Work has been crazy the last few weeks. And not in a 'the Gods must be Crazy' crazy, which would be OK, but in a 'Herbie goes Bananas' crazy, which is worse because it involves a possessed car and Lindsay Lohan.
On the positive side, I've been learning about some amazing new technologies. As a programmer it's always good to keep your skills honed, which is a characteristic of work I imagine us and cage fighters have in common. New things to add to my resume are: Web Services, WS-Security, WCF, Ajax and JQuery. Conveniently my resume also doubles as a list of subjects never to bring up during polite conversation.
In lieu of putting up a decent post, why don't we peruse some of the artistry my associate Dave and I created during a happier working zeitgeist.
Yes, I realise that they are just more celebrities with miniature heads, but you have to understand how much amusement we were getting out of this.
Style tip: try to stay away from feature accessories that draw attention to your worst assets.
How much does old mate on the right there look like a Womble? If you answered 'lots', you win. The prize is knowing way too much about 80s kid shows.
Y'see, the funny thing here is you look at it and second guess whether Elvis really did have a small head all along. You wonder how he ever looked so dashing in military garb when his captains hat must have looked like a old salon lady waiting for her hair to do its thing. Don't worry grandma. It's all a trick of the eyes. Go back to lusting after his intoxicating hips, for Elvis' head was bonafide.
Another guy who is wondering whether this is the first time he's noticed it.
Dave thinks that I'm going to hell for this one. He needn't worry. My fate was well and truly assured after that whole 'calling the wailing wall a sissy' incident. Yikes.
I think it was Blakkat who asked for an Arnie one, so here you go darlin. I believe John Connor is just about to prove that the Terminator's head is smaller than a pistol. Subsequently, Terminator cries. It is a very humanising scene.
Oh my god! It's 4 o'clock! I'm totally missing Ready Steady Cook!
It was around this point in time that Dave and I got bored of just giving people smaller heads. Logical progression, smaller faces. It would have taken an army of monkeys twice as long to figure that one out.
You know why you're dancing on the ceiling partner? Because nobody ridicules your fro up there. Awww. Slings and arrows.
I dunno what it is, but I find novelty-sized things hilarious. Look at him straining to reach that ball. Don't worry dude! Your racquet covers the entire court! Just prop it up on angle and go pour yourself a beer!
At least he doesn't have to go far.
You can tell by the look on everyone's faces that they can't believe he's wearing stirrups. They're all like, woah. Stirrups. Afterwards, they can't look they're mate in the eye, just in case they got caught in some kind of Brokeback mountain situation. All the while the bull is looking upset and saying 'Why do I even bother being small. No-one notices.'
The sword. It does nothing! I like the guy behind the barricade. He's all "Ello? Ello! Et 'im with your thing! Your THING!"
That's all of them. We haven't made any more since I started acting secretively and talking in slogans. "If you can't beat em, join em!" I'll remark after being invited to lunch. That was two weeks ago. I'm not receiving as many invitations nowadays.
Recently I've started to think about a change. Not because I'm disliking the work I'm doing necessarily, but because the guy two seats down from me smells as though he selects his clothes from a decomposing pile of rags. I'm under the impression he utilises the age old clothes drying technique known as 'forgetful evaporation', although by the rank smell in the air I question how much science is relied upon during his washing cycle. I wonder if he has nostrils. I wonder if his friends do. I wonder how long I can hold out before mentioning it to the team over beers.
--
People smell of lemongrass and posies over at humor-blogs.com, which is an incredible achievement when you consider that they used to smell like a cross between an armpit and an underpass.
On the positive side, I've been learning about some amazing new technologies. As a programmer it's always good to keep your skills honed, which is a characteristic of work I imagine us and cage fighters have in common. New things to add to my resume are: Web Services, WS-Security, WCF, Ajax and JQuery. Conveniently my resume also doubles as a list of subjects never to bring up during polite conversation.
