(Shaolin) Monkey Business

So, apologies for not posting in a while (bad times). But part of the reason is that I've got a new job (good times).

There is a whole other post regading the way I got said job - which James is harrassing me to complete, and I will, I will - but in the meantime I just wanted to share something.

I don't start my new job (yes James, I know, details to follow...), until the 1st April. So I'm still here, coasting through the old notice period. And today I get this email, thusly:

"We need to put a new fridge on the building account. Just a standard domestic one. The one at the moment is on its last legs, due in no small part to finding a monk in it after a show one night during their last visit..."

I will miss this place.

*sigh*

Roger.

Working Life

Roger and I have a running joke that one day I'm going to get, and I quote:

"found out"

If I do, I'd like to think it would happen a little bit like this:



Can I Touch Your Shonkey? - Click here for funny video clips


Not that it will ever happen though.
Both Roger and I have managed to master the skill of blending in with Grownups quite well of late (at times).

Which is a shame because The Shonkey would quite frankly, Rock.

*sigh*

James.

Politics. No, really.

I've noticed we've been a little off-topic recently so I'm going to bring us back to the old school origins of R&J today with a little run in I had with some bona fide grown-ups last night.

Yesterday, I went to a pub quiz. There were a few folks I knew there, but most of the team was made up of a bunch of people I'd never met before. Now, I'd like to state at the outset that they were all very nice. But they were most definitely Grown Ups.

They were all Involved in Politics (I'm using the capital letters advisedly here, to indicate the true seriousness of this statement). The following was actually said upon introduction: "Hi, I'm X, this is Y and Z, we are all into politics. We work in politics, we watch it on TV, we read about it, we just love politics." Seriously. As a positive thing.

Possibly in reaction to my barely-disguised terror, X went on to excitedly tell us all about the 'Super Tuesday Super-All-Nighter' they had planned next week. O...k.... um, please explain. "Well", she bounced, "Super Tuesday is the day when all the States hold their first-round elections." (Are you scared yet?) "And we set up each of our TV's to pick up a different news broadcast so that we can watch coverage of each state as it happens, all night! It's SO much fun!"

"Ahh, I seeee....so it's like Eurovision but just really, really boring?"

They did not like this. Tough crowd.

Later. Mid-conversation.

X: Blah blah de blah [insert politicians name here], defected from the Tories and is now the only Labour MP to have a butler. Isn't that hilarious!!!
A [A is, I think, on my side]: I bet Gordon Brown has a butler.
X: No. No he doesn't. He has staff.
ME: I bet he doesn't either. If I was Gordo I wouldn't have a butler. I'd have a monkey. He's PM, he can have anything he wants, I'd have a monkey.

Silence.

X: Well, he has one doesn't he, Prescott.

Hilarity ensues.

ME: No, really, I'm not being satirical, I mean, he's the most powerful man in Britain. Fuck it, if it was me, I'd have a team of monkeys to do my bidding. In bellhop suits. One to open the door, one to hold my briefcase, one to polish my shoes.....

X: Ah, like the cabinet.

They nearly wet themselves.

ME: ...and the butler one would be called Pierre. It would be brilliant! And he'd smoke a little pipe and ride a tiny bicycle.

Silence.

What is wrong with this crowd??

X: So. About the mid-terms.

And we lost the quiz. All that politics but you don't watch QI, do you?

*Sigh*

Roger.

Funniest Film of 2008

***THERE ARE SPOILERS HERE - SEE THE FILM THEN READ THIS***
(although only see the film if you fancy a laugh)

Alien vs Predator: Requiem

AKA:

AVP2 or AVP:R

Or as I would've called it:

"Predator swats Aliens like flies until he meets the, ahem, 'Predalien'* who then kicks Predator's ass all around the screen at every opportunity right up until the quite frankly ridiculous ending which is so bad it will remind you of Cube 2, (which sucked)"

But I doubt that would've fit on the poster.


Moving onto the film...

Here are some choice scenes:

:Man leans on Sheriff Truck, dressed in Sheriff's uniform.
:Man gets into Sheriff Truck but...

...just in case there was still any doubt...

