Wednesday, 25 September 2013
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
SMMMMMFRKM R KMMMM RMF MEPAONC
UNH! Pop... ;)
Saturday, 11 June 2011
It wasn't intentional and, in all honesty, it wasn't surprising really...
Managing an unstructured, unscheduled operation with a fool at the helm, and a whole host of random variables being continually added to the work parameters in an environment that worships structured results over survival is something that shouldn't be undertaken ...
But being myself, that never really occurred, and like the idiots before me, I too believed I could.
It was a slippery gelatin ooze at first. Easi-wipe gunk reminiscent of a cross between Blackberry Jelly from a rabbit shaped jelly mould and that salt and vinegar silicone sealant stuff they use in bathrooms... wiping worked, but there was this nagging feeling of tacky permanence that suggested the ooze was more important than it gave itself credit for...
Like the first tiny discolouration on the suspension fork, that hint that a seal is about to go... you wipe that first glittering sparkly omen away but you know that those seals are either going to come apart under your guidance or seize and kill you at a really inconvenient juncture sometime between now and later... the import of that first trickle is there, but the mark of the organised man is that he sheds the wheels straight away and deals with it...
Unsurprisingly there are millions of us who wipe a couple more times before getting to that stage, cos wiping's easy... and less hassle than dismantling a whole suspension leg.
Then you get the maverick's who just wipe and wipe and wipe, cos wiping each time rather than dealing with the problem starts to feel like maintenance... at least that's what you tell yourself...
Then the fork seizes and you die having completely missed the point...
I'm not sure what the result is of Blackberry, Salt and Vinegar ooze... but I'm still wiping. I haven't got a consequence to use as a benchmark, nor do I have a useful scale by which to judge the shade or texture of the leaking sealant stuff....
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Once again, the hand of the Desk has been forced...
As I emerge from retirement (once again) only to discover that I am still behind the technology curve (pen and paper will make a retro come back I swear), I find that the long held dream that people could work together in this country was just that...
(yes it took that long, the Desk has truly sold out and now possesses the next generation of bitter ranters)
Where was I... ah, yes... a nasty sick little dream. The kind of which you wake up from sweating, absolutely certain you're late for work even though it's Saturday, in a bed you don't recognise, with a smell that suggests curry, kebab and lager were to blame, with a pair of knickers on the floor that could comfortably conceal a Silverback Gorilla's modesty... IN PURPLE, with bum streaks, and a pocketful of receipts that suggested you're guilt caused you to pay for everyone's hangover, ALL NIGHT...
A coalition in Britain WAS NEVER GOING TO WORK!
Whoah, alright let me rephrase that...
A coalition involving Tories was never going to work... they are the end product of 300 generations of inbred bastards trained for dictatorship. In god's name which IDIOT in the Lib Dem's genuinely thought it could work....
I know Spitting Cobras with more integrity than the lowliest Tory backbencher, let alone the devious, vicious, blue-blooded, inbred Tory with the naturally born pathological ability to kill its grandmother with zero remorse, sell it's young for a hard-fought, blood-curdling profit margin, and eat it's wife but only if she's served with a damm fine Petrus, otherwise grill up the home-help with Lamb's kidneys and save her for a slightly better occasion, just for the chance of a place on the front bench....
You bring this misery on yourselves. You clearly have no desire for a better society, a society with more equality, not less, a society that actually has public healthcare, where EVERYONE can travel around and where a pension and comfort in old age ISN'T merely the right of wealthy and "noble born" (and I use that phrase in the loosest possible sense imaginable) bastards...
Then again, if you couldn't see that that evil sodding worm Clegg, is merely a Tory in Lib Dem's clothing, well then that's you're own problem.
It seems I have to dust off the Cape and Superhero mask, practise my wit once more on your simple minds and relight the flames of the All Powerful Coffee Furnace of Ni Spresso Toosh Oggars Pleeeeeez.
