Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Liverpool Hump Duck

I'm guessing that out of all the people reading this that I am the only person today who - as part of their job - had to Google the phrase, "transparent acrylic donut."

I've come t accept how feebly childish I am when it comes to names. I just can't help myself. For example after reading the name Hari Anil I literally had to go for a walk around the office. I had locked my computer - the offensive name still throbbing underneath the screensaver - and gone to try and very quickly grow up. But when I came back and logged back on the name was still there - like a government health warning about rectal foliage. I even found myself physically pretending the comb the screen. Although immediately afterwards I said out-loud to no-one in particular that possibly it woudl have been better to wipe it down with toilet paper.

A few hours later and I was forced into another quick lap after being assaulted with the name Parshall Wang. Which actual sounds like the olden days when men had names to describe their own trade. Although in this case apparently that means their job was having only some of their penis. God only knows what line of business the South African politician Tokyo Sexwale engaged in, if we were to abide by these rules. Hands down that is the finest and most ridiculous name the world has ever tossed up. Granted he did give himself the monicker, "Tokyo." I like to imagine he was thinking along the lines of the Beckhams when they named their children after where they were conceived (please God let them have another child with the first name Anil....). Plus on top of that he's one of those weirdo's with a fetish for something entirely out of the ordinary. In this case - a whale. Perhaps - as I've mentioned before - that name isn't remotely amusing in South Africa. Mind you Egnlish is fairly common - so he's clearly taking the piss. It'd be like me turning up at work tomorrow and announcing, "from now on I want you all to refer to me as Aberdeen Fuckpig."

Oh - and if you're wondering that first thing I Googled doesn't describe a device used by people with hemorrhoids. No - instead it was a description of something someone was purchasing an awful lot of  that when I Googled made it look like I might be looking up anal beads at work.

Monday, February 24, 2014


Been a touch busy of late. But I do have wonderful tale about subtle pissing, men growing babies and my son claiming he has a USB port up my sleeve. However, that won't be today. So for now you can bask in the knowledge that last night I made a kick-ass spinach and cheese enchilada that was so good that I felt just like this.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Baaaarmy Army

Aryan Child Support.

Fuzzy logic is a wonderful thing. Where I work it helps immensely to highlight potential dodgy financial transactions. It's also the cause of throwing up every Tom, Dick and Anil that may or may not be suspicious. Call it profiling if you like (and it very much is). Still - yesterday I had to investigate a payment because of the phrase above. I don't even know what that could be if it was an accurate description. Turns out it was Hungarian Child Support. Which is equally as vague and strange.I did also encounter the gloriously named Anil Mobile. Which sounds either like some sort of very weird boast, a vehicle solely for your anus or the most poorly thought out design for a baby mobile that has ever been dreamed up. Not sure I'd want to stare up from my crib as a baby and see several tiny arses revolving above me. Actually I didn't need to specify an age - I don't want to see that now either.

I spent a portion of yesterday trying to convince a coworker that I'm really Superman solely based on the evidence that everyone can see my underpants. Well - if they asked nicely. To be fair I do own glasses that also make me look in no way different - as it does for Clark Kent. And I do own an all-over, tight, Lycra body-suit. But that's not for superhero work - it's for scaring children with. However I don't own any bright red underpants. Which just from a standard of life position is a glaring oversight on my part. I do own a cape (what self-respecting divorced man doesn't?) and have - on occasion - thought that I could fly. But that was during university mostly. Where - coincidentally - I did often waltz abut the place in just my underpants.

Staying on the theme of underpants for the past week or so my kids have been randomly mentioning that they know exactly where to get, "the magic underpants." Apparently it involved several sheep and a special hole. Obviously I was disturbed by this because it wasn't some random nonsense that I had made up. Turns out though that it is part of a Shaun the Sheep computer game. My daughter is currently obsessed with both Shaun and Barbie. She will flit between the two without any seeming divide. Which makes it incredibly hard to know what she's talking about as she spreads her dolls out on the floor and says she has to, "brush her flock." I'm not going to lie - that sounds like the backstory for a nut-job on Criminal Minds.

I mean really - does this look anything other than the main suspect in a particularly disturbing episode of CSI: Port Talbot?

