Thursday, September 20, 2007

I fancy a new job

So Brian Lenihan is setting up an internet safety office. It's to be part of the Department of Justice. Sounds like legislation for this office would be hard to enforce. And open to ridicule like the Censorship of Publications Act (that Brian's kinsman, namesake and predecessor in Justice amended some 40 years ago) was.

I'd love to see how it would work.

Can I be one of your EOs, Brian? I'm very good at looking up inappropriate content on the internet. I can even work with multiple Firefox tabs. And I will make sure all the COs I supervise look at a minimum of ten pictures of naked hairy arses a day.

Imagine not getting told off for looking up porn and Youtube on the internet at work!

Fucking heaven.

But leave my blog alone, you bastards. It's not my fucking fault my hands have Tourette's and make me type swearwords. Piss shit fucksticks. Shitbags arsewipe sheepfucker.


Soylent Grey

I sometimes think that the civil service is fattening us up for slaughter. The canteen is full of lovely things (Yes! An office canteen that doesn't serve watery slop with a side order of listeria!), all of which contribute to that lovely fluffy stuff in our arteries and our big bouncy bottoms. The fried breakfast, for example, or the things that comprise pastry and chocolate or cheese. Not chocolate and cheese, though, that would just be wrong (but maybe just right for a person who has just smoked a particular herb).

Civil service office blocks are like great big farms with nice fat edible employees roaming freely around the corridors and going to the toilet whereever they please.

But they are not slaughtered on site. No, that would be too crude. In fact, they are not slaughtered. The cardiovascular system does all the work so others don't have to.

They are let retire first. An unreliable statistic suggests that the average age of death of retired civil servants is 67. So it takes an average of 40 years for a return on the investment of fattening up these employees.

I dunno. If I was investing money I'd go with the post office if I wanted to take that sort of risk.

And anyway, who the hell would eat them? It would be like eating the rind off some hairy bacon. With a nice juicy lard topping. And some forms on the side.

Mmmmm. Forms.

I think too much.

I'm going to eat some lentils now.

(Today was a bad day.)

Now playing: Frank Black - I Burn Today

via FoxyTunes


Aah meetings. Or group time-wasting activities as I call them. Today I had a group time-wasting activity with my bosses.

It was a meeting about a meeting.

No fucking joke.

I am now to hold monthly meetings with my staff to address issues that arise, progress updates, etc. Fucking great, eh? Especially when you consider I sit only six feet away from some of them. I know exactly which window the draughts are coming in from, how many forms were processed today, who's fighting with whom. In short, I am an omniscient overlord (BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! Kneel before me, minions!). Taking people into a meeting room and talking crap at them for half an hour is just going to slow things down.

Except I can't hold one for at least another month, as there will be at least one person on leave every single day until the third week in October.

The place might as well burn.

Now playing: Interpol - Evil
via FoxyTunes

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Dear Boss,

Please excuse my absence from work today.

During the course of the weekend there was an unfortunate incident involving a spiral staircase, a bottle of Buckfast and my arse.

As a consequence of drinking the Buckfast and then attempting the descent of aforementioned staircase, I received a rather nasty bruise to my posterior.

I am now unable to sit down, and as such, cannot come to work today. My arse is so sore, that I can't perform my duties to the optimum level; i.e. sitting on it all day .

Yours etc,

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

A great idea for a TV series...

I had one of those today.

A TV series filled with people running around like loonies, with shit and puke flying in all directions, top heavy management bound in strictures of bureaucracy, completely random acts of violence, all set in a large, ugly building filled with outdated equipment.

I will call it EO.

Now I will sit back and wait for the TV production companies to ring me.

I realise I may be waiting some time. So I might do some work instead.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Executive Relief

My job title is crap. Executive Officer - for fuck's sake it sounds ten times better than it actually is. The uninitiated confuse it with CEO... for instance Michael O'Leary is the Chief Executive Officer in Ryanair. There is a big difference between his €1 million a year and my paltry salary which equates to about a thirtieth of what he earns.

I have fuck all "Executive" powers. Most of the time it's the HEO and the AP working through me.

Today I would have loved to "Execute" someone. One of the COs spoke openly in the section about a private conversation I'd had with them about a minor issue (at the behest of the HEO and AP, I hasten to add - I didn't even notice, and if I had, I wouldn't have cared).

That's the problem. The CO sees me as someone hung up on minor details, maybe even as someone with a grudge against them. But I am merely following orders, in the finest Nazi tradition. I couldn't give a flying fuck if the CO picks their nose at work. I would only notice it if they flicked the snot at me. I'm so caught up in my own work that I barely have time to notice these little things, unlike my superiors, whose work I am invariably doing.

I will probably have to have another private conversation about this soon. Just to reaffirm my role as the manager, marking my territory and all that rubbish. That's all I can do, which means waiting for a meeting room or a private office to become free.

That's if I don't go mental first, breaking out the fire axes and running maniacally through the corridors swiping at everything and "executing" everybody who dares to get in my way, screaming swear words and foaming at the mouth. Or I could strangle them with their lanyards, which would make a lot less mess.

Powerful Alfresco Dining

I was at Electric Picnic last weekend. It was fucking excellent. Between the line up and the general friendly atmosphere, it was the best fun I'd had in a while.

And yes, as a desk bound fat arsed (nearly!) government employee, I include the camping in that.

And the toilets. Famous as I am for complaining about poos in toilets, you expect to see a bit of gross stuff as night falls at a festival, however for the most part they were clean. And I have to admit I did contribute to some of the nastiness and stinks in the loos. I couldn't help it, it was all that Amstel and festival food. I hadn't eaten that much fried stuff in ages.

The line up was excellent; I managed to get an earful of The Chemical Bros, Warlords of Pez, Sonic Youth, Beastie Boys, Bjork, Hot Chip, Soul II Soul (nostalgia!) Jesus and Mary Chain (super!) and a truly wonderful Dublin band called Channel One.

Only complaint? That it was impossible to see everything I wanted to see. There was so much going on, we had to make some sacrifices.

Hats off to the organisers. And not a single form in sight.

On a sad note, my sympathies go out to the family and friends of John Fitzpatrick of Cork who died suddenly on Saturday night.