Carry on, :)
Thursday, 21 January 2010
The Desk may have to be wound up folks.
For reasons known only to the editor and the readership it seems we have been a victim of our own success... Ha ha Pffffftttssstttt OH SHIT, bugger just sprayed my keyboard with coffee laughing at that.
It seems that times have drifted past the present and into the future. There is no more "dreaming about what the internet can bring". We already know. Porn, Spam, Rolling News Inaccuracy, and more Porn.
The French are releasing Electric cars just to be the first and to piss off the Americans who are wallowing in the sump drainage of their defunct Oil Addiction.
The Brits are finally coming to terms with the fact that they are NOT civilised. They are NOT a polite nation of people who follow the rules either. The British are the most hypocritical and selfish of all, made only worse by the fact that they are as spineless as its possible to be without actually flopping onto the floor and wobbling.
Desperate tokenism when it comes to the environment whilst jet-setting on multiple international holidays. Producing over 350 different types of re-usable bag for shopping with, then leaving the damm things in their gas guzzling 4x4's and using plastic bags anyway. YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS! Demanding ethical behaviour from their MPs and then not actually holding them to account. Frantically screaming for Blair's blood and then when "an inquiry" is the best they get, do they care, complain or fight for what is right... no they bloody put the kettle on don't they.
Sellafield is returning Nuclear Waste to Japan, and instead of cheering the fact that it is leaving their shores, the British Enviro mob are now moaning that it shouldn't travel... either you want it here or you don't... make up your sodding minds. Add stupidity to the British way.
I seem to be listing the problem's that brought the desk about in the first place. The mindless complacency, apathy, hypocrisy and laziness of this entire country. I would list the good things you have to offer, but at the moment, they don't justify the atrocious general demeanour you present to the world so you don't get the balance of their benefit of that until you have improved your ways.
No, the real reason the Desk may have to wind itself up is that times have moved on, and there is nothing cutting edge, forward thinking nor worthwhile reading in a form or forum that is saturated with the same whinging and crabbing.
Because its so commonplace nowadays, with Blog Journos, Online E-NewsCasts, PodcastBlogcasts, and the limlitlessly stupid Twitter you aren't listening any more. The words don't actually register on your tissue paper thin attention spans, because were they to alight there for longer than a mere millisecond's duration, they'd probably crash through it tearing an irreparable hole in your train of thought that would leave you dribbling and licking peanuts cos the taste reminded you of something you licked when you were about 9 months old.
The Desk will stand as a symbol, gathering the dust of your dandruff-encrusted passing and providing you with something to lean against as the momentous-ness of your little world wobbles along. But this, the final entry of note, acts to send out a beacon of distress. The year is 2010. The Month, January. The Day is Thursday, the 21st. It is 12:58 despite what the entry reads. Britain is a nation of losers waiting to die. It is a nation of lying politicians, hypocritical idealists, morons with mobiles and selfish OAPs who are clinging to the laurels of the generation that experienced a war... how little the next generation of old people have to lean on, and they are only just realising how much damage they have done, with no "War-experience" insurance policy to justify their disgrace.
The world will turn and the news will follow it, watch this space for news to come.
Please don't go on any further until you have thought about it.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Face it, they're an overly selfish bunch of money grabbing scum who, as a generation, single-handedly dismantled every social construct that protected us from our own self-destructive behaviour, and NOW they have the audacity to whinge that you want to put them into an old folk;s home instead of letting them move in with you so you can mop up their piss...
OK, I admit it, a very harsh way to have a go at the olds, but christ they have a lot to answer for.
They gave us consumerism, rebellion, greed, global tourism, car-obsession, throw-away society, e-numbers, industrial corner cutting, toxic waste, Nimby-ism, the death of the pension and even the destruction of that system and even such socially destructive ideas as nihilism, atheism, feminism, and worst of all bloody Liberalism.