:Camera zooms onto "COUNTY SHERIFF" which is written on the side of truck and allows you to... read... it... really... slowly... just in case you STILL DONT KNOW WHO THE MAN IS.

NEXT!
________________________________________

:Boy delivers Pizza to girl.
:Girl likes boy but has dumb boyfriend.
:Boyfriend doesn't like boy which is made clear by crass comment as boy arrives but...

... just in case there was any doubt...

:camera zooms in on girl's boyfriend who gurns and stares in a comedy WWE wrestler fashion.

NEXT!
________________________________________

:Head chef to waitress:
:Supremely obvious "THIS MAN IS GOING TO DIE!" line alert!

"Don't worry, I'll see you in the morning..."

:Man dies within minutes.

NEXT!
________________________________________

:The 'Survivors' turn up at, what can only be described as, the local corner shop.
:Hero-esque Man: "Where are the guns?"
:Girl (pizza girl from earlier) walks two steps into the store...
:Girl: "Over here!"

Really - that one you just HAVE to see to truly get how hilarious it is.

NEXT!
________________________________________

An homage to Final Destination:

:Blonde walks down corridor.
:Eponymous Hunter fights off a couple of Aliens.
:Eponymous Hunter uses two off-worldy ninja stars (bigger and sharper and make slicy noises when they fly through the air) to dispatch his assailants.
:Off-Worldy Ninja Stars fly through the air and kill Aliens
:One carries on flying and nails the stupid blond bint to the wall!

BRILLIANT!

I actually lol'd at that one. Whoops.

________________________________________

So in equal measure: DONT SEE THIS FILM and DO SEE THIS FILM

And the ending?! OH MY GOD. The ending is HILARIOUS. But I won't ruin it. Promise.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH - I'm STILL laughing!

Put it this way, y'know that bit in Mystery Men when the Blue Raja says:

"I didn't expect to see you so... SPOON!"

Yeah, that bit. Imagine the last line of AVP2 said in that way. Seriously.

Hats off to the directors for making something so brilliantly and fantastically rubbish and hilarious in equal measure.

*sigh*

James


*Clearly THE WORST made up word since 'Quadrilogy'.

Bouhf.

I know this isn't really in keeping with R&J, and there's no witty payoff, but I'm sure James won't mind me hijacking the blog today just to post a little WTF?!, bloody hell and bouhf about the passing of Heath Ledger, just when he was about to astound us all as the Joker.

Gutted.

And here's hoping that Dark Knight won't become a Crow-like emo-fest on the back of it.

*sigh*

Roger

Pooter trouble

So. Young Roger finishes her last blog entry. Safely tucked up in her pyjamas she sips a late night cuppa whilst settling down to watch Heroes on the laptop.

Immediately, an almighty din ensues and Roger is convinced a Spitfire has somehow gained access to the flat, possibly through an open window, but further inspection reveals the noise to be emanating from the disc drive which appears to be, for want of a more technical phrase, buggered. (They may or may not have been an element of slight droppage earlier. Maybe).

So I fire off an email to Dell. Yes, yes, I know....but it was cheap and it's still under guarantee so worth a try, no?

No.

The reply starts off in a promising fashion:

"I understand from your mail message that the DVD drive is no longer working. Please do not worry, I assure you that we will take care of the issue and resolve it to your satisfaction."

So far so good. A customer service team on top of their game. I felt 'assured'.

Now their first practical suggestion involved an awful lot of technobabble and diagrams. And a screwdriver. I'm sorry, but surely that's something you get a little man in a shop to do? So I ignored that and moved swiftly on.

"If the issue persists then please restore your Dell system to date when it was working fine."

Lets ignore for a moment the niggling fear tat this point that the writer of this missive may not have the world's best grasp of the English language, and move right on to the nub. Effectively they are saying : Your DVD drive is not working. Solve this by travelling back in time to the last time it was working. Then, presumably, try not to break it again.

"Does the issue persist?"

Well, yes, my drive is still f$£ked but frankly now that I have discovered the secret of time travel I shall no longer be needing this puny Earth technology anyway. Oh no, hang on....

Now this, this is my favourite suggestion. The piece de resistance. They really do save the best for last down at Dell Towers:

"If still persists then would it be possible for you to swap the DVD drive with the known good one, if available?"

