Saturday, November 19, 2005

I'd hire her, (meaning will become apparent when you read the post, not as dodgy as it seems....for once).

Injured at work?

....or ginjured...

...or ninjured at work, call Ablett Associates and get some tax free compo!

Cutting fingers and cutting humour...

For once I've got a valid excuse for any typos...I've cut the shite out of one of my fingers (it's a prime tampering finger, but as none of that stuff's happening at the minute it doesn't really on the 'tides of lust' soon) at work. Still shaking off this cold and forgot there was a broken shard of glass in a plughole I was cleaning out. Being the double-hard bastard that I am, I screamed like a wee girl and shook my finger all over the place. The resultant blood went all over my 'station' as they say in the catering my manky fucking sink. The head chef's there, 'ahhh! your station's looking very messy', I'm there like, 'fuck yeah it's my fucking blood and I'll clean it up as soon as my finger has stopped acting like a fucked-up oil rig'. So I had to clean up my own blood with the head chef saying..."hurry up, you've still got another hand". What a 'cunty bollix' He recently sacked one of our top waitresses for having having a pierced tongue! Honestly, I'd hire waitresses if they had a pierced anything (and tattoos) and open a Suicide Girls-style resturant...god being 'reading' this book far too much.

In kitchen work, if it doesn't burn you, it cuts the crap out of you, and if it doesn't do that, it'll chemically burn you somehow. It's great training for a life in academia, I think I'll be able to handle paper cuts after regularly patching my hands together with shitty blue plasters. Our forefathers used have great work stories about getting their arms cut off by iron ore or getting a leg staved off by a fucking printing press. What will we have?..."ohh did you hear about the time your grandad Jimmny momentarily snagged his finger on a rusty staple, ohh it was a terror! we didn't know if he'd live, it was touch and go for a while..."

Anyway, what is more cutting is the kitchen humour (wow top link Jimmny! way to go to try and cram together disparate posts because it's 3am and you want to save all the depraved lust stuff for tomorrow's post). The head chef has mastered the art of giving you just enough grief so you're always on the verge of walking out but makes it darkly funny enough so that you don't-ie making up songs about me in an awful Irish accent about me being a gay glorified tea boy at 29 while trying to do an Irish jig. The other day he was taunting 'you love me really, you want my babies, you want my babies'...I fumed round the corner to the comis-chef and all-around top dude 'CS' and muttered 'yeah I want your babies so I can take 'em out and shoot the fuckers...' The head chef was there, 'what was that?' and 'CS' goes, 'you don't want to know, it was funny though'. Some of the people are too easy as humour targets. I work with one guy, he's 44, wants to be an embalmer, he broke up with his wife (she's Irish, he always makes a point of telling me, like it's my fucking fault) moved back to Norfolk, moved back in with his parents and is going out with an 18 year-old goth...I know it's Norfolk but, dude! Now as much as I lust after the wee microgoths, in reality I could not handle going out with an 18 year old one, I mean, my 29 years of fucking crap tv trivia would be lost on her for a start. I'd be like 'man, this is just like that bit in Automan when his car could turn at a 90 degree angle', and she'd be like 'what the fuck are you on about! buy me a Nightmare Before Christmas bag and some snake-bite and black, grandad'. But I digress, anyway, he's going on about how she's bed-ridden and has sciatica and has shooting pains in her butt-ocks and then he says 'it's rare in an 18-year-old'. I have to return to CS and piss myself laughing and say, 'rare in an 18 year old? so's recieving a 44-year-old cock on a regular basis!'.

Friday, November 18, 2005

great movies!

Great tv!

I'm coming for ya god!

I was going to post about how great everything was. The one year anniversary of 'The Life and Times of Jimmny Homunculus' came and went on a typical day, ie I worked 7 hours in the bar, went to bed at 12 got up at like 5 to write proposals for a module on superheroes I'm hopefully teaching in the new year, then worked in the kitchen from 10am to 3.30, then proposed my modules, then wandered off to buy some top tunes, got something to eat and went and saw a great film. A perfect Jimmny day you might think, and you would be right. Everything was going right for the first time in like 6 months and I was feeling great. Getting to exist in a time with top movies, great tv shows and and great music. In the new year, I'll be finally teaching modules on subjects close to my heart and will also be appearing on TV talking about such subjects!

