I know what a beach is, Mummy. Did you know beaches can have children?’

            ‘Don’t be silly, dear.’

            ‘That's what Daddy told me, anyway.’

            ‘You shouldn't believe everything your father tells you.’

            ‘Because he's a great big son of a beach?’

            ‘Something like that, dear. Goodnight.’

            ‘Goodnight, Mummy.’

Da, Da, Da

Driving disastrously down Drizzly Descent during Denmark’s depression, Dreamy Dave deemed “dem d-words” decidedly demoralising:

dum d-words -> damn, dank, dark, dearth, death, debt, den, die, dim, dirt, don’t, doom, dope, doubt, down, drab, dread, dregs, drink, drone, droop, drop, drown, drugs, dull, dumb, dump, Dan, Darth, Dick!

dum-da d-words -> damage, danger, darkness, daunting, D-Day, deadline, deadly, deathbed, deathtrap, deathly, debris, defect, demon, despot, devil, dickhead, dingy, dipstick, dire, dirty, dismal, dodgy, dogshit, doomsday, dopey, downside, downturn, dozy, dragon, drama, drawback, dreaded, dreary, drowsy, dungeon, Duncan, Dalek, Davros!

dum-da-da d-words -> dangerous, dastardly, defecate, demonise, denigrate, desperate, destitute, detriment, devilish, difficult, dogsbody, Dracula, Damien!

da-dum d-words -> debase, default, degrade, demean, deny, depressed, deride, descend, despair, despise, detract, distress, divorce, defeat, Denise!

da-dum-da d-words -> damnation, defective, deficient, degrading, demeaning, demonic, demotion, denial, depressing, derision, despondent, dilemma, disaster, discouraged, dismissal, disparage, disturbing, dramatic, Delilah, Drusilla!

da-dum-da-da d-words -> degenerate, demoralise, demotivate, discouraging, disparaging, draconian, Dickensian, Demetrius!

da-da-dum-da d-words -> desperation, destitution, diabolic, disadvantage, disappointment, disillusion, Desdemona!

D-word detractors despised Dave’s diabolically drafted “Daft Dimerick”:

Dave’s Daft Dimerick

Drusilla’s Dad’s definitely deadly

Delilah’s deeds detonate debris

“Damnation! Despair!”

Dark demons declare

“Dis dimerick’s downrightly deathly!”

Dear, doh dear, doh dear!

Roll With It

‘Can I take your umbrella, Daddy?’

            ‘What happened to yours?’

            ‘It’s wet.’

            ‘That’s what umbrellas are for. Where are you going?’

            ‘Out.’

            ‘Yes, I guessed that. But where?’

            ‘We don’t know yet.’

            ‘And when will you be back?’

            ‘About twelve.’

            ‘Twelve? But you’ve got school tomorrow!’

            ‘That’s why I’m coming home early, Daddy. Can you give me some money, please?’

            ‘How much do you need?’

            ‘Twenty euros should be enough.’

            ‘Are you having dinner with the King?’

            ‘No, just a roll.’

            ‘In that case you don’t need twenty euros.’

            ‘No, but I need money for the bus as well.’

            ‘Private bus, is it?’

            ‘Don’t be silly, Daddy.’

            ‘Have a look in my wallet. I’m not sure I’ve got twenty euros.’

            ‘Yes, you have. I looked earlier.’

            ‘Alright, take twenty, then. But I want to see some change, OK?’

            ‘OK. Can you do me a sandwich, please?’

            ‘I thought you just said you were going to have a roll with your friends?’

            ‘I am, but I’m hungry. Don’t worry, I’ll make it if you’re too busy. What are you doing?’

            ‘Just writing a short story.’

            ‘What about?’

            ‘You.’

            ‘Can I read it?’

            ‘Later, darling. Come on, let’s make you that sandwich.’

Gonna Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse

‘Next, please?’

            ‘Er, could I have a lettuce, please?’

            ‘Red or green?’

            ‘Haven’t you got any blue ones?’

            ‘Blue? Sorry, mate, just red or green.’

            ‘I’m just kidding. I’ve never heard of a red lettuce. Can I have a look, please?’

            ‘Sure. Here you go. Beauty, isn’t she?’

            ‘Not very red, though, is it? I’d say it’s more of a maroon. Wouldn’t you?’

            ‘Also, did you know they’re high on antioxidants?’

            ‘You’d better call the police, then.’

            ‘You what?’

            ‘Nothing. So, are antioxidants important?’

            ‘If you value your life, they are. Plus, we’ve got an offer on red lettuces today.’

            ‘An offer? What’s that?’

            ‘A special price.’

            ‘I mean, What’s the offer?’

            ‘Two for two euros.’

            ‘Not the most exciting of offers, is it? And how much will one lettuce cost me?’

            ‘One euro twenty. But if you buy two, you get the second one for just eighty cents.’

            ‘It’s very tempting, but I think I’ll take just the one, thanks.’

            ‘That’s one euro twenty. Are you sure you don’t want two for two euros?’

            ‘No, honestly. We only use them for decoration anyway.’

            ‘You what?’

            ‘Nothing. There you go.’

            ‘Two euros? Changed our mind, have we?’ . . .