If you want to thank your parents tell them you've gone and learnt the values they forgot to bloody instil in you cos they were too busy chasing American dreams of car and home ownership whilst competing with each other for who had the best Habitat/Ikea/Heal's kitchen, German car, and international holiday destination...
They are the last generation with pensions that will actually work and pay out a real liveable wage. They are the generation that force fed their children e-numbers, factory created food, cannibal food (from cow's who ate ground up cow... they're fucking vegetarians for god's sake... BSE wasn't a surprise it was fucking inevitable).
They are the generation that gave us share-holders... they are the generation that are at the reins of the banks and are currently strangling all sense of dignity and respect from British culture as we speak. They are the generation who revel in greed, who laugh at losers and who epitomise the anti-thesis of all the values they apparently raised you to believe. Decency, integrity, honesty, fairness, respect.
As a group of people goes, the baby-boomers are a pretty pathetic, bunch who really do actually lead me to my next point very neatly. Logan's Run was disturbingly prophetic.
Falling has been saying this for years now. There is a finite amount of resources, and we're already involved in a full out economic global World War for them as it is... its only a matter of time before we actually start invading places like Iraq so we can ensure that we have fuel for hte future... oh... wait, hang on a minute.
I would like to propose a cull... trouble is, I have no idea nor the guts I must admit to propose the parameters for it. Should we have a World War? should we release the plague? Should we go on race, age or hair colour? I don't really know, but at the moment we are indirectly accepting a cull fo the poor whilst idolising the rich so for argument's sake the cull is in progress, I just think we should be able to discuss this for a minute, because the bankers/wealthy have been in charge of this cull process for long enough...
Time for a vote... should we cull people based on their proportionate wealth relative to the "good deeds" they do with said wealth? Rich philanthropists are exempt, rich slackers get the chop?
Time to decide cos unlimted life-styles as established by the abby-boomers is a LONG dead concept. Answers please on the last un-skinned marsupial that hasn't featured on a baby-boomers dinner plate at some arsey 5 star Gordon Ramsay shithouse eaterie please to the usual address...
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
11:55 - The desk has been told that it can't raise the funds required to purchase new premises.
11:56 - The desk is gutted it got such a dammed good accountant whose been saving him money for years but ultimately has scuppered its future. Does nothing work out the way the damm Adverts promise?
11:57 - This is Falling Carefully adding estate agents, mortgage advisers, accountants and Simon Cowell to an ever expanding list of people who will reap the rewards of their evil doings when the time comes.
11:58 - Too long now, devious behaviour, blatant lies, ugly misleading moral codes and blatant bullsh!t have been accepted as the norm. This nation, once an Empire of the world setting the standard and leading the way, is now THE last nation to leave the recession whilst a tiny percentage of its citizens are once again multi-BILLIONAIRES, at the expense of the very same citizenry.
11:59 - The desk has devised a new game for these people. For every pound the tax-payer has pumped into their FAILED business, we shall take 79.3% interest. That's base rate plus 78.8%... we call it the variable bail out tracker. In order for these "people" to take advantage of this rate, we need to know everything, from how many partners they've slept with, to how often they listen to Simply Red albums, to why think they can get away with this sick behaviour. We want forms filled in in triplicate. NOT in capital letters in black ball point, but in legible, joined up writing, in CRAYON... of alternating shades of the rainbow.
12:00 - They will then need to give us the equivalent of £47.25 made up of 17 different currencies (not including pounds sterling) and we do not accept Drachma, Vietnamese Dong, Euros, US, Canadian or OZzie dollars, and half of it has to be made up of bartered goods from Senegal and Chad.
12:01 - If they pass our stringent credit rating, which is so mysteriosuly complex that we make it up each time we assess one of them, then AND ONLY THEN will they be allowed to approach to within 50 meters of us, prostate themselves on the floor, pull their trousers down, shove LIT sparklers up their arses, empty their wallets before them on the floor and beg and plead for our forgiveness...