Translation: If drive is still knackered, replace with one that isn't. (Or, if we're being literal here, replace with "The Known Good One" - WTF?? Your guess is as good as mine).

Luckily, the drive seems to have spontaneously fixed itself as things are wont to do if you ignore them for long enough and give them a few good hard stares.

Dell. You're everything I hoped for and less.

*sigh*

Roger.

Keep young and beautiful

Right. First of all, sorry James, I know this is not the blog entry you are looking for. But this literally only just came to my notice and as I sit here in my jamas an hour away from sleep time I can either watch another episode of Heroes or write a very small blogette - so here it is.

My flatmate's girlfriend has recently sort of unofficially sort of moved in, as girlfriends are wont to do. This is fine and dandy, and she is lovely. No problem.

The one thing I don't understand though, is the bathroom.

She has so. Much. Stuff. And I don't even know what most of it does. Seriously. I find it fascinating. There's potions and serums (I don't think I've ever owned a 'serum' in my life - apart from anything else it always sounds a bit rude and well, kind of, organic, if you see what I mean), and oils and creams and loads of makeup of that really expensive sort that you buy in department stores from terrifying looking women that spray you as you walk past (with perfume, not in a territory marking way. That would be wrong).

Now. I wouldn't mind, but now I'm not sure whether, as a girl, I'm supposed to have all this stuff too. I just have no frame of reference. For comparison, my shelf comprises:

A toothbrush.
Half a tube of Clean and Clear (because that's what I've washed my face with since I was 15 and I see no reason to confuse myself with change).
A very sticky pot of hair gel.
Dalek shaped bubble bath, and
A bottle of Sailor Matey.

All of which currently look vaguely embarrassed against this new influx of spa treatments and cleansing micro-bio-wankenoids.

Pffff.

Ah well. Back to Heroes.

*sigh*

Roger.

I've bin to the edge

As Roger mentioned recently I am now get paid for doing this kinda stuff.
All official like. Not here mind. This is for fun. Or 'The Sex' according to one theory.

Anyway, the worst part about it is - and this really does depend on your point of view - I do my best writing at night. I always have done and, until I work out what it is about burning the midnight oil that produces such creativity, I always will.

This post however, this post, is written in the morning. At 11am on a Saturday morning in fact. Why?
Well that'll be because I was woken up at 10am on this Saturday morning...
Allow me to explain:


Yesterday, for some ungodly reason, I was managed to be awake for around 22hrs.
Rounding off the day at about half 4ish in the A.M. by putting some finishes touches to a document I'm working on for my employer.
"It's Saturday tomorrow.. I can lay in" ...I think to myself, all smug like.

So...

I'm laying in bed. Asleep.
Dreaming of walking through a field..
Listening to birdsong and appreciating the wildlife when all of a sudden a cow turns to me and says: Ding dong.

"S'funny, cows don't make that noise..."

A synapse goes off in my head and I make the connection of the sound with that of my doorbell. I ignore it. It's Saturday, I'm not expecting anyone, it's probably the postman...
I'll just roll over and go to sleep.

Ding dong

"Grr..." - Maybe they'll go away in a minute. Ding dong

RIGHT! (and also just so you know, at this point, I have no idea what time it actually is) I'm going to have to answer it, DAMMIT!
Whoever it is it must be important and they're clearly not... Ding dong ....ARRRGH! ...they're clearly not going to go away.
I run around trying to find my dressing gown. I have two now having recently got one for Christmas. Can I find either? Can I balls. I throw on a pair of jeans quick.. run... Ding dong "ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!" ..down the stairs... aaaaaaaaaaaaaand...



I am greeted by a small woman and what may or may not have been her husband..
Both of whom I could only best describe as being... European.

And thinking on it. Scrap that. They didn't even _actually_ greet me.
*She* was straight to the point...
(he didn't say a bloody thing - just stood there looking dopey).

EuroBag: "Excuse me, are you the person that keeps putting their rubbish in our bins?"
Me: Err... "What?"

Realisation slowly dawning that it is in fact very cold and I am standing on my doortstep in nothing but a very raggedy pair of jeans...

