Today I worked very hard. Up at the crack
of… me hitting my own face as one the sneaky mozzies must have got through the
fag hole I accidently burnt in my window shield. Then it dawned on me, it was
time to wake up and I immediately got cracking.
So, it was the crack of dawn (hah-hah,
stupid idioms), and after getting organised, such as peruse my sales, listen to
the wails and moans on SKY News (enough to make you desire to amputate Andy
Murry’s legs off – and why not, they seemed to be very tired attached to him –
let them simply walk away from his complaints), and mounting Die Hard, set out
for my next destiny with anarchy.
Unfortunately, it all went rather smoothly,
besides the fact that after we loaded the trailer with enough dry sticks to
make a really great bonfire, I flatly refused to drive.
It turns out that the entire load was for a
fence and the brake lights didn’t work on the trailer.
As an honest ex-copper, I didn’t quite like
any of this information. I thought I worked for an honourable firm! I wondered
if my partner’s real name was Uriah Heep because he was certainly old enough.
It was explained that the wood was for us
to MAKE a fence - as in a barrier between two properties. Oh no, not again. Two
weeks ago, doing that nonsense, I was hit on the head by a giant stick, had my
nose smashed and staggered around with blood pouring down my face. (That story
is still in the making.)
Besides. Recalling the Rhodie ‘Good Old
Days’ - didn’t White Bwana stand around drinking beer, chatting with the
properties owner, whilst occasionally shouting at his faithful labourers to dig
deeper and faster, pull wires tighter because the sport’s club opens at 4.30.
Whatever. One furious argument later, the
ancient cretin decides he will drive even though he shouldn’t. He gets dizzy
spells. Me thinks – crash = compensation and there is the hope the airbag saves
my stunning looks.
Well, besides the relic rotting from the
inside out, resulting in the most amazing tunes of bacterial redemptions of
Bavaria’s scary composer Carl Orff’s Carmina
Burana everything went, well - ‘cool
beans’
Extremely disappointed that nothing out of
the extraordinary had happened to me today besides a job well done (yawn), I
toodled home in the autumn heat and pondered what I should have for my
din-dins. The first din I put on was Trance Radio. Excellent to turn your mind
into mush and write mushy stories.
(WARNING – the term ‘Mushie’ down here is a
pet name for a fur burger. I was caught out many years ago when asked, via my
translating German girlfriend, if I enjoyed my meal which had been made by her
mother. I had been invited for din-dins because they wanted to actually meet
the mad man who was skewering their daughter as a version of a Rhodie kebab.
Chirping up – ‘Tell your Mom the meal was Mushy, and did she make it herself?’
- started a long war.)
Anyway, after checking out how many
plonkers have been saying nasty things about me via the ‘Socialising Networks’,
Email, Amazon etc etc, I popped two chicken legs into a pan with mushrooms and
onions (Oh No, I just remembered I forgot the peppers! They are going a bit
soft. Can’t be arsed – I am writing a story.)
But, what was I going to have with them?
Now, this is the bit where this mad anecdote is building up to. Check out this
picture – It is entitled – Grill- & Pfannen – Kartoffel
Now, you neither have to understand German
or be a half wit to understand what it shows on the box cover. It is very
simple. Nicey-nicey, sort of mashed potatoes riddled with spices and stuff,
shaped like oval mini cakes that are easy to grill or fry. Job done.
Imagine my horror (oh-oh, you are all
saying – now what?), THIS is what I found inside – (see picture).
Me thinks – Bloody hell, I have been
shafted or the firm are complete idiots. WTF? Not being a complete simpleton, I
sniffed around with my eyeballs (bulging with hatred) and checked out the small
print on the side of the box. I was stunned almost speechless (which isn’t hard
because not even my ‘friends’ Skype anymore.).
There, the liars, explain in very small
print (so small I had to use the magnifying glass on my Swiss Army knife), that
contrary to what it shows on the box, you have been conned into buying two
potatos cut in half and sprinkled with a smattering of weeds.
I nearly had a hernia. I thought maybe
there was some mistake and I had forgotten to pick up the cake shaper and a
hammer to beat them into some resemblance of the picture on the box. But no. I
paid a fortune for two mangy potatos.
I mean- like. I work for a very
professional, well respected firm. It runs as smooth as StP car additive until,
erm - I am the additive. But they tolerate that…still.
It is like, they show you this –
You, the customer sign his/her life savings
away and is rather upset when he/she gets this! And when they moan – they are
waved the small print in their faces.
No, I will not take this standing up. I
will sit down and send a strong worded letter to this firm, that ironically, is
just down the road and my youngest was born in the town. He hasn’t spoken to me
since…
Shower time and then beat potatos into
shape – stay well and stay tuned for another episode of – FAME, remember my name – Eish.
Disclaimer – On a serious side. This is another bit of
pure satire and ‘piss-take’. It is what I do. I intend no harm to individuals
or corporations. I just like to make people laugh. My antics are based on the
truth, but, highly exaggerated. (In case you didn’t clock...)
(Written in three hours, unedited, based on what happened today.)
1 comment:
haha! loved it, as always! :D
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