12:02 - If their performances thus far are deemed suitably contrite, then we may consider allowing them to fill in the next level application form.
12:03 - They're not people, they ARE Bankers spelt with a visible B and a silent W.
12:04 - Spit on EVERY Ferrari, Porsche, Bentley, Rolls Royce and Lambourghini you can. Then demand the prick driving it cleans your car immediately and gives it back.
12:05 - Carry on.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Welcome back, so have you bought in yet?
We're living in a new age, a shiny sparkly age of promise and hope and dreams and, er stuff. Get on the band wagon, vote for a moron to win fame and money, then read about their inability to cope with instant fame.
Why not ignore politics and just moan about it, then get screwed over by power hungry politicians who have no self-control or moral compass?
How about you happily dwell in a country that has royally screwed over every third world nation it could in the name of profit, but when the banks do it to you, act all indignant...
Welcome to 21st century Britain kids. The 20th century sold out for money, plain and simple. Its time for you pathetic whinging little children to start BUYING BACK IN.
You want respect... ITS NOT GIVEN AUTOMATICALLY, you have to earn it.
You want ANOTHER TV, a bigger car, a better mp3 player... why? In god's name why if the old one works? Losers!
Capitalism is raping you and you buy into it willingly. Well why not buy back into social character, into respect, into community, into volunteering, into giving instead of taking...?
Its time to ask yourselves if you deserve what you've got... seriously.
Off you go...
Friday, 26 June 2009
So whose the third then? Well come on, Fawcett, Jackson and whose number three? Dammit we can't have the headline, "They always go in three's with just 2 names... THINK DAMMIT THINK!"
Welcome back. No excuses, no reason, no nothing, just shut up, sit down and listen. Its not over, its only just begun. A new era for the desk. A slight change in fortunes you could say.
For years I, Falling Carefully, the intrepid explorer of the filth you call "soooo yesterday" have roamed around my desk sipping coffee hoping the Comms Ed would see someone else when they came up with the next brilliantly unwitty story... anything from "Fat... its STILL a story we go on and on about!" to... "How can you make ugly, sexy, or even vice versa!"
But not, that was the old Falling. Hiding from responsibilty, shirking his duties. Running away from the work but still commenting as though a witty phrase shouted over my own shoulder as I ran for cover made me so much cleverer than anyone else.
Well apparently its time for a change... Selling Out was "sooooo yesterday"... but what is today... apart from cloudy gray and the 27th of June 2009?
It could be, as I've already said, had you been listening... or reading with attention earelier, a new beginning.. or it could be more of the same.
Apparently Mike's dead. Can we have a poll please... I don't wnat to know why you think he was cool or should have been butchered in his bed... I just want a YEs or No response? Was Mike alright? Yes or no?
And seriosuly... I DON'T WANT TO KNOW YOUR REASONING... I've heard all of it from all sides before... just a simple Yes or no? Was MIke alright?
This is FallingCarefully wondering what the hell is going on. As the details emerge I'm sure it'll become clear, but last time I could actually focus on anything, I had to gnaw my own arm off in the hope that she wouldn't wake up and I could make my escape without all that awkward, yeah, that was nice, call me, er sure... crap.
This is Falling Carefully testing out a new keyboard, a new morning, a new direction, a new philosophy.. its based quite clearly on the old way, but Madonna style, I'm trying to reinvent the same old crap and repackage it as something new... hey, maybe she'll be number 3... we live in hope. Child kidnapper that she is... oooh did I say that out loud... YES, I did... just cos you're rich enough to BAMBOOZLE the poor parents of young children who you think are "sweet" doesn't mean there isn't something FUNDAMENTALLY WRONG ABOUT BUYING LITTLE POOR CHILDREN FOR YOUR COLLECTION MADONNA!
Monday, 3 November 2008
10:34 - The arcs of shiny crimson, orbital-gravity blood droplets lava-lamp their way through the air in slo-motion, warping and twisting past the locks of her dyed hair as she recoils...