In lieu of putting up a decent post, why don't we peruse some of the artistry my associate Dave and I created during a happier working zeitgeist.
Yes, I realise that they are just more celebrities with miniature heads, but you have to understand how much amusement we were getting out of this.
Style tip: try to stay away from feature accessories that draw attention to your worst assets.
How much does old mate on the right there look like a Womble? If you answered 'lots', you win. The prize is knowing way too much about 80s kid shows.
Y'see, the funny thing here is you look at it and second guess whether Elvis really did have a small head all along. You wonder how he ever looked so dashing in military garb when his captains hat must have looked like a old salon lady waiting for her hair to do its thing. Don't worry grandma. It's all a trick of the eyes. Go back to lusting after his intoxicating hips, for Elvis' head was bonafide.
Another guy who is wondering whether this is the first time he's noticed it.
Dave thinks that I'm going to hell for this one. He needn't worry. My fate was well and truly assured after that whole 'calling the wailing wall a sissy' incident. Yikes.
I think it was Blakkat who asked for an Arnie one, so here you go darlin. I believe John Connor is just about to prove that the Terminator's head is smaller than a pistol. Subsequently, Terminator cries. It is a very humanising scene.
Oh my god! It's 4 o'clock! I'm totally missing Ready Steady Cook!
It was around this point in time that Dave and I got bored of just giving people smaller heads. Logical progression, smaller faces. It would have taken an army of monkeys twice as long to figure that one out.
You know why you're dancing on the ceiling partner? Because nobody ridicules your fro up there. Awww. Slings and arrows.
I dunno what it is, but I find novelty-sized things hilarious. Look at him straining to reach that ball. Don't worry dude! Your racquet covers the entire court! Just prop it up on angle and go pour yourself a beer!
At least he doesn't have to go far.
You can tell by the look on everyone's faces that they can't believe he's wearing stirrups. They're all like, woah. Stirrups. Afterwards, they can't look they're mate in the eye, just in case they got caught in some kind of Brokeback mountain situation. All the while the bull is looking upset and saying 'Why do I even bother being small. No-one notices.'
The sword. It does nothing! I like the guy behind the barricade. He's all "Ello? Ello! Et 'im with your thing! Your THING!"
That's all of them. We haven't made any more since I started acting secretively and talking in slogans. "If you can't beat em, join em!" I'll remark after being invited to lunch. That was two weeks ago. I'm not receiving as many invitations nowadays.
Recently I've started to think about a change. Not because I'm disliking the work I'm doing necessarily, but because the guy two seats down from me smells as though he selects his clothes from a decomposing pile of rags. I'm under the impression he utilises the age old clothes drying technique known as 'forgetful evaporation', although by the rank smell in the air I question how much science is relied upon during his washing cycle. I wonder if he has nostrils. I wonder if his friends do. I wonder how long I can hold out before mentioning it to the team over beers.
--
People smell of lemongrass and posies over at humor-blogs.com, which is an incredible achievement when you consider that they used to smell like a cross between an armpit and an underpass.
4 comments:
JQuery sounds like a Christian search engine. Is it?
a) did you call the BeeGee "old mate" because you can't be bothered finding out which Gibb it is?
b) If I pay you enough money, will you photoshop things for me all day, every day?
c) How come you never see white dog poo any more?
Felix: Nah, you're thinking of the rastifarian search engine, Jah-hoo.
Jo:
a) Spot on. What's a Gibb?
b) Almost definitely, although I'm worried that my idea of 'enough money' might vary to yours. It'll be enough to be a case of beer, right?
c) It's the current climate babe. The economics for it are all wrong.
Weee! That was fun!
I was only thinking the other day 'Geez, I wish Davey would do another small celebrity head post' and whattyano! He did! It was close on the laugh-o-meter but I think Andre's racket just whisked in over the line, closely followed by small armed football ref. Although Arnie was the sentimental choice. More please?
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