Tag Archives: twitter

Twittering Tales: Fish n’ Ships…

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The siren spotted the sailor on the deck of his boat.

‘Look at that rippling torso,’ she sang. ‘It’ll be weeks before I need to eat again!’

(137 characters).

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Twittering Tales: Prey of Bird…

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“We can confirm that the suspect was neutralized in a drone strike. The drone sent compromising photos to his wife and she emasculated him.”   (140 characters)

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Twittering Tales: Babushka

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‘I don’t understand it,’ said the Russian doll, ‘These shopping bags are getting bigger and home is getting further away!’   (123 characters)

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Twittering Tales: Ethel Ethereal

Every morning the same missive: “Is that you Jimmy? I know you poisoned me! Goddammit! Why couldn’t I have possessed something with Wi-Fi?” (139 characters)

Twitter

Written for: Twittering Tales

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The Annual Purge (2017 Inspirational Calendar)…

It’s the annual purge of all the terrible things I’ve heard and imagined this year – the corporate equivalent of being overcome with food lust in the middle of a diet and wolfing down a dirty burger.

It’s a long held lament amongst many of my peers that we weren’t taken aside at school and informed: ‘Once you leave education and join the workforce you’ll notice that many people stop speaking English and adopt a farcical hybrid slang in which they’re always looking for bases to touch whilst spoiling games by putting skin in them.’

The zenith / nadir was reached in 2013 when I was handed a copy of ‘Aspire Systems’ unintentionally hilarious calendar in which their staff made nonsensical claims to ‘dare the unknown,’ ‘overtake fear,’ and ‘go upstream!’ My retaliatory effort in which I pledged to ‘dream the impenetrable’ and ‘tick boxes’ did little to foster ongoing relations.

As with previous years I’ve had the problem of coming up with joke names for fictional companies and then finding that they actually exist. These include: Proactivate, Solutionary, Eurekarma and Investigreat (!) but so far no one’s stooped low enough to come up with…

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Barring submissions to Companies House, next year’s entry will either be ‘Analytican,’ ‘Passion FruI.T,’ or ‘Unabler’.

violin2JANUARY: ‘I Square the circle’: Like saying ‘I bacon the banana’ or ‘I shave the shark,’ only MORE retarded…

FEBRUARY: I Mind-Fondle: Because if you can use the phrase ‘Thought Shower’…

MARCH: ‘I’m a Thought Leader’: After My mind-fondle I ascend the strategic staircase and get into my cerebrocopter…

ringAPRIL: I lobotomine for gold: Where you see imbecile, I see visionary…

MAY: I go on mute: See, it wasn’t wasted time after all. I’ve mowed the lawn, painted a bathroom, done the weekly shop and…what was that? No, no any other business from me…OK, bye…

JUNE: Where others only ‘whelm’ I SUPERUNDERWHELM!

unnamedJULY: I Can dig I.T: I respond to a colleague’s remark that I look like the 70’s cop ‘Kojak’ by doctoring his pass-card and calling him ‘Shaft’ for 3 months.

AUGUST: I Youthenize: ‘When I grow up I want to write PowerPoint presentations,’ said no child ever.

SEPTEMBER: I testiculate: Like gesticulating, but with more bollocks.

OCTOBER: ‘I react within a 5 day Service-Level-Agreement’: ‘Hey, how are you? What do you mean you can’t tell me till next week?’

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NOVEMBER: I am a man of single-minded foh…
seriously dude, what’s with the violin?

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DECEMBER: I integrate vertically: Christ, I hear my own words and don’t know what they mean anymore. I look at myself in the mirror and my reflection mouths ‘You’re an asshole.’ How do I find my way out of this labyrinth?

Being a grown-up isn’t what I thought it was going to be…

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Work/Life Balance…

…Every three weeks the project I’m managing awards someone the title of ‘Team member of the iteration.’ It’s a nice idea – whoever wins receives the adulation of their peers and has a photo taken for the board in which they smile whilst holding an item associated with the company’s brand – an umbrella. This time around we decided to give the award to a group of people – the offshore software testing team, working out of an office in Chenai, India.