10:35 - The searing accoustic stabbing pain of her pig like shiek of pain and indignation is reduced to a basso growl as the disassociated ear picks apart each harmonic, listening to it carefully and storing it for future times to be replayed over and ovwer as I sit in the dock listening to the prosecution or in the cells listening to the agonised screams of those who never understood what being "sent down" really means.
10:36 - Not that I mind, all I can feel right now is the reedy aging neck in my hands as I pull it back for a second go. Bird-like claws and Dolce and Gabanne blouse flailing, out of focus. The only thing I see is the pointed corner of the Ikea metallic Orgs Sping Yooskoo Desk. Compressed wood chip encased in flame forged hardened steel for this years "tough look"... the perfect UNBREAKABLE corner that can crush holes in the most pedantic of skulls.
10:37 - The information is starting to overload, the squealing, the blood, the sweat, the flailing, it starts to get dull, so I reach for a sip of coffee... ah... espresso... no one ever considered arresting the Italians or the Arabs for getting us high everyday, so why does cocaine get such a bad rap... where was I...
10:38 - The other staff have started to get up and I wonder how many of them I will hae to fight off to escape, but knowing I'm doing them a favour, one of them is actually trying to hand me a tissue with a gesture towards my shirt, where a drop of the idiot bitches blood has landed.
10:39 - Three others are openly applauding, one has cracked a bottle of champagne, and the two who sit furthest from me have actually reached for weapons to join in...
10:40 - It slowly dawns on me that she's still talking... shame really. I was getting into that.
10:41 - This is Falling Carefully reminding himself why its good to be considerate of even the most retarded line-managers... prison isn't half as much fun as a good nightclub, cocktails, parties and holidays...
10:42 - Keep the anger locked up folks, at least until there aren't any witnesses. :)
10:43 - Carry on.
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
21:18 - Now fair enough middle-management has its uses when given the authority to act as the voice of his master... but when that middle manager is neutered, its utterly pointless and a complete waste of a salary.
21:19 - Take Smallene for example, no that it isn't his name, but I can't print his address here, this blog's far too popular and he would know it was him I was talking about... anyway, who cares, shut up and listen. Smallene is to all intents and purposes the Senior Editor whom we are supposed to run stories past. All well and good, but the first question I hear you asking is, Falling why isn't that your job...
21:20 - Well the simple answer to that very astute question is I am already the fully fledged Editor, owner, journo, investigator, blind-lemon lost cause, small fry hung up kind guy, too big for these shoes frood dude of the Desk of the Sell-Out as it is... that's one post that needs the responsibility of someone who speaks with the voice of the downtrodden. Well ok... maybe not speaks with that voice, but certainly understands does a pretty swift attempt at mimickign it... least when there aren't any genuine down-trodden folk around who might deck me if they heard.
21:21 - So anyway, Smallene has "editorial control" which is a laugh to say the least at the best of times... Judgements from that editorship include... "You've put a comma in the wrong place", "Ooh Falling, your font size has changed one point between lines 3 and 5 then returned to the original point size. Can you change it back?" and my all time favourite... "My phone's ringing, can someone answer it?"
21:22 - Nah, I'm gonna have to stop myself here, this is more tedious than the dull sense of resentment that crawls through my veins every time I face the prospect of having a discussion with the twerp.
21:23 - If I can't stand conversing with the simple-minded, custard-dripping, half wit then I really should have the manners to leave this particular niggling experience on the shelf marked, "Just don't go there, its not funny and even you can't turn it into a witty little tale Falling!"
21:24 - Accept my apologies and please accept also this one-time-only voucher for a free edition of the Desk of the Sell Out Generation. A chaotically published periodical with little value, sense or purpose but a far better read than anything you'll find in the Daily Mail and with just as much truth to it if not more...
21:25 - This is Falling Carefully looking for the coffee. Decaf just DOES NOT CUT IT ok... I mean for fuck's sake, I'm being nice, there's something fundamentally wrong with that shite.
