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Doomed anecdotal megathread #2


Sergio Mendacious

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I'm changing job in a week and can't be arsed to even maintain the appearance of working, so I'm printing off A4 posters of David Suchet with 'IT'S POIROT TIME!!!' In massive letters and pinning them to random notice boards.

Brilliant Gus, that's exactly how you should spend you final days in a job. I did something similar with Phil Mitchell and Ian Beale pics at my last job. Replied to any email received with a different pic of them, depending on the nature of the email.

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I may nick that idea Punkstep, I like it. Either that or I'll change the hyperlink in my email signature fromĀ the government's register to vote pageĀ to that video of Phil Mitchell driving the tractor while pissed.

Edited by Gus Mears
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There was a post on here YEARS ago from Bionic Redneck, where he effectively told a story through the medium of Phil Mitchell & Ian Beale jpegs. It was a hell of a post. It has changed my life more than anything else.

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Right, so the missusā€™s niece is a Nickleback fan after she was brought to see them a week or so ago.

So the missus rings me in work at around 5pm just there today from a shopping centre in Dublin asking ā€œWhatā€™s the name of that band she likes that she went to see and Iā€™ll pick her up the album while Iā€™m here?ā€ and I said ā€œNickleback Paddywhackā€, barely in jest, not even anticipating sheā€™d take that in her mouth and trot off to chew on it. She said ā€œThatā€™s clever, isnā€™t it? Thanks!ā€ and off she went.

About ten past, I get a call and sheā€™s crying...legitimately crying tears of frustration and anger, calling me every phallic and itā€™s variants under the sun, followed by her telling me I made a show of her and they all laughed at her behind the counter when she asked for Nickleback Paddywhacks Greatest Hits.

She told me - with a ferocity I havenā€™t heard since she caught me having a pedal to a Daily Mirror spread on the utility room floor to the Nicki Minaj on a beach in the nip - to fuck off and I can sleep in the spare room tonight if I come home.
So, thatā€™s what I have to look forward to in a half hour when I get home from here. Spare a though, gents.
Ā 

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She told me - with a ferocity I havenā€™t heard since she caught me having a pedal to a Daily Mirror spread on the utility room floor to the Nicki Minaj on a beach in the nip - to fuck off and I can sleep in the spare room tonight if I come home.

Ā 

That's a one-act play in itself. You're a wonderful thing, Branquey.

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Absolute doghouse, lads. Chicken coop stuff.

It went off last night as soon as I walked in the door and hasnā€™t eased off. She had a right go over the Nickleback thing and she knew I was trying to contain laughter while trying to maintain a concerned furrow, so that pretty much furthered her resentment, while giving her an involuntary mouth and eye twitch.

Separate sofas for Emmerdale and Eastenders, so that usually means sheā€™s got the curtains drawn, and the blanking was cemented when I was resigned to sleeping on a leather sofa and getting up to have the odd piddle in the sink (The one in the utility room. Not the kitchen.) on occasion so as not to wake her up by going up to the toilet beside our room and exacerbating the volatile situation further. Iā€™ll tell you why:

  1. If you turn the light on in our jacks it makes a constant, horrible noise like a mix between a hoover and a distant helicopter because of the extractor fan, and even after you turn the light off, the extractor fan stays on for a good while after so I wasnā€™t doing that because of her mood and for fear of reprisal.
  2. Piddle hitting the water at an hour when everyone is in bed is like spraying a firehose into some shopping trolleys, not to mention the guaranteed, accompanying fart that always sounds like you stepped on a swan, and I wasnā€™t doing that.
  3. I live in the middle of nowhere, and when itā€™s dark, itā€™s horror movie dark. If I attempted a piddle in the dark, I risk hitting the wall and the floor and that ā€œpsssssss...kkkoocccchhhhkrrrrrrrrrrrrrā€ sound reverberates very obnoxiously too, so I wasnā€™t doing that either.
  4. So, I piddled in the utility room sink.

And Iā€™m still being blanked because she didnā€™t kick off at me for spilling turmeric on the kitchen counter (it leaves a yellow stain I can only get up with some Cilit Bang or Parazone) or for the smell of eggs and cider vinegar at 8am, so Iā€™m anticipating this weekend is going to be marvellous.

Iā€™m bringing home flowers, wine and a Curly Wurly tonight to her, so Iā€™m hoping something superficial can fix it.

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Do you think this is all a way of her deflecting the sheer embarrassment and shame of liking Nickelback?

Ā 

The stepping on a swan comment...seriously Branquey, William Blake hasn't got shit on you when it comes to your way with words.

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