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Out of context: Reply #63391
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- Muncher0
Oh god.
I used to work with this bloke. Chubby, very middle class British, a bit pompous, total mommy's boy still pulling vital life-fuel out of all that talk about being a special child, and still really high on those fumes. Total egocentric little Fauntleroy, did a doctorate, so now insists on being called 'doctor' even though he spends his life asking members of the public what their favourite brand of yoghurt is in a room with dry croissants and cheap filter coffee.
Anyway, he's essentially a nice bloke, but in a very kind and gentle way he's totally full of himself and utterly fucking oblivious to everything. Too dumb to ever realise he ain't a tenth as smart as the person he likes to think he is. A smiling hapless buffoon. You get the picture. Nice, but a bumbling halfwit and a liability.
So I'm sat at a train station this morning trying to assemble a presentation I didn't do yesterday, which I'm due to deliver in twenty minutes. Busy train station, I've got a coffee on the floor below my seat, an apple laptop (one of those super thin ones hey do, whatever those are called) on my lap, and I'm eating a breakfast bagel. I'm All fucking hunched up and cranky because it's early and I haven't had coffee or breakfast and I'm late, and I'm all cramped up like an old tramp with withered arthritic limbs, and the crowds of commuters are swarming past, and suddenly one of them, a fat one in a sweater that is way too small for a fat person, aims directly for me, and I can tell by the bright white upside down star-trek badge shaped smile nestled inside a deeply unfashionable dad style 80's beard that it's Doctor Yoghurt, and he's really pleased to see me after many months since I left the company. "HELLO YOO!" His Star Trek badge mouth boomed as he just came directly into my space at 30mph like I'm just there to stop fat people hitting the glass... "CHRIST, WATCH THE COFFEE" I yell, followed by "FUCK" as he kicks it all over AND INTO my open laptop bag lying under my seat. "OH SORRY ABOUT THAT HOW ARE YOU? IT'S BEEN AGES!" He booms as he attempts to rectify the damage by flapping his doctor's arms around mid-air, which hit the top of my screen and send this fucking laptop on my lap, sliding like a toboggan down my legs, off my feet, onto the back of the screen-half and skating across the floor to get wedged under the edge of a construction masking board opposite me.
"OH SORRY ABOUT THAT" his big fucking face said, as I put all my shit next to me and run to retrieve the laptop.
When I got back my breakfast bagel had rolled off my coat, onto the floor, into the pool of coffee.
"SO HOW ARE YOU?" He asked again, smiling. Total devastation. Utter and complete. No presentation, no coffee, no breakfast, a borrowed company laptop irrevocably damaged.
Fuck.
I hate meeting that bloke.
- < This is clearly not Dinky, by the way - Dinklevitch would never write this much.
WHO COULD IT BE?detritus - WHO WRITES THIS MUCH?
*strokes chin*detritus - I'm two and a half ciders in, by the way,detritus
- ITS THE BARD OF PORTSLADE!Muncher
- I'm no ciders in. I'm nowhere. NOWHERE. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN NOWHERE? I am the wilderness wolf.Muncher
- he owns your mind, though. funny to see.docpoz
- sir, i am the plankton rabbi, the effervescent macrobiotae, the willing/unwilling vestibule of miasmatic condensate, how dare you.detritus
- How. Fucking. Dare. You.detritus
- I had no idea. I do apologise high commandant of the liminal space. I feel such a fool.Muncher
- WHO COULD IT BE?
*scrolls pastlvl_13
- < This is clearly not Dinky, by the way - Dinklevitch would never write this much.