EB: "It is just that someone has been putting their rubbish in our bins and now there is no room for any of our rubbish to go into our bins. The dustman are here now... "

I look up. Yep. They're here.

"... and I do not know if you know but recently they have changed the day on which they collect the bins, they no longer come on a Thursday they come on a Friday. They have come today which is Saturday because of holidays and now they are here they will only take rubbish from front verge, this because there is new contract with Council and old dustmen, old dustmen used to take the rubbish from bins in garden out back but new dustmen, these dustmen, will only take rubbish from verge on front grass. On Friday mornings we have to put rubbish out for new dustmen. So if you have any rubbish you should put it out now for the dustman or put it out on Friday because that is when the dustmen come now."

I swear she did *not* pause for breath... and it doesn't seem like she actually said that much now that I've written it down but trust me; this woman would *not* shut up.
Throughout this entire 'exchange' - (ha) - I've been slowly waking up whilst trying to nod in the right places etc... at the same time trying to deny all knowledge of 'bin-gate' (when in fact I know full well it's me.
The bins are always sodding full so I just stick my rubbish in the nearest empty one.
It doesn't *actually* matter who's rubbish goes where, all the bins get thrown out eventually...

Well... it turns out that this in fact may not be the case and would explain why my bin is always full. I actually have to take it out.

So I'm standing there, in just a pair of jeans, clearly only having just crawled out of bed because of the idiots in front of me ringing my door bell at 10am on a blimmin' Saturday morning and this woman actually expects me to give a flying fudge about her sodding bins.

And what did I do?
WHAT DID I DO IN MY INFINITE wisdom?!

I said: ".... er.. thanks, bye."

I then closed the door, climbed up the stairs, stubbed my toe on the top step, (nothing worse than stupid, half-awake injuries), got back into bed and tried woefully in vain to try and get back to sleep...

*sigh*

James

How would YOU do?

46%

Roger's Score ^

57%
James' Score ^

Together we have a 103% chance of survival.

How's that for a slice of fried gold?!


Roger & James

Oh, and...

The other most important news since we've been away -

Transformers.

Best. Film. Ever.

Is all.

*sigh*

Roger & James

Normal Service is Being Resumed

So. Roger and James have been off the interweb for a while now.

But fear not!

Roger and James lives again. Oh yes.

What we have been doing since the premature demise of R&J:

• James has become a real published blogger and writes about real stuff that real grown ups want him to write about and gets paid real money or magic beans or something for doing it. Get him.
• Roger is still at the same desk, overordering stationery and generally baffling the theatregoing populace.
• James is apparently Uber Connected now. I will let him explain.
• Roger has a NewMan, who will henceforth be known as Boy, as he doesn't count as a grown up. Which is good. He has yet to build her a TARDIS though. Which is not so good.
• Both Roger and James spent most of the last year waiting for a truly decent game to come out on the Wii, then Mario Galaxy turned up and made them even more smug just in time for Christmas. And no, we will not sell you our consoles, all you foolish grown-ups who laughed at us this time last year.
• Roger has become obsessed with LOLcats, about a year after everyone else. Come on, they're cats with bad grammar, doing funny things, what's not to like? No?

Roll on 2008.

*sigh*

Roger.

It's been a while...

But I had to blog this...
A conversation between our hero, (that'll be me) and a tall, dark and very beautiful 'Persian' woman.

Please note - this conversation happened at the beginning of a recent Christmas party and no alcohol had yet to be consumed. The music however was loud. And at this point, I did not know she was from Persia.

Me: Hi there, what's your name?
Persian: Memememem.

Me: Pardon?
Persian: Mammyamem

Me: I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you. The music. It's very loud. Did you say Marian?
Persian: Marian.

Me: Marian.
Persian: Nooooooo. Maryam.

Me: As in 'Marry-AM'?
Persian: Yes. That's it.

I put one index finger on my nose and point straight at her with my other index finger in the universal sign for 'You knows it' as taken from such games as 'Give us a clue' and 'Charades'.

Persian: Yes. I know. I'm from Persia.
Me: Pardon?