Then, as if by if some god like figure was sitting at a switchboard somewhere going "he's getting a bit cocky, like everything's going ok...well we'll see how great he feels when he's sneezing and coughing every two minutes" I get zapped by some sort of gank cold ray. As you may well know, I'm not adverse to spending all day in bed while exuding fluids that need to mopped up with tissues, I just get pissed off when they're coimg out of my nose. I can't really take sick that anyone I've seen take sick days at work gets the sack. Being sick really makes me indignant, it just reminds me of how precarious my situation is. So instead of taking a sick day at the kitchen today I come in and my sickness insures I get all the shitty jobs, which will just make me more sick? It may be from reading too much Phillip K. Dick*, but the only reason I would ever believe in a god type figure is if I could go up there and knock his/hers/its fuck in for generally being such a cunt to everyone.

*Like you can ever read too much.

Friday, November 11, 2005

The only thing I'm 'punishing' here is guts and braincells....

Some dates for your diary...if you have one...

...i do, but I often forget to put it in my bag and then something important happens and I forget to write it in when I get home...anyway:

November 14, 2005:

Is the one year anniversary of "The Life and Times of Jimmny Homunculus". Think of it! One whole year of perverted rants about She Hulk, shite films, sexual perversion, comics, superheroes, Irish slang, crap jobs. I will be putting together a little print version of the "best bits"* of The Life and Times of Jimmny Homunculus and some of my cartoons and that over the next few weeks and will post it out to anyone who wants one a wee present to say 'thank you' for surviving these semi-regular noctural electronic emissions from the heart of geeky me your address and I'll send yous a copy (don't worry about the cost I'd only spend my money on useless pursuits like comics, porn and getting and a career-building title)

January 2, 2006:

is the 30th anniversary of Jimmny Homunculus! Think of it! 30 years of perverted rants about She Hulk, shite films, sexual perversion, comics, superheroes, Irish slang, crap jobs. (That's not strictly true, there was an early period where the rants included dinosaurs, Lady Miss Kier, The Bangles, and Fuzzbox,** but it's all much of pervy sci-fi muchness). Anyway, I will be planning some sort of 30th b-day shindig in Norwich in early January (if I survive an another Irish Christmas/New Year will keep yous posted...if you really want to see a recreation of the photo above.

*I know this is a conradiction in terms.

**tall strong crazy ladies with strangely coloured hair...mmm did certain fascinations start that early, oh dear.

The face I pull in cinema queues...

Halloween? This is Norfolk…it’s Halloween all year round.

You may have guessed that I love horror films, but I love them 24/7, 365 days of the year. Every Halloween I have to suffer people claiming to ‘love horror films’ for like the day before and day after Halloween, they’ll come up to me saying things like ‘You like horror films don’t you?’, ‘Yes’ I’d reply, and then they’ll say something like ‘I love horror films, I watched that zombie one the other day it’s got “Dead” in the title…you know people think it’s meant to be scary but it’s actual funny…” And I have to take a deep breath and question further….is it Return of the Living Dead you’ve been watching when you thought it was going to be Night of the Living Dead?. It’s kind of the same reaction one has as 24/7 pervert whenever faced by those who dress up for The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

When I was queuing up to see the hotly anticipated (by me) sequel Land of the Dead, there was a fat blond Norwich family (there are shit loads of these, it’s like the Village of the Damned meets Nutty Professor II: The Klumps ) . They were going to see Howl’s Moving Castle…god knows why, they’ll probably go…’but this is all in foreign and we have to read little sentences on the screen). Anyway one of the fat-fuck kids sees the poster to Land of the Dead and says “That looks crap!” and the dad goes

“I saw the original and that was crap as well…”

So what exact film was it you saw and thought it was the ‘original’ version of Land of the Dead a brand new film? Thank god for headphones…so I can listen to top tunes and not the dirge that comes out of some the gobs in a cinema queues. In Ireland a while back, I’m sure it was in a queue for Blair Witch Project or something, I overhead two mooks who ‘loved horror films’ saying:

“I used to love all those old Hammer Horror films with Vincent Price with the orange blood and that hahha”

“All those old Hammer Horror films?” What? Vincent Price? You mean the Vincent Price who worked mostly for Roger Corman’s American International films never made a Hammer Horror film?...and for that matter never played a Vampire?). Maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking of Christopher Lee (all hail the centre of the film universe) or Peter Cushing? (gawd rest his soul)

Things are looking up though we now have a Borders here so I can buy things like The Onion, Little White Lies and We Live in Funny Times, even there, I am not free from top quotes from the denizens of Noorfolk. One, upon exploring environs of Borders for the first time declared:

“You know what this is like? A library”

and my all time favourite from some bloke that had been dragged in the by the missus:

“I fucking hate bookshops!”