Someone who thinks of himself as the oh-so high & mighty "authority on written English grammar, syntax, spelling, whatchamacallit blah blah", had his own mistakes pointed out by the boss.
And only days after he chastised us for TWO minor grammar & tense structure mistakes (a job originally meant to be done by him anyways).
Take it personally? We bloody well do! We were saving your sorry ass by doing your work while you chose to disappear early to go (I'll bet!) wash that sorry mop you call your hair.
And then in the midst of all this, you promote a coglioni to "improve the standard of copy".
So what's this again about the Pot calling the Kettle black then, eh?
Moral of the story? Don't speak too soon. Becos life has a way of biting you in the ass if you get too cocky.
You know that feeling of resignation you get when you realise that nothing you do makes any diff? I give up. No one gives a damn. No one gives any thanks... These humans are hopeless. They will be the death of themselves. Why bother at all?
I was standing in the middle of a dimly-lit abandoned playground. It must have been about 3 in the morning cos the air was suffocatingly cold and misty. Strangely my body felt very hot. My hands were sticky and a sickening metallic smell overwhelmed me. I looked down and saw blood all over my hands and clothes. There was even blood on the shovel in my left hand. I threw it down and noticed a freshly covered hole in the ground. I had just buried something. The soil was damp from the early morning air. A chill ran up my spine. I shivered as the cold air cut through my body. Suddenly it felt like the temperature had dropped below 0. I stepped closer to the patch. I had just buried something. Or someone...
I looked at my hands again. Still covered with blood, still sticky, the smell still as sickening.
I felt ill.
This was just a dream. It had to be. Yet it all felt so real. No wait, this is just a dream. It just HAD to be.
Or so I thought. Cos the next day I got word that he was missing...
After a really busy week & the half, I finally finished one of the more fascinating books I’ve read in the past few months. The story tells of the few years that Bram Stoker met, obsessed & fostered a friendship with Jack the Ripper. A friendship of which is said to have aided his research into the dark twisted mind of man, & finally inspired him to publish his first novel Dracula.
I picked up Curtains of Blood on impulse while browsing my favourite Horror section in a local bookshop. Personally I found it a bloody (pun intended) good read. But then again it might just be me since I get a high reading about murders, death, darkness, blood drinkers, immortality.
What else can you do if sleep won't come at night? Literature keeps me company.
I received this from a friend the other day, so I've edited it to suit people I work with...
The Best Patient? Five surgeons are discussing which advertising person makes the best patient to operate on.
The first surgeon says, “I like to see Finance Directors on my operating table because when you open them up, everything inside is numbered.”
The second responds, “Yeah, but you should try Art Directors! Everything inside them is color coded.”
The third surgeon says, “No, I really think Copywriters are the best. Everything inside is in alphabetical order.”
The fourth surgeon chimes in “You know, I like Production Managers. Those guys always understand when the job takes longer than you said it would.”
But the fifth surgeon shut them all up when he observed “You're all wrong. General Managers are the easiest to operate on. There's no guts, no heart, no balls, no brains and no spine... and the head and the ass are interchangeable!”
How many Copywriters does it take to change a lightbulb? Copywriter : Change? I am not changing anything!
How many Art Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? Art Director : Does it have to be a lightbulb?
How many Creative Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? CD : You sort it out. I'm late for my date with a 19 year old model...
How many Account Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? Account Director : How many would you like?
How many agency General Managers does it take to change a lightbulb? GM : Change? Speak to my Account Director about that. Oh wait, it’ll be faster if I change it for you, no problem.
How many agency Managing Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? MD : But whyyyyyy must we change the lightbulb, whyyyyyyy...? Lets discuss it over lunch, next Tuesday OK?
How many Film Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? FD : No, no, no, you don't really want a lightbulb. Natural light is best. Are you the Film Director or am I?
How many Strategic Planners does it take to change a lightbulb? Strat Planner : First, we have to totally understand what motivates the lightbulb...
How many clients does it take to change a lightbulb? Moronic client : What are we paying the agency for??? Let them do it. No no wait... can we cancel the lightbulb & have a candle instead? No wait... I think a torchlight would be better... no wait... (etc)
You speak such truth. You read who I am, understand what I feel, see what I don’t see. Many don’t believe in you but I do, always have & always will. Our unique 7-year relationship has deepened the special bond we share. Everytime I’m in doubt, you’ll always have an answer. You rarely fail to read me wrong.
It was a windy star-less night. The distant city lights reflected in the clouds, creating a faint blanket of illumination over a sleeping neighbourhood.
Up on the roof she lied on her back in burial position gazing at the darkness, legs outstretched, arms on her chest. This is where she comes to escape. Her own space. Her own world. Just her & the skies. A total sense of freedom. Of being alone. A way of escaping the madness in a land of confusion.
She closed her eyes. The air was moving. She could smell the rain coming. Her leather coat flapped in the wind. She sensed someone nearby. Smelled it even. Without opening her eyes, she whipped out her 9mm and pointed it at the approaching figure.
“Is that any way to greet a friend, sweetheart?”
She didn’t move. She didn't turn. Her eyes still closed. Her gun still on him. “I didn’t know we were friends,” she said calmly. “Did you?”
He stood unmoving, eyes roamed from the barrel to her face. He knew he had entered enemy territory & wanted to make peace...
This has happened so many times that it's just not funny anymore. Sigh. Time and again, it creeps up on you. Grabs you by the gut, slaps you hard in the face then kicks you in the heart.
How much more can you take? you ask yourself. I guess we'll just have to find out.
I pray that you come get me. Show me the light, let me embrace the darkness, invite me into your world... I shall be your eager apprentice and your companion through the sands of time. Together we'll be alive. Together we'll fly. Together, we will be.
Until then, I shall walk the earth in search of my soul's destiny. And patiently, I await your presence.
That's me today. Brain dead, body alive. When nite comes, it's the total opposite. Brain alive, body dead. What's that mean? 3 syllables, 8 letters… I-N-S-O-M-N-I-A. Dagnammit! I must have yawned like 500 times since dawn. I guess I am a nite-creature after all...
After a most upsetting defensive match, Trap's troops were held to a goalless draw by the aggressive Danes. (Yes, I have to give a hand to the Danes who played really well.) Buffon & Sorensen were definitely the men of the match. I've no idea what the white-haired coach has up his sleeves but I sure hope his gameplay changes when they face the Swedes. If not it'll just be another repeat nightmare like the WC2002... if then, I'd say "sack the man!"
