Today I am not here. I am actually at The Wicked Muse Tavern, with my muse Vimh. I'm drinking cider: Rekorderlig. If I keep name dropping it so much, they'll eventually send me a case, right? Much like the famous Irish writer Brendan Behan did, when Guinness hired him to come up with a slogan and left him alone with a few cases. They came back the next day to find he'd written "Guinness makes you drunk."
My slogan will build on that. It will be "Rekorderlig makes you drunk enough so that you won't care if your muse embarrasses you in the Tavern."
I will now sit back and await the call from the PR department.
|Is it Christmas again already?|
Meanwhile, here's a joke (well, more of an insult) that I am determined to work into a novel somehow. I work in an environment that is a little bit...um...colourful. Our office talk is not exactly normal office talk. I think it falls somewhere between building site talk, pub talk, and Stag Night talk.
This zinger is courtesy of my boss, who will remain nameless.
"What's that big bulge in your pants?" he asked a colleague he was having a heated discussion with, then deadpanned: "Oh, it's your hand."
Sometimes my whole workplace is NSFW.
And sometimes I love my job.