As if my weekend wasn't bad enough... Uncle Dale wants a new job. My old mentor says he "no longer gets a boner" from More4 and would prefer a high ranking (BUPA, company car, free iPhone etc) Corporation creative wonk job. Something "safe".
Safe?! Has he not been reading the fucking news recently?
The last fucking thing I want is for him to come over here and steal my thunder. BUT I don't want to piss him off (in my line of business I have learnt never to piss off anyone more important than me).
Tried to get Michaela on the blower right away. No answer. Fucking come on!! Where was she? Then I remembered she had gone away to the Andalucian Alpujarras for a fortnight of naked poetry recitals and colonic coffee irrigration.
Strange lass.... she really likes nothing better than having a pipe shoved up her (cute) rectum. She's always trying to get me to accompany her to the 'shit clinic' in London but I'm terrified I'll run into some sort of Gillian McKeith bum nazi.
Call me weird but I have a pathological fear of strangers inserting plastic tubes up my anal passage...
1 comment:
Well you have to feel sorry for Uncle Dale. They tell him to look for ideas which have an innovative and challenging take on the world - then he ends up having to show repeats of Grand Designs, Relocation, Relocation and Countdown!
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