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Missing Penis

There are some people who believe that what a boy needs most in his life is a strong father figure. And that when parents split up it is important for kids of either gender to spend as much time with the parent of the same gender to ensure a more balanced upbringing. This is not the case with my kids, Their principal home is with their mother. There are lots of reasons for that of course. But on the whole the house that they live in is has always been theirs (as far as memory goes, for my daughter - and in all actuality for my son). Therefore as far as my son is concerned at home he is mostly around his mother and his sister.

In completely unrelated news my son has just informed me that he is now a girl. Admittedly he did ask me right afterwards what would make him a girl instead of a boy. But then he quickly said that his penis fell off at daycare last week - so now he's a girl. After very little questioning on my part he admitted that he still had his penis. But that he really wants to act like a girl now. So I asked him to list the ways that girls act. So far he's come up with -:

- You scream whilst playing with girls toys. Which sounds demented.
- You eat chicken nuggets and drink chocolate milk. He didn't clarify if this was human milk or cows milk so as to increase his female hormones.- and I didn't really want to give him any ideas.
- Ride on wild unicorns.
- Change your name to a "girl-name". I asked him for an example and he said, "nipple". Which did make me think of some females I know, to be honest.
- Best of all you "capture a girls' shadow and eat it". That sounds like a phenomenal storyline for a comic book.

I presume you can tell it's a girl's shadow because there's no penis, but it smells like chocolate milk and chicken nuggets.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Mr. Frosty

Yep, that's a pube.

I realize it has been awhile since I entertained my own childishness with regards foreign names. Which is why I'm delighted to mention that last week I had to Google the search term, "Anil Kale." I prayed it was a name and not an organic, natural growing method for growing greens. I feared that somewhere someone had traveled home from Whole Foods with their partner and was tucking into their dinner - only to question, "honey, did you wash these greens? They taste incredibly gritty?"I also had to check out someone with the name Anil Azman - which has to be made up. I can't handle that sort of childishness.

I also got to witness the kind of awkwardness you don't usually get to observe in the workplace. That being a brand, new male employee having trouble with the rather commonplace network connection-platform Citrix. Nothing that odd about that. But it certainly raised an eyebrow (and potentially crossed a few legs) when they walked up to the collection of female managers and loudly announced, "I can't get into the Cervix..." without any explanation of context.

I have to go out and buy gloves in a minute. I liked the last pair I had a great deal but the girlfriend's dog molested one of them. I'm somewhat tempted to actually purchase a pair of idiot mittens. But that seems like the sort of thing a Hipster would do. Still I'm sick of getting to my desk in work and then watching for eight hours as it cacks down with snow at 2 degrees Fahrenheit - all the time fully aware that my gloves are on the passenger seat of my Granny Wagon.

Last weekend the girlfriend and I popped into Lowes for a couple of things. Whilst there we had a quick look around the appliances. Every now and again there are some pretty decent deals. One that particularly caught our eye was a returned washing machine. Price was good. Condition was obviously good. The original purchaser had returned it because it had a dent in it. They still used it once though - which is a touch odd. The price had been cut by a quarter so we took a look at it. Sadly it quickly became apparent that the staff at this Lowes hadn't cleaned the thing after it came back. The tray inside still had soap in it. But worse - right in the middle of the panel inside was a disturbing pube.

Lastly - not to cast aspersions upon my girlfriend - but I think it says something about her character that an enormous ice-penis is growing (seemingly naturally) out of the ground around back of her house.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Something For Everyone

I'm quite hungry. Oh - I know...

Oh I'm sorry. I said something for everyone...

You're welcome.

Thursday, February 13, 2014


Roses are red.
Violets are pathetic.
I didn't get you any chocolate.
Because you might be diabetic.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014


Last night I had a dream in which I was inside a shrunken submarine and injected into Dennis Quaid.

Today I proposed a game at work. It's called Buck-aroo. Essentially the requirements are that other members of the office attempt to climb on to me. The last person who climbed on before I fell over is the loser. And by proposed I mean I suggested it solely to one coworker as a team building exercise. And they assured me that was not a good idea at all. Spoil sport.