Persian: My nose. You pointed it out. Yes. It's my Persian nose.
Me: You're from Persia?

What follows is a quick guide on 'What not to say when you meet a Persian':

Persian: Yes.
Me: Cooooooooooooooooool! I have a rug! *wink-wink - nudge-nudge"

Persian: Oh yes. Very good.
Me: No no. Seriously, Prince of Persia is one of my favourite games...


*TUMBLEWEED*


Persian: I'm sorry?
Me: Um... Nothing!


So - there you have it -

When trying to get friendly with gorgeous Persian women. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT congratulate them on Prince of Persia.

*sigh*

James.

Ooh, chimpanzee that!

In Monkey News Today:

An individual known only as "Monkey" was today caught in the act of the attempted murder of a newcomer. Witnesses believe it was prompted by a jealous rage.

Luckily, passers by managed to rescue Mini Monkey before any serious harm was done. Mini Monkey escaped soggy and shaken, but otherwise unscathed.

Monkey has maintained a stony silence since the incident, prompting his carers to fear a repetition of the attack. Mini Monkey has therefore been relocated to a safe shelf in the kitchen. He was too shocked to speak to reporters, but seems happier now he is closer to the box of tea in which he was found - presumably a stowaway from an Indian tea plantation.

Roger, reporting for Monkey News, London.

In other news: I have so much bloody tea at home now it's frankly ridiculous. Bloomin' promotions...

*sigh*

Roger.

Better safe than sorry

Yesterday at work I was asked to order, amongst other things, two large rolls of bubble wrap, for the technicians who need to post a few things. So I phoned the packaging people and said, fairly sensibly, I think, "Two large rolls of bubble wrap please".

Today they arrived.

I have never seen so much bubble wrap in one place before. I mean, look at it. It reaches the ceiling. If you don't believe how big these rolls are, check out the people on the left hand side of the photo. Unlike Father Dougal's cows, they are not far away, just very small compared to the bubblewrap behemoth. I checked the dimensions and did the maths. There's 500 square metres there. Imagine what you could do with 500 square metres of bubble wrap. No really, imagine. What scares me most is that they had several sizes above this. What the hell are people doing with it? Wrapping houses? Space shuttles? Keeping the pyramids safe as they transport them whole to the British Museum?

God knows where I'm going to put it.

This is worse than the Great Post-it Overorder of 2003. At least they were easier to hide.

*sigh*

Roger.

A Telling Off

Today I got a telling off. Not from a Grownup.
Oh no.

But from Roger.

Roger and I are friends.
We have found each other in a weird way - But found each other we have.

Anywhoo - of late I have not been interacting with too many Grownups.
I find them boring.

And...
More often than not - they don't seem to get what I'm talking about.

So more and more I've been seeking out (and hanging out with) people more like Roger and Me.

Because of this - situations just have not been occurring which I can report to 'Why Don't Grownups Get it?'.
I am working on it - but this kind of thing needs to happen naturally.

So Roger - I'm sorry.
Must try harder.
I will make sure I find myself around more Grownups more often,
(although how on Earth I'm supposed to beat the 'Aga Khan' situation I have no idea),
...but I AM working on it.

I promise.


*sigh*

James

Sometimes I feel like the grown-up

Last night Blue Planet was on telly and had lobsters on it. "Seen it" I declared...but then wondered aloud on whether I had in fact seen this particular programme or just some other one with lobsters on. After all, lobsters don't have a very varied repertoire.

This is not the story. If I left it there, I admit, this entry would be very dull.

No, next I pondered as to whether, with all the wildlife programmes out there, I would ever again watch one and go "Wow, I've never seen that animal before". The following conversation ensued:

MAN: Yeah, that can happen. I mean, I once encountered someone who'd never seen a duck billed platypus before.
ME: What, like, not even a picture? Was it a small child?
MAN: No, it was a girl I went out with.
ME: Did you get her off the sunshine bus?
MAN (slightly grumpily): No. She was very bright. She was a journalist.
ME: But she's never seen a platypus? EVERYONE knows what a platypus is.
MAN: Not her. And when I showed her a picture on the web she refused to believe it and said I'd made it up.
ME: So, what you're saying is that you went out with a girl who (whilst presumably able to perform basic functions unaided), didn't actually believe in the duck billed platypus?

