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Tazers and Concrete Flossing…It’s Just A Normal Day

January 24th, 2012 · No Comments

A couple of weeks ago there was a slight accident at my house.  By “slight accident” I mean some degenerate idiot managed to lob a chunk of concrete at the window and it smashed.  Sadly I wasn’t home as otherwise I would have got to enjoy having a criminal record from what happened when I caught whoever did it.  “What happened when I caught it” may or may not have included taking said chunk of concrete (about 10cm in length), tying string to both ends.  One end out of its mouth.  The other out of its backside.  Begin flossing.  Continue until concrete has worn down to size of a very very small molecule.  Find another piece of concrete. Repeat until bored.
 
Due to the insurance company being as useful as a multipack of sugary sweets to a very diabetic person having quite a diabetic day, I had to call the police and lodge a “oh gosh…some naughty children have been bad.  Come get em…please!  Yes I know it happened some point in the last 24 hours and the chances of you catching them as about on par with me catching Usain Bolt….while I am wearing iron trousers and have just been given a particularly nasty enema…but just give me a crime ref number so I can get the idiot at the insurance company to come do something about the window.”
 
In return for them giving me a crime ref number they passed my details on to “Victim Support” whose tagline is “We are here to help”.  Really?  With what?  Somebody else fixed the window.  I ironed my own clothes the following day.  Only 6 people have ever changed my daughters nappy…and they weren’t one of them.  Can they help me win the lottery?  Help me become attractive to my wife?  Stop the spam I get in my email inbox? No.  So what the feck do they do? 
 
They also sent a letter saying “If you don’t want us to contact you, please get in contact.”.  This was on a piece of headed paper.  Without a phone number.  And in the signature…there was no number.  It is OK, lets check for the existence of an email addre……oh…yeah nothing on there.  I didn’t mind, I wasn’t expecting to ever see them short of the weird look they give you me when I am out on a run late at night.  “He looks shifty…we should check him out”.  Things I have when running:  Running shoes.  Shorts.  Tee.  Watch.  Things I don’t have when running:  All black clothes, balaclava, sledge hammer.  Book called Idiots guide to burglary.  Seriously guys…it is OK, just out for a run!
 
And then they (policey McPlod) decided to send me an email with some questions.  All the classics you expect on a greatest hits of the 80s mixtape such as “Do we think we were targeted”, “Has this issue affected my day to day routine”  – No, I often come home early to let someone in the house to put new glass in the window! and then we got to “Other details” question.  My time to shine.  My time to show I am a valuable member of the community whose superpowers can be used for the good rather than for the changing of TV channels.
 
So I asked:
 
What are Sussex Police thoughts on letting me have a tazer?  I could vigilante the streets tazering old people and young kids to make sure it is not looked at as being bias towards gangs of kids.  No?  Fine.   But you understand I had to check. 
 
I figured showing that being an indiscriminate tazer user and my willingness to take down the pesky young and pointless old, I could clear up the mean streets where I live and make it a better place.  I sent that email at 13:49 on Saturday 14th.
 
At 21:20 on Saturday 14th, myself and el wifeo were having a little drinky at the dinner table and the doorbell rings. Walking to the door I say to my wife…who is still in the kitchen “Who the bloody hell….it is night time.  Who the hell is calling at thi….oh…it is the police.”
 
“Hi, we got your crime report and thought we would come around to meet you.”
 
Ah crap.
 
After a lengthy discussion, they STILL wont let me have a tazer.  I also think I may be on a “watch list”. 

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Take as long as you want. No not that long. Done already? Why did we bother?

January 10th, 2012 · No Comments

I am not the greatest conversationalist in the world.  I have a habit of finding that line that you do not cross….and then taking a running jump and seeing just how far over I can get.  Then I will try again. I then manage to keep trying unabatedly until I realise I am the only person left in the room and don’t get invited to sleepovers anymore.
 
Other times I manage to steer a conversation in a direction that it didn’t need to go in and somewhat hijack the conversation for my own selfish needs.
 
And others I manage to turn a conversation about why a girl I know hates it when a guy keeps at it all night like a rampant sloth…and she only wants 20 minutes and a good nights kip.
 
It started with this post:  http://livingaloneinyourthirties.blogspot.com/2012/01/all-night-long.html (unashamed plug for a fellow blogger and friend) and then she posted it on her Facebook wall for people to read.  And then I felt the need to comment on her FB wall about it.  Shortly after, I was comparing her nocturnal activities with a gentleman to what he does at the gym….and the fact he probably thinks she is a protein shake. 
 
And you know, you take your time with a protein shake.  Too fast and you will probably end up constipated.  Nobody wants that. I get accused of being full of sh*t frequently enough as it is.
 
OK, I am not saying that him spending all night at it with her will make him constipated, you read that the wrong way.  But you don’t buy a gobstopper because you want to eat a quick snack.
 
She mentioned that her question is “Why do men think it’s hot to go all night, surely just going with the flow is best?  Going with the moment”
 
I’ll be honest, if I went with the moment too often I would be arrested.  Probably divorced too.  What if I saw a garden gate and thought “Hey baybeeee…” and got all carpe diem about it.  I would guess she maybe meant something other than inanimate objects and likely didn’t really consider the bounds of decency while asking that question. 
 
But I had to wonder…what is an acceptable amount of time that a man must make uncomfortable grunting noises, flex his proverbial muscle and be all caveman about it?  And I don’t mean smack her on the head and drag her to the bedroom…trust me…that does NOT go down as well as you may think.  Suuuure….you think it is funny and she will see the funny side when she comes around, but my wife was LIVID.  I think mostly because had I said “Me.  You.  Squidgy squidgy time?” she was likely to say yes.  But instead I decided I knew best and she now she has a fat sweaty man on her…and a headache.  And a phone number of a divorce lawyer.
 
Back to the conversation on the FB comment thread though.  A few comments later I managed to compare her nightly sessions to gardening.  She was talking about how it is not right for a man to be all King Kong and climb a building.  OK, she wasn’t…but…same thing.  Climbing a building takes time and if you wanna take a girl to the heavens…it takes time apparently.  I wouldn’t know.  I got my wife to the 2nd floor once, but I wont lie, I had to use an escalator.
 
The more I thought about it, the more I realised that gardening is like sex.  I spent some time in the garden this summer.  Not a lot.  Enough that I thought “Yeah, wifey will think that it is an acceptable amount of time and now I can go back inside and have a nap saying that all the being in the sun wore me out”.  Except that her comment about time to completed workload comparison went more like “You could have done this and that and this….but decided to come in too early and now you are napping”.  But if I had gone out there, smashed a few bits around and then came back in saying “That’ll do!  Maybe I will do more later!” she would give me grief saying “What were you doing?  Why did you bother?  Later?  I will do it myself now instead.”  
 
So what is an acceptable amount of time that I should spend in the garden?  I don’t understand.  The female brain is too confusing.  Us menfolk need a friggin clock or something that the woman can set an alarm on so we know when whatever task we are doing has been done for an appropriate amount of time.  And we cant snooze. 
 
But I never complain if my wife decides to take all day to clean the entire house or only a few minutes.  I am good like that. 
 
So.  Women.  Remember, the next time a man takes “too long” in the garden, be happy.  He could arrange a couple of pot plants a little differently and then bugger off to watch the footie on the telly leaving you thoroughly unsatisfied with the state of the garden.

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