Also - I saw one of these on someone's desk at work. I know what it is. And it shouldn't be on anyone's desk. It's for when ladies are "on the blob". They look like you make popsicles in them. And they come in deep dark brown as well. Which is all wrong.

Lastly, I am confused about something. Apparently wearing sweatpants is a sign of failure. Abject sad failure. People who do it in public are derided and chastised as losers. When I'm with people and they see others in sweatpants they instantly talk about how their life must have taken a dive down the shitter. People who own them wear them in secret at home - hoping no photos are ever taken. Those few who do wear them out in public are such broken wrecks that they just don't care anymore. But everyone owns them. Not me obviously - I can't stand how they feel. But clearly I'm in the minority. Every single person I work with blathers on about getting home and slipping them on. About the unbridled luxury of wearing something so comfortable that it's like wearing double cream on your legs (I imagine....). I know some of them look bad. A stroll through Walmart confirms that.  But half the things people wear look atrocious. Basketball shorts for one. Nobody looks anything but ridiculous in them. Or skinny jeans. Gack. But why is it that sweat pants got picked out?

Which is where I have a confession. Recently my girlfriend expressed a similar rant about girls who wear pants with, "Juicy" written on them. At which point I admitted that I had absolutely no idea why that word had anything to do with pants, arses or anything. I was looked upon with shame. I genuinely had no idea what it referred to.

I feel so ashamed.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Moms I Wouldn't Like

Today I have encountered perhaps the most ridiculous name for people who are supposed to be nefarious.

Things could have been different. Over a decade ago when a bunch of Saudi men flew planes into buildings in New York City they could have done so under a different name. Obviously the name they gave themselves had meaning. And being media-savvy they knew that in different parts of the world their name and translations would carry certain kinds of weight. But just imagine if 15 years ago it was under the name of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front that the US was attacked.

Part of my job is to monitor international financial sanctions levied against individuals and groups around the globe. Which is where I encountered the above group. That's not their name in Arabic. And the literal translation isn't that either. But I take great comfort that in the West we have dubbed an armed, religious-based militant group (that sounds like a BBC definition) so that their initials are represented as MILF.

Good Lord that would be a supremely disappointing website to go to.

Friday, February 7, 2014


Imagine it.

1) I've realized that in work I'm drinking coffee at such an alarming rate that I always have a fresh cup on hand before the prior one is finished. Effectively this is like a chain smoker lighting a cigarette off the last one.

2) In the cafeteria I have just heard one man accuse another of "brown-bagging it today". Which sounds graphically groteque.

3) Yesterday I was asked to run a moderately secret report and given as littel detail as possible. The results were to be provided to management with the Column Desciptors of I and O only - with an ever increasing series of numbers next to them. This data would be easily determined by them as they understood the context. However when someone quizzed me about what I was doing I argued that I was recording the number of financial transactions on a given date where the US government knew the credit party involved had either an Inny or an Outy bellybutton. I think I got away with that one.

Thursday, February 6, 2014


Please help. I'm trapped beneath an enormous pile of snow.

Great God! This is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority. Okay admittedly that's actually a diary entry from Captain Scott as he and his expedition remained trapped in Antarctica. But it did snow a lot. And I am cold. But that's mainly because I haven't gone and got dressed yet. There is very little chance that I might eat one of my companions. But again mostly because one is a dog, one is my sick girlfriend (insert amusing "I could eat her if you know what I'm saying, right guys..." joke here) and the refrigerator is literally five feet away from me. But on the agreed side there have been solid moments where I've dropped to my knees, thrown my hands in the air and shrieked that this is an awful place. So there's that.

Anyhoo - got to go dig the car out of the snow. Again. Then meander to work. Scott may have perished in the Antarctic. But he didn't have to endure driving behind utter muppets who can't drive in snow. He doesn't know he was born, I tell you.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Rubber Cement

Over the weekend my kids attempted not to go stir-crazy because of the weather.