21:26 - Now piss off and get me a triple espresso with an espresso on top and a slice of coffee cake with coffee ice cream on the side...
21:27 - Oh by the way before I go... Tea-pucinno - I shit you not... only in Belfast... no wonder they were angry for so long... even today they still can't get a coffee... its like sacriligious or somethin
21:28 - Carry on
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Thursday, 4 September 2008
11.36 - Its not the change, its the ferocity of the ping as the band breaks tearing itself in half and slapping you as hard as possible that really stings. Like blowing up a balloon and having it burst in your face. Cheap elastic bands. What's the point? Something designed to do one particular job but produced so cheaply that it is utterly incapable of doing that one job.
11.37 - Its scarily similar to the unreal snap between "new staff member" and someone who is now responsible for a HUGE desk load of pap that, just 10 minutes before the meeting would have been deemed far too much with as little experience as I have, but now after the meeting am suddenly point man on.
11.38 - Fat children. A simple topic, an epidemic of morbid proportions threatening to engulf the next 50 years of Britain in a sloppy, lardy, early grave, cellulite coated, wheezing, rubbery fatty layer of lazy yoof and their cheese clogged arteries. A subject of little interest as I happily pedal my caffeine fueled fitness machine between home full of the latest organic mung bean bum burger mixtures, and work where responsiblity driven policy means even I can't operate the kitchen microwave for fear of crossing some previsouly unwritten, but now gospel, Health and Safety subcode of puritanical inflantilism and litigous driven paranoia.
11:39 - And yet just 5 mintues after the meeting of 5 minutes ago, I am now single-handedly responsible for drawing together the lick spittles, meeja-whores-on-a-free-buffet-junket, Soap Box Brawlers and Party-line toadies into the the same filter coffee fueled "pohsh" chamber embued with some tedious sense of fresh modernity or alternatively decorated with a sense of tediously ancient stability to discuss why fat kids won't get up off their arses and do something about their own predicament.
11:40 - Who shoulders repsonsibility for my hang-over, or inability to pay the rent? When do I get to blame someone else for the state of the roads that I pay for but tax dodgers don't? When does the opinion of the Neo-Con Daily Hate Mailer get heard without prejudice (alright never but you see what I'm getting at).
11:41 - So I guess what I'm saying is... asking the bitter resentful, coffee-less, caffeine addict to invite lots of over-paid gob-sh!tes into a room to discuss the lazy attitudes of an entire cross section of the British population is a recipe for disaster.
11:42 - Forget corrupting the youth, they're long past redemption. I say corrupt the system, because this apparent idyll of democracy driven sound bytes and unlistened to protest clearly isn't quite as idyllic for anyone except those holding its head firmly on the floor whilst standing on its neck. Democracy pah. Its an exemplary con-trick of despotism with a few bells and whistles and a few different letters in the name.
11:43 - Corrupting the system... its gonna be tougher than I though without coffee.
11:44 - Please send all contributions to the usual address, and having eradicated all the wombats in my last Christmas mail out, I suggest using Duck Billed Platypi as the alternative. YES Platypi... if no one is going to agree, then I'm making an executive decision... deal with it.
11:45 - Carry on.
Thursday, 21 August 2008
With a healthy precedent established of lying cheating, stealing, deviating, avoiding, and generally just not getting things right in the standard ordinary everyday acceptable way, I’ve found that old age is forcing me to believe in those tediously simplistic and under-entertaining values, but paradoxically I am finding it harder not easier to adhere to them myself, as 35 years of training in the fine art of sticking two fingers up at any kind of controlling authoritative voice is tantamount to “giving in to the man!” man
There is great artistry and a wealth of trial and tribulation that I lovingly called character building suffering (but that others would probably describe as mindless pig-headedness) that has gone into the fruity and deliciously unusual notes that flavour my ways and means through your conformist world, but that’s no reason to start bleating about my efforts on your behalf.