In the last week Chenai has been hit with the worst rainfall in over a hundred years. The city has experienced flash floods that submerged whole suburbs and turned its river into an ocean. In the face of this hardship the testers were literally forced to flee for their lives and relocate to another city hundreds of miles away. With the very real possibility that their homes had been destroyed they nevertheless focused on making up the time they had lost and diligently worked through the weekend and evenings to catch up…

…and then we got them to pose with umbrellas and took photos of them.

Travelling to work the next morning I imagined the train being derailed,  waking up in a hospital bed having had both legs amputated and my first priority being to balance a laptop on my stumps so as to pick up wifi cos that progress report wasn’t gonna write itself, to later have a grateful colleague present me with a Thomas the Tank Engine duvet and a card declaring ‘You’re a Winner!’

‘Oh my God, we’re monsters!’ I announced to the office. The general consensus was that it probably wasn’t that bad. I unleashed my Thomas the Tank Engine analogy, but not being aficionados of Ringo Starr’s difficult second album the cultural reference was lost. (At the risk of appearing too heroic I should point out that I wasn’t that vociferous in my assertions as they are keeping my project on track).

Over the years I’ve worked with many offshore teams, and the two things they all have in common are i. Uber-politeness, and ii. An insane work ethic.

I met an old friend for coffee and the subject came up.

‘Do you think maybe we’ve (I’ve) been monumentally insensitive?’

In clear earshot of the baristas, all of whom are either African or South American exchange students he replied, ‘That’s what outsourcing’s all about.’

White people…Jeez…

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Guff & Gubbins…

Imagine an embryo in a suit sitting at a desk in a cubicle disguised as an adult. Somehow it has made its way into central London on a grad scheme; the main responsibility of which appears to gravitate around the concept of making me feel old and decrepit. More pressingly (he) is now occupying the room that houses the cabinet in which my work shoes reside. I tap on the glass and open the door.

‘Hi, do you mind if I just get my shoes?’

All the blood drains from of his face. The transformation is quite dramatic. ‘Yes.’

‘You do mind?’

‘Yes I do…sorry.’

‘Oh…well I’ll jus-‘ The wall of stench hits me. He was been breaking wind – a lot. It’s a very tiny room and he clearly wasn’t expecting company. I am physically repelled and contain the outbreak with a hefty slam of the door.

Given a moment to think I realise that I probably should’ve handled that better – maybe acted as if there wasn’t a paint-stripping reek assaulting the inside of my throat and calmly returned later. I smile through the glass to show him that there are no hard feelings and that I shall retrieve the aforementioned footwear in due course. Shortly thereafter he scurries away.

4084833608a5daa7c93e65460d0af83b885b907724ee782c48b0b2c36307d596d5ad42c7Later I am returning from lunch when I see the lift doors closing. I make a dash for it and step inside. There is already someone within – the graduate! He seems mortified to be in a confined space with me. The lift takes an eternity to begin its accent, and we are only moving for a few seconds before a robot announces ‘Emergency call activated.’ The graduate steps forward. A red light is flashing in the space recently vacated by his ass-cheeks. He becomes flustered.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reassure. ‘It happens every other day. They should probably think about relocating the button. Someone’ll ring through in a minute and we’ll be on our way.’

…And then the stench hits me – worse then before! We are in an even smaller room. There is no escape. Embryo won’t look me in the eye. His suit looks highly flammable. He is taking a very great risk. This is too glorious an opportunity to pass up.
‘Seriously, there’s no point squeezing one out stealthily. I’m the only other person in here and I know it wasn’t me.’

‘What wasn’t you?’

Come on!’

‘How do I know it wasn’t you?’

What wasn’t me?’

‘…Whatever it is you’re talking about.’

‘How do you know? Cos it was you. If there was one other guy in here then there might be an element of mystery, but as there isn’t, there isn’t.’

Before we descend into a he-who-smelt-it-dealt-it territory a muffled, metallic sounding voice comes from the lift’s side panel. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yeah, you can let me out of this dutch oven before I asphyxiate.’

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