It's nasty cold season. My kids have just got over one. Their mother is in the last dregs of it. The daycare lady is in the midst of flu. Oddly I have avoided it all so far. Nevertheless, being on the outer edge of it all my kids and I tried to make the best of it this past weekend. Still, with the echo of the flu still ringing in the background it was evident that all was not entirely well. For example my daughter seemed to be more or less better. But then if we drove anywhere she'd be asleep within ninety seconds. And more telling - she'd have frequent, inexplicable little-breakdowns throughout Saturday that would disappear as quickly as they came.

My son was the kind of snotty where if you threw him at a wall (Dear CPS - I don't do this - it's just a silly statement) he'd stick to it. Green, thick mushy-peas like snot oozed out of him constantly. All of his words sounded like they began with the letter B. And no matter how diligently I tried to get him to use a tissue he'd frequently forget and end up grabbing his shirt around the belly button - foisting it up to his nose - and then rubbing thick, rubber-cement boogers as aggressively as he could. Oddly he's been carrying around a box of tissues in a bag wherever he goes (to daycare, my house and up to his grandparents) that he uses methodically for about an hour or so until he forgets. Then he smears his nostril-paste across his shirt until he remind him he has them and he starts another hour of tissue use. I'm hoping that in later life he doesn't constantly travel about clutching such a big box of tissues lest he make a shameful name for himself as someone always prepared to knock one out should perversion take hold of him. Mind you if he keeps smearing his nose all over himself so that it looks like a slug has jizzed all over him he'll get that reputation anyway.

Anyhoo - the weather was poo all weekend. It's been cold but warmed up to that annoying temperature where everything just gets wet. That kind where the snow turns brown/grey at the slightest touch and the freezing rain soaks you if you stay out too long. So we held out for as long as possible potching about my crappy apartment until cabin fever set in. My daughter has taken to dressing up her collection of Barbie dolls so spent an hour or so doing that while my son wiped snot all over himself and his Spiderman car.

In the end though we had to go out. The kids were just bored shitless by early afternoon. So as the rain subsided a little I zipped us off to the playground down the street. I told them we couldn't stay too long because a) they were still sick so fifteen minutes of this and they'd be shattered to the brink of potential weepiness, and b) everything was soaking wet. But whatever - it relieved the boredom enough.

I did try and take a video with my phone but I constantly forget that it doesn't rotate once you start filming. So all I have is a rather dull, ten second clip that ends up being sideways. And while I know that the golden rule of this sort of thing is that you don't have to put up any old crap - I'm going to anyway.

Lastly I figured I'd show you the strange man we saw on Sunday. No prizes for guessing where this parking lot is. Anyway - I saw him meandering down towards the car as we parked and couldn't quite understand why someone would be wearing that outfit when it was this cold. Mind you the delightful combination of boots, shorts and whatnot did allow my son to point and shout, "THAT MAN IS IN HIS UNDERPANTS!"

Nothing quite like squatting behind a car in a Walmart parking lot and taking covert photos of men in their underpants.

Monday, February 3, 2014


My singular contribution to yesterday's commercial exercise. And no - of course I didn't watch it.

Truly a Superb Owl.


Saturday, February 1, 2014


Rcently I anonymously decided to glue down a massive pork scratching to a colleagues desk with a Band Aid.

Luckily I always have them to hand. I keep them in my car as a natural way to give my vehicle a Real Man aroma. Hilariously when the pork-scab was discovered nobody knew what it was. It certainly doesn't look or smell like any meat that's commonly eaten around here. Mind you pretty much nobody I know has eaten lamb or salmon. But they have eaten the turgid, filth that bobbles around in the gas-station hot dog aquarium on multiple occasions. And frankly pork scratchings just aren't that popular around these parts - so isn't easily identifiable as a foodstuff.

After an initial investigation it was deemed that it probably was a meat product of some kind. Thankfully though the person's desk I glued it to is vegan due to the joylous, evil nature of mechanical meat farming in this country. And to go along with that they carry a whole armful of nice, left-wing tendencies that basically involve a principle to never, ever cry to management or HR about any issue. Which is fortunate. Because after the pork-flake was placed as far away from them on their desk - but still geographically on it - I wandered over. Then picked it up, peeled it off the Band Aid inquisitively and ate it.

That'll add a delightfully complex flavor to the home-made civet coffee later.