There is a pause. Man looks slightly grumpy at my insulting of the intelligence of his ex. Then - and I SWEAR this is true - he comes up with the punchline...

MAN: Be fair, she was Canadian. They don't have platypuses out there.

Right, yes, because you can't move for the little furry beaked buggers in the Home Counties.

*sigh*

Roger.

Grown-up shopping

Yesterday I went shopping with the Man. I should probably make clear at this point that, despite my nickname, I am in fact a straight female and not unduly mannish. It's a long (and actually not very interesting) story.

Anyhoo.

Yes, so we went shopping. He wanted to buy a new suit, which of cause is enormously difficult and traumatic for boys as they are unpractised at the art of shopping and suddenly have to spend hundreds of pounds on something that actually looks exactly the same as all the others in the shop.

I was helping:

Me: Try this one!
Man: Too stripey.
Me: Er...this one?
Man: Too plain.
Me (picks up the first one again): This one?
Man: Too....shiny.

a while later...

Me: This one! THIS ONE THIS ONE THIS ONE!
Man: But it's brown.
Me: YES!
Man: And a bit stripey.
Me: Yes! It's perfect. This one. Buy this one.
Man: But I don't want a brown suit. I don't like brown suits.
Me: Buy this one. All the others are horrible. In fact, they are probably made out of poisonous fabric woven by evil elves in a factory of death and will give you leprosy just by wearing them.

A pause. Man regards the suit. Looks at me, back at the suit. A realisation dawns.

Man: Doctor Who wears a suit like this, doesn't he.
Me: Does he? Really, I hadn't noticed. Ahem.

Silence.

Me: We could get you some white converse sneakers to go with it...

We leave the shop.

*sigh*

Roger.

Oh, PS, he got his own back in the evening, when he took me to a drinks party - in order to illustrate this I need only quote two little snippets of conversation I overheard:

"This is [insert complicated professory name here], you've probably read his book on Europe"

and my special favourite:

"Of course I didn't start working there until after I was bored with the Aga Khan".

One. day. to. go.

I think I can speak for the both of us with this conversation.
The place: Roger & James' respective workplaces.
The time: All day today.

R&J: Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!
ALL grown-ups: "...?"

*sigh*
Roger & James

I'm wearing tweed! Like a grown-up!

Today I am wearing a suit at work.

This would not be unusual for many people (by 'people', obviously I mean 'grown-ups'), however I usually schlep into work wearing whatever jeans and children's television-themed t-shirt I can find in the drawer that morning. So today, just getting from the front desk to my office, no less than 3 grown-ups commented, variously

"A bit smart, aren't we?"
"What's the occasion?"
and "Off to an interview this afternoon then?"

Now. What they don't know is that none of the above are true. The truth is, I have been out every night this week, and thusly have done no laundry whatsoever and am down to whatever I can find in the plastic dry-cleaning wrappers in the wardrobe. The suitage has nothing whatsoever to do with being a grown-up and everything to do with being too inept to fill my own
washing machine

Unless I get my arse in gear over the weekend the next logical step on Monday is going to be a choice between pyjamas and an evening gown. I know which would be more practical.

*sigh*

Roger.

Lunchtime (in)activist

A little off topic but I feel it needs to be said:

I hate Starbucks. I hate their nasty evil capitalist ways, their destruction of the high street, their multinational greed and those horrible, cynical new coffee loyalty cards they've just brought out. I hate the fact that I had to find a picture of a different sort of Starbuck (albeit a much cooler one) to put on this blog as if I used the logo they'd somehow find out then probably send armed baristas round to my house in the dead of night, bundle me into the Coffeemobile and lock me up in a small room being force-fed soya lattes for the remainder of my days.

I urge everyone reading this with any sense of decency to boycott these money-grabbing coffee-pushing Nazis and stand up for all that is fair and proper and decent.

Because if you all do...maybe it will make up for the fact that I just can't get enough of their Cheese & Marmite paninis.

*munch*.

Oh, and peppermint mochas. Hollow consumerism never tasted so good.

*sigh*

Roger.