The world you inhabit has no time for the positive. Anything that is up to your standard is taken for granted. You only have time to moan about anything which isn’t sufficient, acceptable, up to scratch, good enough, right, or valuable. But here’s where your world stinks a little more like the putrid lie that it really is...
Not only do you ONLY highlight what’s wrong AND take the good for granted, but you don’t bloody do anything about your gripes. Have another cup of tea, sit back, and MOAN. That’s your way and that’s your excuse for accepting what amounts to some of the shabbiest standards in what is allegedly a world leader of a nation.
Hold on... what am I saying... you know this already. This is something you airheads are proud of. Insulting foreigners, eating third rate tasteless food, drinking yourselves into oblivion every Friday night to escape the tedium of your mundane and valueless lives whilst moaning some more about all the things you hate but can’t be arsed to do anything about.
That’s right Britai, Stand proud and tall in a bucket of sewage, with your shirt hanging out rebelliously and your tie half done up at an angle. Football under one arm religiously cradled to protect its inherent value to your tiny little mind.
As the sewage castle you’ve fashioned from the discarded detritus of your consumer-choice obsessed, throw away culture and the turds you hoped would go away but didn’t, slowly collapses round your ankles and you panic about recession and the declining value of your way of life, just remember this one small point...
I have been shouting “Wake up!” in your ears for years now. You only have yourselves to blame for being a down trodden bunch of losers with a football obsession!
If you think you can handle the truth, don’t forget to subscribe to further editions of “The Desk of the Sell-Out Generation”.
If you are any of the above including obese, stupid, boring, racist, conservative, close-minded, dull, dim, a BMW owner, insensitive, or just not smart enough to understand what I’m saying, then please please please unsubscribe. The intelligent people round here don’t want your window-licking stupidity and blank moon-faced thick little attitudes cluttering up what could be a great, productive and interesting conversation.
And if you want to know what any of that means, STOP READING THE BLOODY SUN and try a newspaper with words in it!
Thursday, 14 August 2008
12:57 – Christ this place is a tip... has no one done ANYTHING since I was last in the office?
12:58 – It’s FallingCarefully back in the Bureau, bringing you the weird wild and wonderless world that is Britain today.
12:59 – You’ve certainly been busy in my absence (well not on the cleaning front clearly) but there’s wonders afoot... you ousted Bliar which is good to see. And not surprisingly the Right Wing Conservative neighbours over the pond persisted in sticking with a tried and tested formula that didn’t work the first time round... one day they will learn something... I promise... if they don’t show any signs of doing so we’ll make them learn it... THAT I do promise!
13:00 – Me I’ve been here an there. The sensei’s dojo, the Blackhole of Cullbutter, Tajikistan but you knew about that, there were the hours spent listening to the icicles breath in the Om Jam Sam Sect of Oslo, learning the delightful art of farting with just one buttock. I’ve traded weaponry with disgruntled Primary School teachers, re-educated political hacks, advised Presidents, Snogged turtles, eaten the frothed eyeballs of Political dissidents in an Asapargus jus and seen the Archfangled Light Scale Spectrum of Tracey Emin’s Ear Wax...
13:01 – You may say that I have had an interesting experience but this is a day in the life of Falling. It’s why you come back for more. To hear the edge of reason as it sidles up to your table and quietly asks if it can sit down and dazzle you.
13:02 – When you subscribe to the Desk of the Sell Out, never again will you ask yourself why? Or what’s it all about? A year’s subscription costs you 5 minutes an episode and a pint if you think that’s a reasonable price... but I do have good taste, only the world’s finest will do.
13:03 – Can you sit still long enough to learn? Do you have what it takes to learn the truths of the world? Are you brave enough to hear just what it is that’s been going wrong all this time?
13:04 – Find out more, at the Desk of the Sell Out Generation.
13:05 – Carry on. J