Christmas in the Department

Well, it all passed off peacefully. I'm really disappointed that the annual reviews I conducted with the Clerical Officers were uneventful. Apart from me feeling awkward reviewing one person who has been working longer than I've been alive - bloody hell!

And the Christmas party went very well, a rather nice feed at a swanky dining emporium (my choice!), no embarrassing incidents to report unfortunately.

It's too quiet. What's the betting that the merde will really hit the fan in 2008?

I don't care. I don't have to work till next week, and now, I'm off to get pissed.

Merry Christmas!! (My humbugs are well and truly eaten at this point).

The Birth of PMDS

‘Twas December, and Bertie Augustus did issue a decree that there would be a Census taken, and all the people would have to go to Dublin to be registered, because the CSO had exploded in a freak accident and all the census forms were destroyed.

So the senior civil servants travelled the short distance to the Department of the Taoiseach, to register themselves. Among them was one who was heavy with cakes, having eaten too many at the staff Christmas party.

This man, once he had signed his form, felt a rumbling in his stomach and thought: “Oh shit, I think I need to do a poo.” But the toilets at the Department were all full, with politicians regurgitating the excesses of the celebrations of their pay rises. So this poor burdened bureaucrat was forced to check into the nearest five-star hotel (on expenses, of course) where he could relieve himself of his heavy load.

Grunting and straining on the diamond encrusted marble jacks in his suite, the senior civil servant gave birth to a monstrosity. It was a pile of shit so large, that he had to run into the corridor shouting “come and look” to one and all. And come they did; porters, chambermaids, barmen, drunk politicians; one and all came to admire the magnificent creation. Three fuckin’ eejits walking past the hotel saw the stink waves emanating from the windows of the penthouse suite, and they followed the smell, and they too came to have a look. The fuckin’ eejits brought gifts of toilet paper, air freshener and a plunger.

The senior civil servant, breathless from his exertions, announced to the crowd “Behold my magnificent creation. I have decided that it will be of benefit to all civil servants. From now on every Christmas, all civil servants will have to endure the process I have just completed. In a metaphorical sense of course. Not all people have my capacity for cakes and gut-busting turds. No, I have decided that all civil servants will be subjected to pointless forms and chats with their bosses at this time of year. It will be just as excruciating and painful as what I have just done. I will call it PMDS - short for Pretty Meaningless Dreadful Shit."

And so, PMDS began. And people learnt to take it seriously, as it's linked to our pay awards. God Damn us every one!!

Bertie

Aren’t we lucky that Ireland doesn’t have nuclear weapons (At least, not that we know of – I think myself that Mary Harney is a suspect device.). Bertie’s lapses of memory recently in the Mahon Tribunal call to mind Ronald Reagan’s term of office as US President; a man with Alzheimer’s Disease whose finger was poised above that little red button that could make the whole world go BOOM BANG A BANG. Imagine if Bertie had the same capacity… “eeh, whaddya mean I started World War Three, I have no recollection of that fact, in factah, yeee’re tryin’ to stitch me up…”

The day Bertie turns up for work with no trousers on and proceeds to piss himself in front of everyone in Leinster House is the one I’m looking forward to. It’d certainly liven up Oireachtas Report.

The Annual Review

Things I'd like to write about people in their Annual Review...

(This has been stolen from Impact trade union's magazine, "The Record" of December 2005)

"Upward Feedback me Arse"

Since my last report, this employee has reached rock bottom and has started to dig.

I would not allow this employee to breed.

This employee is really not so much of a has-been, but more of a definite won’t-be.

Works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat in a trap.

When she opens her mouth, it seem that it is only to change feet.

This young lady has delusions of adequacy.

He set low personal standards and constantly fails to achieve them.

This employee is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

This employee should go far and the sooner he starts, the better.

Got a full six pack, but lacks the plastic thingy that holds it all together.

A gross ignoramus - 144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.

He doesn’t have ulcers but he’s a carrier.

I would like to go hunting with him sometime.

He’s been working with glue to much.

He would argue with a signpost.

He brings a lot of joy when he leaves the room.

When his I.Q. reaches 50 he should sell.

If you see two people talking and one looks bored, he’s the other one.

A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on.

A prime candidate for natural de-selection.

Donated his brain to science before he was done using it.

Gates are down, lights are flashing , but the train isn’t coming.

He’s got two brain cells, one is lost and the other is out looking for it.

If he were any more stupid, he’d have to be watered twice a week.

If you gave him a penny for his thoughts you’d get change.

If you stand close enough to him, you’ll hear the ocean.

It’s hard to believe he beat out 1,000,000 other sperm.

One neutron short of a synapse.

Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge, he only gargled.

Takes him two hours to watch 60-minutes.

The wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.

Got into the gene pool when the lifeguard wasn’t looking.


And my own personal favourite:

"Someone peed in his mother."

Christmas...

It's the countdown to Christmas! 8 days to go! WooHoo!

Yeah, right.

C*ntdown more like it.

I have to get all the annual reviews for my COs done by the end of this week, god damn it fucking bastard shite.

I'm sure the reviews will turn up some funny stories, so watch this space.

Monument to the Unknown EO

I was in a shop today, winding up the Christmas shopping, and I noticed a handwritten sign by the counter, clearly stating the returns policy. At the bottom was a line saying:

"This does not in any way affect your statuary rights".

Thank fuck for that. I was always terrified that if I needed to return something to a shop, that I would forever lose my entitlement to have a statue of myself commissioned.

Phew! Now where's my chisel?

Other Departments

I walked past another Department today. I had to smile at the effort put into their exterior Christmas decorations. In fact, I wish I'd taken a picture on my mobile phone and uploaded it here.
It was a many-hued, glittering festive delight.

It was the entire contents of someone's stomach, plastered (no - hurled!), Pollock-fashion, across their plate glass double front doors.

It summed up the true spirit of the Irish Christmas.